Then There Was You: A Single Parent Collection

by Gianna Gabriela

  “Have you seen Gigi?” he asks, excitement in his eyes.

  I dump the flour in the mixing bowl and crack open an egg to do the same. “No, but I’m sure she’s probably out with Mr. Alexander and will be back in a few minutes.”

  He looks disappointed as he walks to the barstool and takes a seat. I finish putting the rest of the ingredients in the bowl before pushing it, along with a spoon, over to Kelsey.

  “Mix that for me, please?”

  As her way of acknowledging my request, she grabs the spoon and slowly starts pushing it around the concoction, her eyes focused on her task. After cracking open several eggs and putting them in a bowl, and adding a bit of milk, I push that toward Daniel.

  “You get to beat the eggs,” I tell him. When he grabs the whisk sitting in the bowl and starts stirring too fast, I add, “Gently, or they’ll slosh out the sides.”

  With both kids occupied for a few minutes, I take the opportunity to use the bathroom.

  “I’ll be right back,” I let them know before heading back toward the hall.

  I do my business, flush, and wash my hands. Running my tongue over my teeth, I feel the fuzz and wish for a toothbrush. I open the medicine cabinet, hoping to find at least some toothpaste or mouthwash, and come up empty. The cabinet is pretty bare, only carrying a bottle of aspirin and a comb. I wrinkle my nose. One thing I hate is having a mouth full of fuzz.

  Remembering seeing a bathroom in Alexander’s room, I wonder if I’m brave enough to trespass in there to look for some mouthwash. Desperate for a fresh mouth, I decide to go for it.

  I feel like a thief getting ready to break into a house when I peek my head out of the bathroom. Spying the kids at the counter mixing the contents in their bowls and still no sign of Alexander, I walk on tiptoes down the hallway toward the master bedroom. I leave the door open and rush to the bathroom.

  This bathroom is a lot bigger than the one in the hallway. While it’s not huge, it’s a lot bigger than you would think considering the size of the bedroom. But it’s beautiful with its rustic look. Cream-colored walls, pedestal sink, claw-foot tub, and separate shower. It fits with the rest of the cabin.

  Looking over my shoulder to make sure I’m not caught, I quickly walk over to the sink and open the small medicine cabinet. I almost shout with elation when I see a bottle of mint mouthwash. As I grab it, I spot a can of shaving cream, a razor, several bottles of prescription medicine, a bottle of cologne, a toothbrush and toothpaste, and several other items you normally see in a medicine cabinet. My eyes linger on the medicine bottles, my curiosity piqued. Some say you can find out a lot about a person by their prescriptions. I personally think that’s a load of crap. But the bottles do leave me wondering what he takes and why. Are any of them pain medications? By the scars on his face and arms, the extent of his injuries had to have been extreme. I can imagine he may still have pain on occasion.

  My eyes next stop on the aftershave, and I feel an unreasonable need to sniff it. Would the smell be strong and overpowering like some men wear, or subtle, just barely giving off a slight masculine scent? I personally like the latter. One of the biggest turn-offs for me is not being able to breathe because of the overwhelming scent of cologne on a man.

  I chastise myself for even thinking about such a thing right now. It doesn’t matter what cologne the man wears. It’s not like I’ll be getting close enough to choke on his scent anyway.

  I grab the big bottle of mouthwash, then pour some of the minty green liquid in the cap and tip it to my lips. It burns as I swish it around, but it’s a good kind of burn. I watch myself in the mirror for a good thirty seconds as my cheeks puff out. Tipping my head back, I gargle.

  When I bring my head back down, it’s not only me looking back in the mirror, but Alexander’s dark gaze as well. He’s leaning against the doorjamb with his arms crossed over his muscular chest with a firm look plastered on his face. Seeing him standing there surprises me, and I accidently swallow some of the mouthwash. I start choking, and I try to spit the mouthwash into the sink, but end up spraying the mirror in the process. I bend over the sink and hack up a lung or two.

  By the time I’m done, my arms are crossing the sink with my forehead resting on them. It’s then that embarrassment hits me. I stay hunched over the sink for several minutes, not only catching my breath, but avoiding looking at Alexander too. My face is hot, so I know it’s red, from both coughing so much and embarrassment.

  I’m such an idiot. I knew I shouldn’t have come in here without asking him. I should have waited. He probably wouldn’t have minded. He said to make ourselves at home last night. I’m sure he didn’t mean go into his bathroom and rummage around.

  Knowing I can’t put it off any longer, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and lift my head, my eyes meeting his in the mirror. He’s still standing in the same position as he was when I first noticed him. He looks relaxed, but that could be deceptive. Today he’s wearing a pair of dark jeans, slightly worn at the knees, and a dark green T-shirt with a thermal underneath.

  I straighten and turn to face him.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. I taste the mouthwash when I lick my lips, and I rush on. “I hate not brushing my teeth and you didn’t have any mouthwash in your spare bathroom, so I decided to check in here. I’m sorry,” I repeat.

  I want to pull my eyes away from his penetrating dark ones, but I force myself to hold his stare. I do shuffle my feet though. There’s no stopping that. I start to fidget when he doesn’t say anything. I’m just about to blurt another apology, when he straightens.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he says, backing out of the bathroom. He holds up a black backpack. “Got this from your truck.”

  I sag in relief and smile, my embarrassment forgotten. “Thank you.”

  I grab it from him and hold it to my chest, not even caring that he got my keys from my purse. After a minute, he turns on his heel and walks out of the bedroom, leaving me with my bag. I consider whether to follow him and use the spare bathroom to change and brush my teeth and hair, or just stay here and use this one. He seemed okay that I was in here, but I don’t want to push it. After wiping down the mirror with a rag I found underneath the sink, I decide to use the spare one.

  Once I’m done, I go back out into the living room and find Daniel has abandoned his mixing bowl and is lying on his back with a puppy on his chest and Gigi lying beside him. Alexander’s stirring the fire. Kelsey’s still at the bar, no longer mixing, but doing her crossword puzzle. I didn’t realize she’d brought it with her until I saw her working on it yesterday evening. It doesn’t surprise me though. She always has one with her.

  I stop at the end of the couch and Alexander looks over at me. “I’m making eggs and pancakes. Would you like some?”

  He gives me a nod and goes back to poking the fire with the fire iron.

  “Daniel,” I call. “We have a bag in the bathroom. There’s a change of clothes, toothbrush, and toothpaste. Go get changed and brush your teeth, please.”

  “Okay, Mom,” he responses, barely giving me a glance, too distracted by the puppies.

  “Daniel.” I say his name again when he makes no move to get up. I lift my brow at him when he finally looks at me.

  “Okay, okay,” he grumbles before getting up and dragging his feet as he walks to the bathroom.

  When I pass by Kelsey, I tell her, “When your brother’s done, it’s your turn, sweetie.” All I get in return is a short nod.

  Fifteen minutes later, I place a plate in front of a newly changed Kelsey and call Daniel to the bar. Looking over their shoulders once he’s seated, I spot Alexander on the couch and decide to make him a plate. After piling several pancakes and some eggs on one plate and a smaller portion on another, I grab them and tuck the syrup underneath my arm.

  I hold the plate out to him and he takes it with a muttered, “Thanks.”

  “Would you like something to drink?” I ask.

  “I’m good.”

&nbs
p; I go back for my cup of coffee, then sit at the other end of the couch. Seeing the weather channel playing on the TV reminds me I haven’t even looked outside to see if it’s still snowing. “How does it look outside?”

  “Very white,” he remarks.

  I laugh, then look over when I feel his eyes on me. He has a weird expression on his face. His brows are pulled down low, and it almost looks like he’s in pain. The look confuses me, but I decide to ignore it.

  “Is it still coming down?”

  “Yes,” he answers, then stuffs a forkful of pancake in his mouth.

  “Any chance you think they’ll plow the roads today?”

  After swallowing his bite, he says, “Nope. There would be no point. It’ll just get covered again in thirty minutes.”

  We eat in silence for several minutes. The only sounds come from our utensils scraping our plates and the low voice of the meteorologist on the TV.

  “I still don’t have a signal on my phone,” I say, when the quiet becomes awkward.

  “Lines are probably down. Happens a lot around here when the weather gets bad.”

  I push some eggs around in my syrup before I look over at him. “I really am sorry you’re stuck with us. I’m sure you don’t care to have strangers invading your house.”

  He gives me a look that tells me he’s tired of hearing me give my thanks, so I clamp my mouth shut. That is, until the quiet grates on my nerves again.

  “You said you’ve lived here your whole life. Does that mean you grew up in this house?”

  He sets his plate down on the coffee table in front of him.

  “No. My parents had a house in town. This was my grandparents’ place.”

  “Oh.” I put my plate beside his and turn in my seat, bring one foot up and tucking it under me. “Do your parents still live in town?”

  “They moved to Tennessee a few years ago.”

  He doesn’t seem too bothered by my questions, so I continue.

  “Do you have any siblings?”

  “Just my sister.”

  I run my fingers along the smoothness of the couch. I hate to have idle hands. I constantly have to be doing something with them. My poor cuticles look terrible and would probably give a manicurist a heart attack.

  “What kind of work do you do?”

  His brows drop as he moves his eyes from me to the TV. “Why all the questions?” he asks.

  Embarrassment has my cheeks turning pink, and I turn so I’m facing forward again.

  “Sorry,” I say softly. “I just figured since we might be stuck together for a few days, we may as well get to know each other a bit so we’re not complete strangers.”

  I get up from the couch and pick up my plate. I guess my line of questioning is over. I understand his reluctance. He doesn’t know me, why would he tell me about his life, even if we are staying here in his home. As long as he doesn’t act like a psycho and is nice to my kids, there’s no need for me to know more than I already do. Once the snow melts enough for them to remove the tree, clear the roads, and pull my car from the ditch, we’ll be leaving. It’ll probably be months before I see him again, if I do at all.

  When I reach down for his plate, he stops me by placing his hand on my arm. His fingers are warm to the touch, and I feel a weird charge where’s he’s touching me. The hand he used is the one with the scars and my eyes linger on them for a moment before I look to his face. He’s looking at his hand touching me.

  After several seconds, he loosens his fingers and pulls his hand back. He slowly lifts his head and the look in his eyes conveys confusion. I just don’t know what he’s confused about.

  “I’ll get it,” he says, his voice gruff.

  I nod, then take my plate to the kitchen. I’m at the sink rinsing my dish when he walks up beside me. On the outside I appear calm, but on the inside, I’m reprimanding myself for pushing him with questions. I already knew just from the rumors and the way he acts that he’s a private person. I should have known he wouldn’t like being grilled about his life. Even though I told him we should get to know each other since we’re practically living together for the next couple days, my real excuse is I’m curious about him.

  He’s silent for a minute as he stands there. I don’t turn to look, but I feel his eyes on me.

  He puts his plate in the sink, then says, “You cooked, I’ll wash.”

  Surprised by his statement, I look at him. “It’s okay. I don’t mind. It’s the least I can do since you’ve taken us in.”

  “You cooked, I’ll wash,” he repeats.

  Instead of giving in to him, I counter, “How about we do it together? I’ll wash and you dry and put away.”

  I don’t wait for him to answer before I’m putting the stopper in the sink and filling it with warm soapy water. As the sink fills, I go to the bar to grab the kids’ plates, and see them both in the living room.

  I’m handing Alexander a washed plate when he says quietly, “I train horses.”

  Surprised by him answering my earlier question, but not wanting to show it, I only pause for a second before I continue washing a frying pan. I hand it over to him.

  “The most I’ve been around horses are the ones they have at fairs.” I laugh lightly. “I used to beg my mom when I was little to get me a pony. We lived in a neighborhood where the houses were practically on top of each other. Definitely not a place to bring a pony.” I push the sponge in a cup and swirl it around. “Will, my husband, grew up on a farm in Nebraska. We always said that one day we would buy a lot of land somewhere. He wanted to get horses and have the kids learn to ride them.”

  I stop washing and just stare at the suds rolling off the side of the cup. We had started a savings account specifically for our move one day. As a sheet metal technician who worked on private jets, Will’s income was good. Our savings account was substantial, and we’d only had a few more years to go before we could make our dream come true.

  I push the thought away, not wanting the sadness that came with it. I finish with the cup and hand it over.

  “Do you enjoy working with them?” I ask.

  “I do. My grandfather raised horses, and I knew from a kid I wanted to work with them.”

  “That’s nice,” I remark and pass him a plate. “I didn’t know what I wanted to do until I was in college. It was a toss-up between a guidance counselor or a teacher.”

  “What did you choose?”

  “Teacher.”

  “What made you choose that one?”

  I smile. “I like knowing I’ll be part of shaping children’s futures, that I played a big role in who they’ll become.”

  He nods and turns quiet. We finish the rest of the dishes in silence, except this time it doesn’t feel awkward. It’s peaceful. After, I wipe down the stove and counters while Alexander feeds an excited Gigi.

  I check on the kids. Daniel’s still on the floor with the puppies, he’ll probably be there all day if I let him, and Kelsey’s on the couch. When she spots me, she gets up and walks over, holding the crossword puzzle book. The pages are curled and creased. Even knowing what she’s trying to say, I flip through the pages. They’re all done.

  “You finished already?” I ask, and of course get nothing in return. “I’m sorry, Kelsey, we don’t have another one with us. We’ll get one when we make it back to town.” Her frown is barely noticeable. “Come on, let’s go to the living room and see what’s on TV.”

  I grab her hand and lead her back to the couch. Alexander walks by and disappears down the hallway. Ten minutes later, he comes back out with a drawing pad and holds it out to Kelsey. “Maybe you could draw something,” he says, sounding unsure.

  She just stares at it for a moment, then looks up at him and hesitantly reaches her hand out. I watch the exchange, my heart jumping in my chest at the slight tilt of his lips.

  6

  ALEXANDER

  “WHERE YA GOING?”

  The question comes from behind me. I turn around as I’m zipping
up my jacket and face Daniel. He’s holding a black puppy to his chest as he looks up at me.

  “Gotta go check on the horses,” I reply.

  His eyes get big and his mouth drops open. The surprise doesn’t last long before he’s practically bouncing on his feet. I’ve noticed since they’ve been here that the kid is hyper. The complete opposite of his sister.

  “I didn’t know you had horses!” he says excitedly. “I wanna see them! Can I come with you?”

  I glance over to the door in the kitchen that leads to a small laundry room where Gwen’s doing her and the kids’ laundry, then look back down at Daniel. With the eager way he’s watching me, there’s no way I can deny this kid, even if I wanted to. And to my surprise, I find that I don’t want to. His exuberant demeanor and honesty is refreshing.

  I’ve rarely been around kids, except for my sister Christa’s daughter, who’s only two years old. I’ve only seen the toddler twice, and both times I’ve kept my distance, the painful reminder of what I almost had keeping me from bonding with her. I’m a shit uncle and have apologized to Christa for being so. She says she understands, and I’m sure she does, but I’ve seen the look in her eyes when she’s visited those couple of times. I’ve seen the sadness lurking when I purposely put space between me and her daughter.

  I reach for my gloves and lift my chin toward the kitchen. “Go ask your mom.”

  “Yah!” he yells, then turns on his foot and runs to the kitchen.

  Just as he’s reaching for the doorknob, the door opens and out walks Gwen. He skids to a stop in front of her.

  “Whoa there, kid,” she says, holding out her hands. “What’s the rush?”

  I slip on my hat and force back a chuckle when Daniel’s words come out way too fast and sound like one long word.

  “Mr.AlexanderhashorsesandhesaidIcouldgoseethemwithim.” He pauses just long enough to take a breath. “Can I, Mom? Can I?”

  She looks over at me, and I give her a chin lift, letting her know it’s okay. Instead of answering Daniel, she walks over to me with him following her, his head tipped back, looking at her with a pleading look.