by Freya Barker
Anna and Max also claim the roles of surrogate parents to anyone they deem worthy. Jake was claimed from a young age, but over the years they’ve claimed quite a few of us associated with PASS, treating us as their own.
As soon as Yanis sets me down on his sectional, I’m wrapped in Anna’s solid arms, a waft of patchouli and pot hitting my nose. They not only grow the stuff; they use it liberally. In joints, pipes, cookies, brownies. Hence the lingering scent. Something I’d normally pull my nose up at, but on Anna and Max it’s a comfortable smell. Familiar and warm.
“Well? Talk to me!”
Anna hangs on to both my hands as she sits on the edge of the couch, her body twisted toward me.
“A little mishap at work.”
She pulls up a disbelieving eyebrow.
“That why my boy is carrying you around like precious cargo? A little mishap?”
Then, as if she just reminded herself, she drops my hands and surges up off the couch, flinging herself at Yanis, who braces himself, apparently used to this.
“Hey, Mom.”
The much shorter Anna reaches up and claps both her hands on his cheeks.
“How is my boy?”
“Good, Ma.”
“I can see that. Finally pulled your head outta your ass?”
“Anna, leave the kid alone,” Max, who has been keeping to the background pipes up.
I snicker at the look on Yanis’s face. The man is forty-six, for crying out loud, has been more of a parent to his parents in terms of responsibility than the other way around. Likely has for most of his life, that’s just who he is. What they give him in return, though, is as invaluable. Love, nurturing, acceptance. All of these with great generosity and completely unconditional.
That’s who Max and Anna are, they’re givers, albeit a little over the top.
“So are you finally together? Shacked up already? Why not in this beautiful house? I thought you built it for her?”
Anna, as usual, is not deterred by her husband’s admonishments and happily plows ahead. Her words bring me pause though.
Wait. He built this for me?
Probably just a fantasy of hers, but when I sneak a glance at Yanis I see a ruddy color appear along his jaw. Usually a tell he’s pissed or uncomfortable. It’s a toss-up which emotion to blame it on in this case. Could be either.
Notable is the way he avoids looking at me.
“Ma, I’m just crashing in Bree’s spare bedroom until she recovers enough to fend for herself.”
Poor Anna looks crestfallen. I had no idea she harbored hopes for her son and me.
He’s not lying. He’s still in the spare bedroom. I half expected him to shove his way into mine on Thursday, but he just made sure I did my bathroom routine and got me into bed.
I was actually grateful; the day had been challenging for me in more ways than one. Then yesterday he had to go into the office early, came back and brought me lunch, and then was off for an afternoon meeting at the new winery.
Hillary ended up popping in after her shift at the shelter and brought the dog—I’m sure as arranged by Yanis, since he was going to be later than he thought—and brought dinner with her. Radar was with Yanis at the vineyard discussing the installation of the upgraded security system.
I don’t know her that well, but I like Hillary. She’s very matter-of-fact—something I can appreciate—is warm, can be funny, and is fun to hang out with. I think of all the PASS wives, I feel most myself with her.
Don’t get me wrong, I like them all. Rosie, Hutch’s wife, is an absolute sweetheart, a nurturer. Willa, on the other hand, is so capable in all aspects of her life she intimidates me a little. I’ve never had a gaggle of female friends, lost touch with the few girls I’d sometimes hung out with in college, but since then I found myself mostly in the company of men.
It’s the line of work I’m in, I guess it makes me a bit of an oddball. Maybe less of a woman in the eyes of some, but Hillary has a manner about her that puts me at ease. Doesn’t make me feel like I’m lacking some essential component needed to be part of the sisterhood.
Among other things we talked about her pregnancy, which wasn’t exactly planned but very welcome, and even that felt good. Normal.
When I started yawning around nine thirty, she offered to give me a hand getting ready for bed. I didn’t even hear Yanis come in, I was already out, although I could swear I felt his lips brush my forehead at some point.
Then this morning he announced ‘we’ would have to let his parents in at his place.
This is maybe the third time I’ve been in his house. It’s nice, all one level with great views from the wall of windows on the back. Rather sparse in furnishings, but it gives the place an airy, uncluttered feel. Unlike his office back at PASS, which is a paper explosion.
“Boys,” Anna calls the men to attention. “Grab those bags from the car while I put on a pot of coffee.”
“Ma, grab the coffee from the freezer, please,” Yanis calls over his shoulder as he makes his way to the door.
“Brought my own!” she yells back.
“No mushroom crap, Ma. Just make regular.”
I grin as Anna winks at me. I think more often than not the woman is just yanking her sons’ chains with her weird concoctions. I swear she gets a kick out of perpetuating this image she puts out there of a somewhat ditzy, eccentric hippy. In a way it reminds me of my mom, who loved nothing more than to sing along to pop songs at the top of her lungs, with the windows of the car down, as she drove me to school. It used to mortify me, but now when I think back it puts a smile on my face.
“Do any baking, Anna?” I call out just as Yanis walks in with two large bags.
“Don’t encourage her,” he grumbles, making me laugh.
Following right behind him is Max, loaded up with coolers and containers he takes to his wife in the kitchen.
“I brought cardamom date and quinoa muffins. High in protein for the new mom.”
“Willa didn’t deliver, Ma,” Yanis feels compelled to remind her.
“Wanna try one?” Anna asks me with a wink, ignoring her son’s comments.
“Love to.”
The truth is, Anna’s baking tastes great, even if her ingredients tend to be on the weird side. Or maybe it’s the green butter she tends to use in her recipes.
Yanis.
It’s Saturday and I had plans.
Instead, I’m sitting at my kitchen island, watching my mother and Bree snickering about something on the couch, while Dad tells me about the new irrigation system he designed and installed on his farm. I use the term loosely, since it’s basically a pot grow-op. A highly illegal one, especially in Wyoming, which has some of the strictest cannabis laws in the country.
There have been plenty of times over the years I’ve had to drive up to get Dad out of some pickle he got himself into. But I think I’ve disavowed him of his dream to strike it rich selling illegal cannabis products. Thank God I still have a friend or two in local law enforcement and they’re willing to turn a blind eye as long as Dad keeps his pot to himself. But this new talk of an irrigation system sounds too much like those grandiose dreams of his have made a resurgence.
If only my parents weren’t so attached to the farm. They could move here, to Colorado, pick up a piece of land and Dad could get a license and grow to his heart’s content without the kind of repercussions he faces back in Encampment, where they live now.
“Dad,” I start, but he already has his hand up.
“I know, I know. Don’t worry, I’m just testing it out while we’re gone. Don’t want my plants to die before I get a chance to harvest them.”
“Been out in Palisade a few times, working with a new vineyard. Fertile ground around there, Dad. I can keep my eye out. Wouldn’t be such a bad spot.”
He gives me a look over his ever-present reading glasses, but to my surprise doesn’t say anything.
I drink the dregs of my coffee—no mushrooms, thank fuck—and set my cup in the sink.
“We should get going,” I announce, walking into the living room.
“We should?”
Bree looks up with amusement sparkling in her eyes. She knows damn well how taxing I find my parents. I love them, but they do try me.
“Yes. We have things to do.”
“What things?” my mother weighs in, and it’s all I can do not to roll my eyes heavenward.
Bree’s soft snicker drags me back to earth, though. She looks good. More relaxed as she smiles up at me. I’ve been holding back, kept things at light touches and no heavy topics, but I think maybe we’re ready to resume that talk.
“Just…things. Does it matter? You guys are heading over to Willa and Dimi’s shortly anyway.”
Luckily Ma is easily distracted with the prospect of the baby.
“That’s right, it’s almost that time. Max! Maybe you should put a clean shirt on?”
The disgruntled sounds my dad produces make it clear he’s not in favor of that, but he still gets up from his stool and shuffles down the hall to the spare bedroom where I dragged their bags.
“Why don’t you guys stay here?” Ma proceeds to ask Bree. “It would be so much more fun and I could help look after you when my boy needs to work.”
I can’t hold back the pained groan at the prospect and Bree glances at me pressing her lips tightly together.
“That’s a lovely offer, but you are going to have your hands full with that baby. Besides, I still sleep a lot and do that better in my own bed.”
“Of course, Brianna, dear,” Ma says, kissing her cheek before turning to me. “I’ll expect you both here for dinner tomorrow night. We’ll see if Dimi and Willa, plus baby, can make it too. A family dinner.”
Fucking shoot me now.
Instead, I nod and bend down to lift Bree off the couch. I’m sure I could support her to hop to the car, but I like this way better, and she hasn’t objected to being carried around these past couple of days.
Who knows? Maybe she likes this better too.
On the way to Bree’s, I stop at the grocery store and pick up a few things while she waits in the SUV, checking her emails on her phone. I loathe shopping, even for groceries, but it’s a necessary evil. In an effort to minimize time and energy wasted, I have the layout of the store memorized when I set out on my mission. I know exactly where and in what aisle to find what I need and strategize my plan of attack, so I can be in and out in ten minutes or less.
The one distraction I hadn’t counted on is the small flower stand next to the produce section. It’s the sunflowers. They remind me of Bree. Bright, happy, simple, pretty, and yet practical.
I stop my cart and grab a couple of bunches from the bucket. Be nice for her to look at while she’s cooped up inside.
I realize my mistake when I’m cashing out in the checkout lane. Megan is pushing her grocery cart toward the exit and spots me with my hands full of flowers. She stops and appears to wait while I grab my bags.
“Hey, stranger,” she drawls when I approach the doors.
“Megan.”
I nod at her and attempt to step around her with my hands full, but she swiftly moves her cart so we walk out the door side by side. Then she hooks my arm with a hand, pulling me to a stop.
“Hey, wait. I meant to ask you something.”
I’m uncomfortably aware of Bree sitting in the passenger seat of my Yukon parked twenty feet away, but I don’t want to be even more of an asshole to this woman. It’s been only a week since we had dinner at the Tap Room and I dropped her off at home, disappointed because I’d made it clear over burgers I really wasn’t interested in pursuing anything further. Despite the impression I might’ve given her when, like an idiot, called her on impulse.
Yet here I am, fucking stuck in the middle of the parking lot talking to her while Bree’s eyes burn holes in my back. I know it because Megan is peeking over my shoulder in the direction of my SUV.
It doesn’t surprise me when she steps a little too close and I wish I’d left those damn flowers in the store so I’d have at least one hand free.
“What?” I ask, a little too brusquely.
“There’s a Better Business Bureau awards dinner next week. It turns out I’ve been nominated for the Real Estate and Property Award this year.”
“Congratulations. That’s quite the accomplishment.”
I honestly have no idea—nor do I really care—what it entails to receive an award like that, but she seems happy with it.
“I know.” She beams a smile at me. “So I was hoping you’d be available for the dinner.”
The smile falls when I start shaking my head.
There was no ambiguity about what I told her last week. I made sure to leave no wiggle room, no chance for her to draw the wrong conclusions, or nurture hopes of any kind. But judging from the look on her face I was wrong.
Jesus.
I tried, but diplomacy didn’t work. Maybe the blunt truth will.
“I can’t.” I start backing up. “Consider me permanently spoken for.”
Her eyes immediately slide over my shoulder to where I know Bree is sitting. Her eyebrows lift in what I’m guessing is surprise.
Bree doesn’t share Megan’s flamboyant looks, hers are more subdued, understated, and yet infinitely more beautiful in my eyes. I imagine a woman like Megan may not see it that way.
“Good luck with the nomination,” I tell her, before turning my back and coming face-to-face with two familiar gray eyes.
I pull open the back door and toss the bags and the flowers on the seat.
“You’re so sweet. Thank you,” Megan says intentionally loud behind me while I have half my body stuck in the car. “And I enjoyed our time together last weekend.”
I hit my head on the doorframe as I try to whip it around, but she’s already walking toward her vehicle, leaving me to stare after her.
When I get behind the wheel, I glance over at Bree, who is very pointedly studying her phone until she slowly turns her head in my direction.
“That was…” I shake my head. “I don’t even know what that was,” I admit.
Bree raises an eyebrow.
“Maybe some of that baggage you mentioned we’d need to deal with?”
“Yeah,” I grumble, getting really pissed off my Saturday plans keep getting derailed by other people’s agendas. “That was Megan. She was my real estate agent, and we…” Fuck, why is this so goddamn difficult? “Would occasionally hook up. It’s been months but she’d been calling.”
I catch a look from her and I know what she’s asking without needing the words.
“Last week when I sent you to Denver, I didn’t feel good about it, but by the time I got to the office you were already gone. I was pissed, mostly at myself, and ended up calling her. We got a bite to eat, I told her there’d be no more calls, and that was the end of it.”
“She may be hard of hearing,” Bree comments dryly, and I almost smile.
“So it would appear.”
“She’s very pretty.”
I have to stop for a traffic light anyway, so I twist toward Bree and tag her behind the neck.
“You’re beautiful.”
“You’re full of shit,” she says, but with half a smile as she points at the light that just turned green.
“I bought you flowers,” I try in a lame attempt to salvage something.
“I noticed,” she whispers, but her smile spreads.
Chapter Eleven
Bree
It’s weird.
I’d almost forgotten this side of Yanis existed. This caring side—attentive, human—was so well-hidden by the rigid, almost cold veneer he shows the world, I’d long convinced myself he’d been a figment of my imagination.
I glance over at the sunflowers he finally jammed in a juice jug since I don’t own any vases. Don’t think anyone’s ever bought me flowers before and it’s not like I missed that, not in the kind of life I lead, but I have to admit it’s nice. Special. It
makes me feel special, despite the mini disaster that preceded it in the City Market parking lot.
That could’ve been an ugly scene and I have to admit it was tempting, but Yanis looked miserable enough all by himself. I almost felt sorry for him.
The truth is, neither of us lived as monks for the past fifteen years. Heck, I was married for a chunk of them. This is the baggage we now carry. The stuff we need to find a place for if whatever is happening between us now is going somewhere.
I watch Yanis pace around my kitchen, the phone to his ear. He seems agitated, or maybe annoyed is a better word. So far it looks like this day is not going the way he’d planned and he’s not very good at rolling with the punches.
“Fuck.”
The sound of his phone smacking the kitchen counter is sharp as he braces himself on both hands, his head hanging down.
“What’s up?”
He lifts slowly and his eyes meet mine across the room.
“I have to fly to Peru Monday morning. Jelnyk Mining. They ran into some resistance from local law enforcement over the security framework we designed and need me to come smooth the waters.”
“So go,” I tell him. “I’ll be fine,” I add, guessing that’s at least part of his concern.
“I hadn’t planned for this. Not now.”
“You can’t plan for emergency calls, Yanis. All you can do is adjust,” I impart calmly.
He straightens up and starts moving toward me, sitting down on the edge of the coffee table, his body leaning forward.
“I was supposed to use this week to win you back,” he says solemnly. “Earn back your trust, get you to let me in again. So far I’m doing a piss-poor job of it.”
I smile to myself. He doesn’t even realize, showing me he’s not as unflappable and unaffected as he’d like the world to believe he is does more to gain my trust than sweet words or calculated actions could.
“You got me flowers,” I teasingly remind him.
The corner of his mouth twitches.
“I did, didn’t I? Do I get bonus points for that?”
“Major bonus points.”
His face turns serious and his eyes find my mouth.