Could Be Something Good

by Fiona West

  “What are her other symptoms?” Kyle asked, leaning his hip against the doorway to the kitchen. “You know, I just read that women with stage 1 high blood pressure during their first trimester had 2.5 times greater risk associated with developing preeclampsia.”

  Winnie frowned. “Yes, I read that, too. I’m concerned about her, but I’m not sure what more I can do.”

  Frowning. She was frowning now, thinking about work, just when he’d finally gotten her to think about something else. This would not fly.

  “That’s a bummer,” Daniel said. “Kyle, can I talk to you for a minute upstairs?”

  “Sure. Can I just—”

  Daniel put his hands on his hips. “No. I’ll be right back, Fred.”

  Her amused glance told him that she had an inkling about what their conversation might entail. “You want your butter heated?”

  “That’d be great, thanks.” Daniel thundered up the narrow carpeted stairway; Kyle came up slower, his expression wary.

  “Twice. Twice now, you’ve interrupted us.”

  Kyle nodded. “I’d just like to point out that you do have a bedroom in the house . . .”

  “I don’t want to eat crab in my bedroom!”

  “Fair enough, but for other activities . . .”

  “She’s not ready for bedroom activities. But she’s very ready for living room activities, only every time you come home unexpectedly, she jumps up like the house is on fire.” He pressed his hands together in front of his chest. “I am begging you, Kyle. Do not screw this up for me. If you’re coming home early, just shoot me a text. Set off fireworks in front of the house, throw a brick through the front window, send a freaking telegram. Heck, you can even call me—just please, please stop interrupting. Please.”

  Kyle’s hard gaze adjusted by degrees into understanding. “You’re in love with her.”

  Daniel massaged his temples, trying hard to keep his temper. “That’s your opinion, and you’re welcome to it, but what does that have to do with what I just said?”

  “Nothing.” He spun his keys on one finger. “It’s just interesting. I thought I’d mention it in case you didn’t know. And you definitely are.” Kyle turned and opened his bedroom door.

  “Hey, Kyle?” His brother turned in time to catch a pair of smelly socks against his face. “You’re a jerk.”

  Kyle smirked and threw them back. “Fine. I’ll try to communicate if I’m coming home early . . . as soon as you actually pay your rent.” He closed his door.

  “You just keep an eye on your PayPal account, then!” Daniel called through the closed door as he started down the stairs. “It’s gonna be so full, the IRS will think you’re laundering money!”

  Kyle’s door opened again. “Good, maybe it’ll make up for the heating bill. I know you turned up the thermostat again! It’s downright equatorial in here!”

  With a sigh, Daniel took the stairs two at a time and landed at the bottom with a thump. Both chairs were empty. “Winnie?”

  “In here,” she called from the kitchen. He came through the doorway just in time to watch her bend over and put the bread in the oven, and he suddenly felt bad that he’d made fun of Kyle for watching Ainsley. Turned out, it was a pretty great pastime when it was attached to someone you really cared about. You’re in love with her. Crazy. He just thought she was classy and gorgeous and brave and intelligent and wanted to make her laugh and take her to bed and give her presents that made her eyes light up and die for her if necessary.

  “Daniel?” He could feel his face twisting with the realization that he was definitely in love, but he couldn’t stop it. Winnie came over to him, oven mitts still on her hands, and rubbed his upper arms. “Are you okay? You look like you might pass out.”

  “No, no, I’m okay. Here, let me do that, I’m supposed to be doing things for you, not the other way around.”

  “I don’t mind. It was better than sitting alone while you yelled at your brother.”

  “That wasn’t yelling. And siblings are a blessing you should be glad you never got.”

  “I enjoy your siblings, actually. The ones I’ve met, anyway.”

  He blinked. “Would you like to meet more of them?”

  “Yes, actually.” She smiled. “Does that surprise you?”

  “Yes. But I have no idea why. I guess I’ve never thought about bringing someone home before . . .” He gathered her in his arms, still staring down at her. “But you seem like the perfect person to start with.”

  “I was voted least likely to be intimidated in high school.” She frowned. “They clearly didn’t know about my relationship with my mother. Or Ethan. Okay, so they really didn’t know me at all.”

  Daniel kissed her. “But you do give off an authoritative vibe. I noticed it right away. It’s hot.”

  Winnie giggled. “Is it? Then I say let’s go finish our dinner before the butter congeals again . . .”

  “Yes, ma’am.” They went back to the table, and much to his own disappointment, he couldn’t think of another reason for her to sit on his lap again. Regardless, this night was back on track. His hopes were officially up. This would be the first of many.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  ON TUESDAY NIGHT, WINNIE was roasting red peppers in the oven for her spaghetti. It wasn’t as much fun as over the open flame of the gas burners at her mom’s house. She didn’t want to admit it, but she was melancholy over the whole thing. Even when she didn’t see her, they usually at least texted every few days. As it was, she’d heard nothing from her in ten days, and their interactions at work had been clinical and cold. Winnie hadn’t seen her at all the last few days.

  Someone knocked at the front door. Surprised, she wiped her oily hands on her blue denim apron and went to answer it. She peeked through the peephole: it was a man she didn’t know. His shoulders were tight, and he was looking around as if he didn’t want anyone to see him here. Strange. His hair was auburn and neatly gelled into place, his eyebrows thick; he wore a light beard that looked neat and intentional. He was well-dressed in a tailored black suit, his lavender tie perfectly complementing the rest of the outfit. But she didn’t know him, and it wasn’t her habit to answer the door to strange men while she was alone, so she went back to the kitchen. Another knock came.

  “Starla?” the man called. “Baby, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. This is just a misunderstanding, nothing happened. Open the door. Please.”

  That had Winnie marching back to the front door, wishing she had boots on. The effect of her bare feet stomping against the thin carpet was very unsatisfying.

  The man seemed startled to see her.

  “You must be Charlie.”

  “Yeah,” he said, rubbing his hands together slowly. “Is Starla here?”

  “I’m afraid not. Can I help you with something?”

  “Well, I was just looking for Starla,” he repeated, still looking around. “Who are you?” He craned his neck a little, clearly trying to get a better look inside.

  “I’m Winifred Baker. This is my apartment.” She leaned her hip against the doorframe, her arms crossed.

  “Oh,” he said, his face breaking into a slow smile. “Star mentioned Ainsley had a new roommate, but I hadn’t had the pleasure yet. Hope you don’t mind her coming around with the kids all the time. I’m Charlie Miller; I own Miller’s Chevy dealership in Aumsville, me and my brother Jason.” He stuck out his hand. Winnie did not move. Wait, Jason and Lacey’s baby is also Starla’s niece? Wait, Jason, sweet, distractible, supportive Jason is related to Starla’s crappy husband? How did I not put that together? These small-town family trees were complicated sometimes.

  “Mr. Miller, your wife isn’t here, but she and your children are always welcome. I encourage you to keep looking for her. I’m sure she deserves whatever apology you were about to make, and then some.”

  His mouth was still hanging open when she shut the door. Ten minutes later, someone knocked again. She thought she’d heard him stomping down the stairs,
but she’d turned up the music after she’d excused him, so perhaps she’d heard wrong. She peeked through the peephole again.

  Mom. Without thinking about it, she whipped open the door. “Mom,” she croaked.

  “Winifred.” Her voice was crisp, but her eyes were rimmed with red. “May I come in?”

  “Of course.” After her mother stepped inside, she poked her head out, and sure enough, there was Charlie, sitting in his silver Tahoe, talking on his phone. How long was he going to wait out there? Did he still think Starla was here? She pushed those questions aside for the moment as she shut the door. Her mother stood in her living room, back straight, holding her purse like it was a trigger to a bomb she was keeping from going off.

  “Let me just . . .” Winnie hurried to the kitchen and took out the peppers, which were beautifully black. At least they were hard to mess up; they needed to cool before she could remove the skins, anyway. “Would you like to sit down?”

  Sandra sat in a wooden kitchen chair, her legs together, her shoes still on, still clenching her purse. “I’ve taken some time to think; that’s why I was away from work.”

  “I thought you were sick.”

  “Well, I had to save face somehow.” She sighed. “I’m not happy about it, but after a lot of soul searching, I realize that this was my dream for you. I see now that I was wrong to pressure you. I should let you choose your own way.”

  “And?”

  “I hear you that medical school is not in your future. I should have realized that I was pushing you too hard, that you could’ve passed the MCATs in your sleep . . . It never did exactly make sense.”

  For once, Winnie didn’t wince. She didn’t look at her shoes. She just stared at her mother and let her hurt show as the tears started falling.

  “Did you tell Ethan that I wasn’t an adult? Did you tell him to give me another chance?”

  Her mother looked aghast. “No. I barely spoke to him when he called; he asked if you were retaking the MCATs, and I said I thought so. He wasn’t right for you at all, no offense.”

  “I thought you loved him. You two were always exchanging books and news articles.”

  Her mother raised an eyebrow. “He was important to you. I was being polite. He occasionally had interesting thoughts on current events . . . but no. He wasn’t my image of an ideal mate for you.”

  “Oh.” This was going better than Winnie could’ve possibly projected, and she hadn’t even needed Daniel’s intervention. She pulled out her phone to text and find out where he was when her mother paused at the door.

  “There was one other thing . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “On the subject of boyfriends, I did see you leaving the hospital with Daniel Durand the other day, looking very cozy. Make sure you keep your distance there.”

  “Keep my distance? Why?”

  “Oh, Winifred.” She was shaking her head. “How could you get involved with him? How could you think this was a good idea?”

  “It’s not like there’s a waiting list of people interested, Mom. I’m over thirty. And honestly? I really like Daniel. And he really likes me.”

  Sandra scoffed. “Don’t kid yourself, Winifred. He’s young. This is a passing fad for him. I’ve heard people around the hospital talk; he’s constantly on the prowl. He’s very popular with a certain class of women.”

  “And what class is that, Mother?”

  “Women who aren’t interested in relationships.”

  “So you think he just wants to have sex with me?”

  She sniffed. “Well, I wouldn’t put it so bluntly, but yes, I do.”

  “So how long would you give it before the relationship flames out without sex?”

  “Eight weeks.”

  “Deal.”

  Sandra scowled. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’ll take your bet. I won’t have sex with Daniel. I won’t even kiss him, if you think it’ll make a difference. And if we’re still together in eight weeks, then you withdraw your objections. Do we have a deal?”

  Her mother tipped her head, scrutinizing her carefully. “No sexual intimacy of any kind? Because there are other things that—”

  “Mom.” Winnie resisted the urge to cover her ears rather than listen to her mother clinically describe various types of outercourse. “No, no intimacy of any kind. I swear.” She held out her right hand.

  “You can still kiss him,” she said, giving her a firm handshake. “Though I don’t recommend it if you want to win.”

  “We’re not teenagers, Mom. We can control ourselves.”

  “You may be able to. I have my doubts about him.”

  “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

  “Sadly, I have a previous engagement.”

  “A previous engagement that doesn’t involve a TV dinner and a stuffy literary work?”

  “There’s no need for that tone, Winifred.”

  Winnie laughed as her mom stood. “Oh, Mom. I missed you.” She pulled her mom into a hug, her Chanel perfume covering the faint scent of disinfectant that always lingered on her. Sandra embraced her back, and Winnie heard the sniffle that indicated tears.

  “I missed you, too, Winnie.”

  Her mother stayed and chatted just a few more minutes as she peeled the peppers and finished the spaghetti sauce simmering on the stove. She rushed to change her clothes a few minutes before Daniel was due to arrive, but pulled up short in front of her closet. She’d planned to wear her moss-green cabled sweater and her charcoal-gray pleated skirt . . . but maybe she shouldn’t dress up so much, when she had to be the bearer of bad news. Hearing a knock, she quickly pulled on a pair of jeans and a pale-pink shirt that said “basic” that she’d used to paint her bedroom a few years ago.

  He laughed when she opened the door. “What are you wearing?”

  “It’s casual. I’m casual sometimes.”

  He raised an eyebrow at her as he came in for a kiss. “Not that I’ve observed . . .”

  “Let’s eat.” She still needed to figure out what she was going to say. But there was time. There was time as they passed the Caesar salad and the garlic bread. There was time as he poured her another glass of white. There was time as he washed her dishes (only fair, he said, since she’d cooked—Lord, she liked him), and still a little bit of time as he tugged her over to the couch. She could see the giant clock over the TV, taunting her with every tick as the evening wore on.

  But it was time. She broke their kiss as gently as she could.

  “So,” Winnie started. “I may have done something kind of stupid.”

  Daniel leaned back. “You? Stupid? That doesn’t compute.”

  She chuckled nervously. “Well, maybe wait until I’ve explained . . . I made a deal with my mother.”

  He sat up into his own space, shaking his head. “Wait, you guys are talking again? Win, that’s great.”

  “It is great, it’s really great. She apologized for pressuring me, and she’s going to try to accept that this is what I want to do with my life.”

  He stroked her leg innocently, but it derailed her thoughts nonetheless. “A deal? What kind of deal?”

  “Well, a bet, really.”

  “That doesn’t sound better . . .” He crossed his arms. “And this affects me somehow? What did you wager?”

  She grimaced, pulling her lips to the side. “First of all, I actually think this could be a good thing, in the long run, because we weren’t really friends before we started seeing each other, so we don’t have the long history that—”

  “Fred. Just tell me. I’m not going to be mad.” Given that he already seemed a little bit mad, she wasn’t sure she should really believe that.

  “This will give us time to get to know each other really well, be really in tune with each other, and build that solid foundation for our relationship . . .”

  His confused glare told her it was time to just say it, and she sighed.

  “I told her we wouldn’t have sex for eight weeks.�
� Winnie pulled her T-shirt up over her mouth, burying her face in her clothes as if she could hide from the consequences of her actions. Daniel’s jaw went slack. He stared at her, searching her face as if looking for any hint that she was joking. When he found none, he took a deep breath.

  “I’m just going to step into the bathroom for a moment.”

  “Daniel, I . . .” She moved to go after him, but he held up one finger, and the flaring of his nostrils convinced her to just give him what he’d asked for. He stepped quietly into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. Winnie heard a soft thump-thump-thump, and she guessed he was hitting his head against the wall.

  She was bending her fingers back, biting her lip, when he came back.

  “Daniel, it was stupid, I know—”

  Holding up a finger, he went to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of orange juice. He chugged the whole thing, then set the glass down carefully by the sink.

  “Why . . . why would you promise her that? It’s none of her business what we do together.”

  “That’s true, it isn’t her business. But she started talking about you and how you’re not serious about any of the women you date and how you’d get bored with me . . .”

  Daniel’s gaze hardened at that, but Winnie didn’t stop.

  “I told her,” she murmured, “that we were serious about each other. That it was more than just physical. That it was more than a fling. Was I wrong?”

  “No,” he said, taking her face between his hands. “Hell no. I’m as serious as preeclampsia about you.”

  “Sweetheart, I told you to stop with the medical similes. It’s just weird.”

  “But . . .” His eyes told her he was holding something back, afraid to say it aloud. “Do you . . . I mean, it’s not that you don’t want to, right?”

  “No,” Winnie said sharply, mirroring his hold, needing to be closer.

  “Because if you don’t want to, I’m not going to pressure you.”

  “Daniel, I do want to. I want to so much, I am all the wanting. I swear.”