by Mariah Dietz
Smiling, I nod my understanding. “Did you find something good to watch?”
“Yeah, this is my favorite movie.”
“Ninja Turtles. Nice.”
“You want to watch it with me?” Hayden asks.
“Yeah, just give me a second with your mom, okay?”
Hayden shrugs his approval, moving his attention back to the TV. Reluctance leaves Ella at his side, but she looks at me, and finally I realize what this is all about.
“Just the hall,” I assure her.
If it weren’t about Hayden, I’d have the conversation with her here, but the last thing he needs is more to fear. Ella kisses his forehead and stands. Meeting her halfway, we share a look, one filled with promises and trust that I don’t have to search for a response to, because her fingers twine with mine and she leads us to the hall where she pushes the door closed.
Releasing her hand, I run all ten of my fingers through her hair and then kiss each of her temples before pulling back to see what degree that fire in her eyes is burning.
“I can’t believe she invited him to my house,” she exclaims. “I barely know the guy and she told him about Hayden, his name, my address. What if he’s some kind of murderer?”
“I think she wanted it to be like a double date,” I explain.
“Of course that’s what she wanted. She’s obsessed with you! I swear. And I’ve been so worried about hurting her feelings that I think I’ve only compounded the issue. Now I’m so angry with her that I don’t even care if she’s upset. I just want to scream it so she knows, and she gets out of my personal life.”
“She’s your best friend,” I remind her. “She’s always going to be in your personal life.” I can’t believe I’m defending Rachel, especially when I agree on every front that inviting this clown over was a mistake. “I’ll make sure nothing happens, and I’ll stay over. You don’t need to worry about anything.”
“Do you think we should just go down there and tell them both?”
Resting my hands on her waist, I stare at the conflict happening in her eyes, knowing she’s far more worried about the possible outcome of this situation than she’s trying to admit to herself. “I think it’s your call. Whatever is going to make you the most comfortable is what we’ll do. If you want to go now, we can. I’ll explain it to them, or if you want to wait until that guy’s gone, I can stick around and help do it then, or we can go with your original plan.”
We stand in the hallway together for several moments as she debates the options, and I can tell she doesn’t want to make the decision, so I try to make an easier choice for her.
“Do you want me to stay up here with Hayden for a while or come down with you?”
“Come with me?” she asks. “I can’t be down there by myself.” She lifts a hand in the air. “But, can you help tag-team watching Garret with me?”
“Tag-team? I’m going to watch the asshole’s every move until he leaves.”
Ella smiles and leans into me. “Is this what jealousy looks like on you?”
“Are you implying that I have something to be jealous about?”
“Depends.” Her eyes narrow.
“On what?” I ask.
“Will you keep looking at me like I’m yours if I tell you there’s nothing to worry about?”
I pull her hips against me, then release my grip with one hand to run it through her hair again. “You just haven’t been paying attention. I’ve been looking at you like you’re mine since I first saw you.”
Ella tilts her head back and kisses me hard, with the same passion that resonates within me.
“Think if we wait up here long enough they’ll get the hint and go home?” she asks.
I don’t tell her what I’m actually thinking, which is that we’re likely making things worse for ourselves. Instead, I smile, because that kiss was worth having to face the most difficult of tasks.
Ella heads down first, and I visit Hayden for a few moments, watching what he refers to as an epic fight that his mom usually makes him fast-forward. When the scene ends, Hayden turns to me and leans back farther into the pillows.
“You know how you said you like my mom a lot?”
I nod and lie back too.
“My dad says he likes my mom a lot too, but he’s married to Lindsay…”
My face turns somber. I can’t imagine how difficult it’s been for Hayden to understand their relationship, and I’m sure I’ve done nothing but add more questions and turbulence to the equation.
“I like you being around,” Hayden says. “I really hope you don’t marry someone else.”
I’m not sure if he’s insinuating what I think he is or anything at all, but I try to reassure him with a smile. “I like being around too. You and your mom make me really happy, and I plan on being around a lot.”
Hayden’s blue eyes burn bright as he stares at me for a prolonged moment, and then nods. And like that, whatever he was considering, he’s at peace with because he turns back to his movie with a serene look upon his face.
I’m frozen in time, debating whether I should be attempting some sage advice, or asking him more questions about what he’s thinking or feeling like Ella does. Then, I think of what my father would have done in a situation like this, and realize he likely wouldn’t be up here to begin with, and think that while I may not be the perfect example for Hayden—I want to be.
I want to be what is best for him, and it isn’t only because Ella has crawled so deeply under my skin, it’s because Hayden has too.
“You know what’s pretty cool?”
Blue eyes stare at me, and I see that spark of hope that sometimes lights his mother’s.
Don’t fuck this up.
“You know how you’ve been debating which position to play with baseball?”
“Yeah.” Hayden sits up.
I attempt to match his body language, squaring my shoulders. “Well …when you get older … much older, some of your relationships will be kind of like that. You’ll have to decide who you want to spend your life with. It’s a big decision, but you’ll know when you meet the right person because everything will feel different. Better.
But there are many other relationships in your life with friends, and teammates, and colleagues where you don’t have to make a decision.”
His furrowed brow confirms I’m confusing him.
“For example, I have four sisters and a brother, but I don’t have a favorite sibling. I love them equally. My brother and I play sports together and like to watch movies. My youngest sister and I watch baseball together. And my older sisters are really great to talk to when I’m struggling with making a decision.”
“Are you guys going to have a baby?”
I cough, the shock of Hayden’s question causing me to choke.
“No.” I shake my head, but the thought filters through my mind, and my no becomes less vigorous. “What I’m trying to tell you, is regardless of what the future brings—you and me—we’ll remain close. You can trust me, and if you want to talk about anything, or play baseball, or go see a movie, or whatever—I’m there. You don’t have to worry about choosing between me and someone else.”
He turns his attention back to the TV. Concerned I’ve overstepped, I prepare to say something more. Explain he doesn’t have to tell me anything or feel obligated to spend time with me. Nothing.
Hayden nods and his eyes shift back to me. “You saved my life. Twice. But that isn’t why I love you. You’re nice. And you’re really nice to my mom. You’re funny, and you come to my baseball games. Plus, you don’t treat me like I’m a kid, or like you have to put up with me.”
Those three words are said so often, so easily, and too regularly mean so little. There’s no way Hayden has lived long enough to understand the ramification of them, but he also hasn’t learned to be superficial or abuse the term either, making them genuine and sincere.
“I love you too, buddy.” With my arms wrapped tightly around him, I pledge to be the
first to tell him those words next time. To say them often and earnestly.
24
Ella
I stir the baked beans a final time before turning off the burner. Garret steps behind me, and I try to smile while considering a dozen things to ask him. I have countless safe surface topics for discussion in my dating arsenal, but as his hand goes to my waist, my thoughts stop.
My heart stops.
My lungs stop.
And yet, the world seems to spin faster. I step away from Garret’s side, bringing the pan over to where I’ve already set a bowl out to pour the contents of the pan into. I’m not sure if I’m moving away from him so quickly because I don’t want him touching me or because I’m afraid of Coen’s reaction—or both.
Undeterred, Garret follows me, and though he doesn’t touch me again, he stands too close.
“Can I get you something to drink?” he asks.
“I’m good, thanks. I’m just going to get a plate for Hayden, and then we can start eating.”
“He isn’t going to join us?” Garret asks.
I look over his shoulder at Coen who’s watching us as he talks to Rachel about something. I’ve never liked jealous guys. It’s never been a trait I’ve wanted when considering my perfect match, and though I like the way Coen’s focus moves when Garret’s hands do, the fact that he remains so calm and easy going becomes just another reason on the mile-long list of reasons I like him.
I turn my gaze to Garret and don’t bother trying to force a smile or even appear patient. “Like I said, he’s tired tonight.”
“Garret, you want to help us?” Rachel calls. “Can you grab the lighter for these candles? It’s in the top right hand drawer next to the dishwasher.”
“Candles?” The word is a thought that somehow skips all my filters, and I phrase it as a question with more attitude than it had in my head.
Rachel looks up, her hands frozen midair with two large orange votive candles. “We don’t have to.”
“No, no. I’m sorry. I just … I’m just tired too. Candles are great.”
“I just thought it could help make things a bit more festive, and help with the smell of all these onions.” Rachel laughs nervously. I’ve embarrassed her, and in doing so, hurt her feelings.
“Sure.” I reach for the lighter and hand it to Garret, my thoughts of the candles forgotten as I ramble about what a great idea they are.
I fill a plate for Hayden, and unlike last time when my mind was focused only on Hayden’s safety, I consider what will transpire while I’m upstairs. Will Garret say something to heighten the unease? Will Rachel make a move on Coen?
This past week has been exhausting. I’ve been trying to maintain this façade at work that nothing is wrong because I’ve already received dozens of comments over the past years when Hayden has gotten sick or something like baseball or a school play has had me leaving early. Regardless of all the additional hours, long nights, and weekends that deepen my guilt for not giving Hayden my undivided attention, those extra hours are forgotten the moment I leave an hour early, even if I put in two additional hours in the morning. I know that not going in all week has everyone assuming I’m doing absolutely nothing, and Hayden has been upset because I keep missing all the punch lines in the movies, and have to be reminded it’s my turn while we play board games. This barbecue was supposed to be an end of one of the biggest causes of stress in my life, which is telling my best friend the truth. Admitting to her that I like Coen as more than a friend and trying not to break her heart in the process.
“Hey, Mom.” Hayden presses pause and smiles.
Guilt and fear release my heart with that one look from the person who means the most to me in this world.
“Hungry?” I ask.
His smile fades. He’s broaching that age where his trust isn’t so easily repaired, and now that it’s been so severely damaged, he seems skeptical of even me. All week it’s been adding to my rage with Patrick.
I set the plate on the nightstand closest to him and sit beside my son. “Hayden, I swear, you’re safe. I will never, ever, ever give you anything made with peanuts or that has been exposed to peanuts or anything else that could hurt you. I promise.”
His eyes well up and he looks to the ceiling, because he’s also at the age where he no longer thinks it’s acceptable to cry—even in front of his mom. “I don’t want to go to Dad’s this weekend.”
I hate admitting how relieved I am to hear that. I don’t want him to go either. “How come?”
“Dad’s never there.”
My gut twists.
“Lindsay is always busy.”
My stomach rolls.
“And I don’t want to die.”
My heart aches.
With my eyes burning with unshed tears, I wrap my arms around Hayden and feel the dampness on his cheeks against my neck.
I want to promise him that I can protect him. That I will protect him. Hayden’s safety and happiness have always been the epicenter of my anxiety, and when I can’t make these promises because he isn’t in my care, it creates a crushing feeling on my entire body.
“I’ll call your dad and cancel, and we’ll figure things out, okay?”
Hayden grips my neck tighter, not ready for me to let go, and I hold him just as tightly.
When I make my way back downstairs, the three are standing in the kitchen with Rachel being the perfect Southern host she always is, keeping conversation light, easy, and continuous with the assistance of margaritas and lots of laughter—mostly on her part.
“We thought you decided to eat upstairs,” Garret says. “Is everything okay?”
I want to scream that it’s not. That nothing is okay right now, from feeling obligated to work additional hours for my job with no appreciation or credit. To the threat of Patrick potentially damaging Coen’s career and needing to tell him that our son doesn’t feel safe in his care. To telling my best friend that I have been sleeping with the guy she likes. And the most not-okay part of this week is that my son literally died this week, and all I want to do is cry and hold him and shove the rest of the world outside my front door and lock it.
But I take a deep breath, push my shoulders back, and smile. “It smells so good down here. We should eat!”
My kitchen table that is too often used as an additional workspace for me has been transformed into a picture from a magazine with a tablecloth, centerpiece, and candles surrounded by bowls overfilled with food. It’s nothing like what I had imagined when I suggested we do the barbecue at my house where I would pick up some tater tots and spicy curly fries, a jug of potato salad and a watermelon, and watch Hayden play outside in the sprinkler with Shakespeare while Coen grills.
I realize, as the thought percolates through my mind again that I was never including Rachel in that idea. I hadn’t considered what she would be doing or feeling, because if I had, I wouldn’t be so shocked to see what’s transpired tonight.
Coen stands behind me, his chest grazing my back. I want to lean against him so badly. Tell him about Hayden’s concerns and discuss how I’m going to approach things with Patrick, but Rachel walks to one of the six empty chairs at the table and looks to Coen. “Why don’t you sit here, Coen?”
There are two additional settings across from where Rachel and Coen are now seated, and when Garret takes the one across from Coen, I feel as though I’m a million miles from him.
Dishes are passed around along with polite conversation that I work to steer.
I don’t taste my food, or pay enough attention to what we’re talking about though I’m contributing. Garret keeps placing his hand on my thigh, and on my hand, and on my back, and by the time I’m done eating, my patience is shot.
“Can we talk for a minute?” I look to Garret.
“We haven’t had dessert yet,” Rachel interjects.
I look to her, upset because I’ve finally built up the gumption to take him outside and apologize for the confusion and try to break things off ami
cably, and she knows me well enough to know that’s my intention. I know she saw me scooting my chair over each time I pretended to need to move so I could get a little more of something.
“Why don’t we give them a moment? We can clear these dishes up,” Coen says.
“I made a sheet cake,” Rachel insists.
Cocking my head to the side, I glare at her, but she refuses to acknowledge me. Poor Garret, however, does, and I know by the way he keeps his hands at his sides as he walks toward me that he knows what’s coming just like my best friend does.
We stand in my foyer facing each other. Garret’s smile is polite and shy. “I understand you aren’t ready yet. Rachel explained to me about your ex and how messy that situation was, and I get it. I don’t want you to rush into anything you aren’t ready for.”
Offense compounds with frustration and I shake my head. “He has nothing to do with this, with us,” I explain. “I met someone and I should have reached out to you and let you know, but things have just been really busy, and it was kind of unexpected. You seem like a really nice guy, and I’m so sorry to have given you the wrong impression. I truly hope you find the right person and until then keep enjoying those little guys you have back at home.”
He smiles graciously though defeat pulls the edges of his lips into a frown. “Thank you for being honest with me.”
“I really hope you find your happiness, Garret.”
As the door closes behind him, my nerves duplicate because telling Rachel this same news is going to be a thousand times harder.
“What went wrong?” she cries as I enter the kitchen. “He was so nice. You were laughing. He looks normal. Why did you break up with him?”
Coen stills from where he’s dropping biscuits into a bag. He doesn’t look at me and question if I want his support, already volunteering it by becoming attentive and quiet.
“Coen, do you mind checking on Hayden?” I ask.
He glances at me, his brown eyes warm with support and understanding as he nods.