“We’ve been to the beach, but not out beyond that.”
“Why not?”
“We don’t have a boat,” I answer him and check on the golden-brown top layer of the pasta dish.
“Well, I do,” he states confidently, slipping his hands into the pockets on his slacks and smiling back at me. “If you wanted to do something like that.” He glances back at Bridget, and that same soft expression slips back into place. I swear my heart melts in that moment, and it’s not from the heat of the oven.
“If you think she’d like it, that is,” he adds when I don’t respond right away, and I note how easy this all is with him. He doesn’t wait for an answer as he tells me they have smaller life jackets for kids and then breaks into a story about his grandfather and the Power Rangers life jacket his grandparents got him back in the day.
“I got into trouble for taking it off while the boat was still in dock,” he says and grins at the memory.
“That’s your mom’s dad?” I ask him and he nods, then tells me all about his family. That’s something I don’t have anymore. All I have left of my mother is her watch and the memories. A family is something I could never give Bridget on my own. I’m engrossed in the story he tells without glancing at me, still watching Bridget.
I hadn’t realized exactly why he scared me until this moment. New love is dangerous and I’m so very aware I’m falling for him. If I’m honest with myself, I’ve already fallen and there’s no going back.
Brody
“I feel like …” Griffin sets his fork down before finishing his thought and it clinks on his now empty plate. His brow is pinched as he stares down to the end of the dining room table. The sun’s set since we sat down to eat and it seems like the chandelier above the small table is shining like a spotlight on that little girl. “And maybe this is just me,” Griffin says, raising his hands in a defensive gesture.
A smirk kicks up the corners of my lips. He’s the polite one. My mother made that comment when she first met him. He’s lean, nerdy, and polite as they come. But something about the look in his eyes tells me he’s about to put his foot in his mouth. Judging by Renee’s fork halting midair and her side-eye zeroing in on him, I bet she thinks so too. “It just seems like she shouldn’t be allowed near both pasta sauce and any type of cloth whatsoever.” Griffin’s gaze is locked on the subject at hand, Bridget. She has one hand holding a chunk of pasta to her fork, and then she uses those chubby little fingers to shovel bite-size pieces of lasagna into her mouth as if finishing first is a competition.
The smile that grows on Magnolia’s face is contagious. Even if she is attempting to hide it behind her glass of red wine, which is barely even a glass compared to what Renee poured the rest of us.
“She’s a little lady.” Renee’s statement is Bridget’s defense and it makes her smile this toothy little grin. “And she can use the whole tablecloth as a napkin if she’d like,” Renee concludes and Magnolia cocks a brow in quiet protest before stating her opposition: “I think not.”
A rough chuckle leaves me, which brings Magnolia’s nervous gaze back to me. Ever since we sat down, I haven’t been able to say much. All I’ve done is watched Bridget. Griffin is playing the part of investigator, asking her a hundred questions. I’m damn grateful for Griffin and Renee being here and carrying on the conversation.
Dinner’s been easygoing, but there’s a stirring of anxiousness inside of me that won’t quit. I find myself staring at Bridget and then looking up to catch Magnolia staring at me. The second we make eye contact, hers lower to her now empty plate.
“She’s usually a little neater,” Magnolia comments and reaches over with a cloth napkin to wipe her daughter’s face. It’s more than obvious that she loves her daughter. She’s almost careful with her, but it’s something more. Defensive, in a way I haven’t noticed before. Closed off and protective, like she’s resistant to any and maybe even all of this.
We’re both walking on eggshells in this uncharted territory and that’s fine by me. I’m just grateful to be allowed to join them.
“Besides, the place mat is doing its job,” she adds. The traceable letters on the plastic sheet beneath Bridget’s plate are covered in smears of red sauce as well.
Griffin purses his lips and focuses on Bridget, who obviously loves all the attention. “I feel like she’s the kind of girl who will lick her plate.” I’ve discovered she’s bright, but funny. She could be a class clown or a star student; I’m not sure which would win out.
Renee agrees with the licking the plate comment and backs up his statement, saying, “She’s done it before.”
Bridget smiles wide and nods in agreement.
“She’s a smart girl and happy.” I don’t realize I’ve spoken out loud until Magnolia’s voice chimes in, laced with pride. “She is.” She’s a mini-Magnolia. A tiny carbon copy. Everything about her, from her mannerisms to her expressions, is reminiscent of her mother.
Magnolia’s place is small like my apartment, but I find myself thinking about whether or not we could afford something bigger, or if she’d want me to move in here. Or maybe she’d want to move in with me. I could see myself coming home to them. My imagination is rampant, my thoughts scattered. All of them focused on two very different questions:
What if I’m her father?
What if I’m not, but I don’t want to let go of Magnolia?
These are questions that shouldn’t be hitting me every five minutes since I’ve planted my ass in this seat. Every time I think it’s way too soon to even think about that, another side of me counters that it’s way too late and I’ve missed too much as it is.
With my throat tight, I’m overwhelmed by it all. “You said the bathroom is down the hall?” I ask Magnolia before I can stop myself. Heat flares its way through me and all I can think is that I’m embarrassed I’m not confident in a damn thing right now.
It’s too much in this moment. This little girl changes everything and I am barely keeping myself together.
The second I close the door to the powder blue half bath, I turn the faucet on high and lean my palms against the counter, bracing myself as I hunch over the sink.
Deep breaths in and out keep me still. My chest rises and falls with each one.
I shouldn’t be breaking down. I shouldn’t be thinking of my grandfather and my mother and how close my family used to be growing up. I don’t even know if Bridget’s mine or what Magnolia thinks of us being more than a rekindled fling.
I don’t have any answers and it’s fucking destroying me. “Keep your shit together,” I command myself as I lift my gaze to the mirror.
Even still, I can’t shake the feeling like everything has changed and that she’s my daughter. From deep within the marrow of my bones I feel it: she’s my little girl.
Stuffing that thought down, I head back expecting to see everyone right where they were, but that’s not the case at all.
Renee’s seated with Bridget in her lap, cross-legged on the floor of the living room. They’re leaned up against the coffee table with chocolate cupcakes in hand, laser focused on whatever cartoon is on the TV.
The clatter of dishes being washed turns my attention to Magnolia in the kitchen.
Before I can utter a word, Griffin slaps a hand down on the kitchen island to get my attention. “You ready to go?” he asks me. I don’t know if ending the night right now is an out for me, or if it’s what I’m supposed to do or what Magnolia wants. Griffin locks his eyes with mine and I have never wanted to be a telepath more in my life. He isn’t giving me shit, just waiting for an answer.
“You need help?” I offer the only thing I can think, raising my voice to Magnolia so she can hear it over the running water.
Her motions stop and she looks over her shoulder toward me with a dish in hand. When she shakes her head, her wavy blond locks flow down her shoulders. Her blue eyes don’t give anything away at all.
“Let me show you out.” Leaving the dishwasher open, half-ful
l with the rest of the plates in the sink, Magnolia leads us to the door. Not before offering me a cupcake, though, which Griffin takes two of. He’s the one with the sweet tooth, so no doubt he’ll eat both of them.
My heart pounds and adrenaline races through me as we walk to the door. I can’t help but feel like this has changed everything, and I hope she feels it too. The intensity, but not the pressure for it to go perfectly.
“I had a great time,” I tell her as she opens the door.
“See you later, little lady,” Griffin comments and Renee jokes back. Something about which one; I can barely hear their conversation as Magnolia plants a quick kiss on my lips.
Far too quick. It was all far too fast. I wish I could go back and live it all over again.
The tension thickens quickly as she backs away and widens the door. The nervous prick at the back of my neck wants me to go to her and not leave, but it’s ended far too abruptly. Griffin’s tone is upbeat and light as he bids her farewell. “Thanks for dinner, Mags.”
“Have a good night, guys … I’ll talk to you soon?” she asks me like it isn’t a given.
“I’ll text you when we get home.”
The second the door is closed, I can’t hold it in any longer. “There’s no doubt in my mind that little girl is mine,” I confess to him just beneath my breath. The crickets chirp around us and the sky’s turned black. Speaking the words out loud is what does it. My gaze is hot compared to the warm night, the back of my eyes itching and when Griffin asks me what I’ve said, I hurry my ass down the steps to my truck. I don’t answer him until he asks again as I turn the engine over while he buckles his seatbelt.
“Nothing important,” I answer him and stare up at her door. “I don’t remember what I said,” I lie to him, to keep from crying. He asks me if I’m all right and I shake it off then ask him to turn on the radio.
Robert
“I don’t know what you were thinking.” My father’s voice drones on from behind his desk. I can barely focus on him and his tirade. The deep ache that’s etched into my chest refuses to leave. There’s no soothing it, only distractions. It’s just as it was years ago, back when I lost her the first time.
My father’s back is to me as he stares out of the large paned window in his office. Turning to look over his shoulder, he shakes his head in disappointment and then his brow furrows, his attention taken by something in the backyard. The dogs, most likely.
“Marriage,” he scoffs. The knife digs in deeper. There’s no doubt now it wasn’t just time that Magnolia needed. Swallowing thickly, I rid myself of the image of Brody and the way he looks at her … and the way she stares back at him.
Breathing in deep, I catch a hint of the tobacco that creeps from the humidor in the corner of his old office. “Seriously, Robert—” he continues and I lean back in the wingback chair. My thumb runs over a crack in the curved armrest as I interrupt him and say, “I was thinking I’d like her to marry me.”
That gets my father’s attention and earns me a stern, narrow gaze that eases just as quickly as it came. As I feel a sickening chill from the memory of the last time I sat in this office, suggesting she marry me, the color drains from my father’s face.
He may be a hard old man, but he knows what she means to me. Or at least I thought he did until he called this meeting.
“It wasn’t a good look—”
“I don’t care how it looked.” It was worth it. Anything I can do to hold on to her is worth it. However it looks, and however painful it is for her to turn me down.
“And it wouldn’t have been appealing even if she’d said yes.”
Appealing?
My jaw clenches, the back of my teeth grinding as I hold in every profane word I desperately want to spew at his opinion. The inclination to show respect is ingrained in me, even if there’s not an ounce of it sincerely present.
I don’t give a damn how it would have looked. For once, I just wanted her to love me and to know I’d have her forever. As much as the confession wishes to slip out, the deep-seated anguish I harbor keeps the thoughts from running away. She said no for a reason and somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew she would. I know she won’t ever choose me again. Accepting that truth is too heavy a burden.
One my father doesn’t seem to mind pointing out.
“Well, I think we both knew she wasn’t going to say yes.”
My knuckles turn white as I grip the armrest and answer him with only a nod.
“Then why go through with it?” My father’s exasperation isn’t hidden as he opens the window and whistles to get the dogs’ attention, scolding them for going into my mother’s garden. If the screen weren’t there, I have no doubt he would lean out of it.
I used to love being here. Not just in this office, but being home. It used to feel like that … like a home. Ever since my mother got sick and my father stepped back from work, it’s turned into a place of strategy, stale with disappointment.
“Did you even think about what that would do to your career?” There’s a hint of desperation, of a father urging his son to make the right choices. Years ago, I listened to that tone and clung to it with everything I had in me. That was before I realized that even if he thought it was right, it didn’t mean it was right for me.
“There’s a lot at stake in the next five years,” he says, finally taking his seat across from me and the dim light casts shadows on his face, making him look older than he is. The long days in the sun and years of smoking certainly didn’t do his youth any favors either.
“I am aware,” I comment, crossing my ankle over my knee and trying not to think about the state my father’s in. Taking care of my mother is practically a full-time job and he’s a stubborn man on the verge of losing everything. My mother to Alzheimer’s, his career because his time has been dedicated to her … and then there’s me.
“It would look good to have a family. Wouldn’t it?” I can’t help rebutting. With Magnolia and Bridget … “We’d make a good-looking family.” My voice lowers with the thought and I can’t hide the taste of the bitter pill I had to swallow in the last comment. It doesn’t go unnoticed by my father, and again the tension increases.
Ever since he told me to break up with Magnolia, things have been tense between us when she’s mentioned.
I understand why he did it. There was a scandal concerning her father about to break, and I couldn’t be attached to it so early into my political career. I was only twenty-one and had just gotten the internship that would set me on the right track. He was looking out for me, and I didn’t know which way the wind was blowing or what to even think. It wasn’t supposed to happen the way it did and had the plan worked, she would be my wife. I’d have that beautiful family with my first love. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
It was a temporary breakup. When she came home from college and the scandal had died down, I’d beg her to take me back. I still have fucking nightmares over that phone call. Hearing her voice hitch before she sobbed and being unable to tell her the truth shredded me. Knowing I was knocking over the first domino in a series where each one falling only cemented her hatred for me that much more.
I knew it would hurt, but I didn’t even give her a reason. In hindsight, maybe that made it worse. If my father hadn’t been in the room, I would have told her it was fake. I’d have made her promise to lie. As it stands, I did what I thought I had to do to protect her. It never should have happened at all. I shouldn’t have gambled with the only thing I ever wanted. I’m half a man without her.
“If I could go back, I would.” I utter the hard truth I’ve known since the second I ended that call. When other emotions threaten to take the forefront, I pinch the bridge of my nose as if it’s a headache and not regret that makes me do so.
“What you need to be doing is preparing your speech for the presentation on Monday,” my father says, diverting the conversation.
He’s only told me he was sorry once. I’m sorry every goddamn day of my
life. Hurting her was meant to be a small sacrifice and would ultimately lead to saving her. My father promised it was for the best. Her name wouldn’t be mentioned if we weren’t together.
The papers called wanting a lead, and suggested my relationship with her father involved more than just dating his daughter. The angle of the article was that her father’s scheming was a family affair.
It didn’t just help me for my father to tell them we weren’t together any longer. It was to keep her name free of it all too, or so he said.
She wasn’t supposed to come home and bear the brunt of it. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. Her father is a bastard for dying when he did.
“Show them around town, deliver your speech.” My father continues, emphasizing each action with a rap of his knuckles on the hard maple desk. “The next morning, you put that pressure on until they sign the deal.”
“I’m aware.”
“Good.” The single word is a strong indication this meeting is over, so I prepare myself to leave, to deal with everything else. An endless to-do list and emails that can’t wait. Unfortunately, my father’s tone softens and he asks, “Have you spoken to your mother?
“Have I spoken to her about what?” The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Four years ago when she was first diagnosed, it was upsetting, but my mother was still my mother. Alzheimer’s has a way of stealing people from you. The progression has been slow but sure. The thread in our family has withered away just as much as her memory has. My mother’s friends hardly call on her anymore. They don’t know how she is these days. No one in this town knows … except for Magnolia. Although she doesn’t know the extent of it. Only what I’ve told her at my weakest moments. My mother was never kind to Mags. The two didn’t get along and I know it’s because of the way my mom talked to her … and about her.
“That you asked her to marry you.”
“To hell with that. I haven’t. No.” She barely remembers who Magnolia is anymore. Bridget, though, she remembers.
Autumn Night Whiskey (Tequila Rose Book 2) Page 6