Ground Rules: Rewritten

by Roya Carmen

It seems we stand there for the longest time, watching her. Chloe and Elizabeth have gone off with Roselyn. A crowd of people surround us; people from all over the world. I hear foreign languages and thick accents. I enjoy studying people, trying to decipher their ethnic origins, guess what they are like, based on the way they carry themselves, on what they wear. I especially enjoy studying young families. Are the couples lucky; the ones who truly love each other? Or are they just going through the motions? I always think about Gabe and me. Are we just going through the motions? I’ve always been convinced we’re not, that we’re the lucky ones.

  But today, despite all the people surrounding us, it seems like there’s just the three of us. Weston, me, and Claire.

  And the giant giraffe.

  We make our way to the doll displays. Chloe seems awestruck with the fashion dolls. Elizabeth tells her she has twelve of them. Twelve!

  “You are so lucky,” Chloe tells her.

  Elizabeth tells her she’s brought her favorite along, a doll by the name of Emma. Apparently we’re all going to the American Girl Café for dinner. This is news to me, but it’s absolutely perfect. I smile at the vision of Weston sitting on a little pink chair, surrounded by dolls.

  I’m psyched.

  “You’re having fun?” Weston says, with a huge grin.

  “So we’re going to the American Girl Café for dinner?” I ask, my words surprisingly shrill.

  “You seem excited.”

  “I am,” I admit. No sense in hiding the truth.

  “It’s the place to be,” he tells me, that delectable smile stretching across his face. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile so much in a single day. It really suits him.

  “Elizabeth and I are big fans,” he says, trying to maneuver between the trio of shrieking girls.

  “My Jenny doll has this horse,” Elizabeth tells Chloe. “She rides, like me.”

  “You ride horses?” Chloe asks, open mouthed.

  “Since I was five,” she says, her tone almost business-like.

  “Do you have your own horse?” Claire chimes in, wanting to know.

  “Yes. His name is Beetlejuice.”

  “You are so lucky,” Chloe says for the umpteenth time. If she utters those words one more time, I think I’m going to spontaneously combust. I make a mental note to have the “money doesn’t equal happiness” conversation with her later, knowing very well that a toy store is certainly not the place for it.

  We make our way to the doll houses, and I am just as excited as the girls, if not more so. I love the detail of the miniatures. My favorite house is a yellow Victorian style, complete with wraparound porch and matching gazebo. The detail of it is so exquisite, it could almost be real. It is fully furnished; has two bathrooms and even a butler’s pantry.

  I don’t dare look at the prices. I’ve been to miniature stores before and I know this house would probably set me back quite a ways. I’m simply content admiring it. This is by far, the most beautiful doll house I’ve ever seen.

  I don’t dare touch it as I take in the details of every single room; the sparkly chandeliers, the intricate armoires, the beautiful impossibly small dining table and chairs.

  “You seem as smitten with this as Claire was with the giraffe,” Weston says, startling me. I didn’t realize he was standing by, I was just so consumed. At last, a distraction from the impossibly sexy untouchable man practically glued to my hip.

  “I love these,” I say, not taking my eyes off the nursery. “I always wanted one when I was a little girl. But I never had one.”

  Claire reaches for the crib in the nursery, but she’s not quite able to touch it.

  “Sweetie,” I say before she can get to it. “It’s best if you don’t touch it. If we break it, we buy it.”

  And my crib-buying days are definitely over.

  The girls are having a grand old time, waiting for their turn on the famous giant piano. Chloe and Elizabeth are in deep conversation. Claire stands beside Elizabeth, stroking a strand of her thick dark hair. A smile stretches across my face as I watch her and remember how she used to stroke my hair as a toddler, often sneaking into my bed to do so.

  Time is so fleeting.

  Weston stands close, just behind me. We’re surrounded by toys and people. His body almost touches mine, but not quite. He is so much taller than me. I usually wear high heels around him, but today, I’m in my sneakers and jeans. I wish he could wrap his arms around me.

  He leans in closer. I can feel his breath on my neck and smell his wonderful earthy scent.

  “Having a good time?”

  “Yes. This is amazing,” I tell him, not turning around, my eyes still fixed on the girls, camera in hand. I want to catch this moment. “Thank you again. My girls will always remember this.”

  “You’re welcome. It’s all about the kids this weekend,” he says, his words soft against my ear. “But I kind of wish it was about us too.”

  I smile.

  Oh, me too.

  “The things I would do to you,” he whispers.

  My breath hitches. Butterflies skitter across my belly, so swiftly it stuns me.

  Damn you, Weston.

  I turn to him. Suddenly there’s just the two of us. “Tell me.”

  He smiles a wicked smile. “I’ll tell you,” he starts, his words impossibly slow, “the PG version. I’m sure you’ve noticed we’re surrounded by children,” he adds with a wink.

  I smile up at him. “Sure. Tell me.” I want him to tell me all the exquisite details. If I can’t live it, I want to at least imagine it.

  “Well,” he starts, a wicked grin plastered on his face. “First, I would take you to my room.”

  I am all ears, glued to him.

  “My room is quite nice. There’s a very charming old washroom.”

  “Me too. Me too,” I blurt out. “It’s so cute.”

  “Yes, well, as I was saying, I would take you to my room and draw you a bath. There’s a tempting claw-footed tub you would appreciate.” I close my eyes, imagining it. “I would pour in some of that nice bubble bath,” he goes on.

  “Oh, it smells so good, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, it does,” he says with a smile. “You keep interrupting me, Mirella.”

  “Yes, I’m sorry. Go on. I really want to know what you’d do to me,” I add in hushed tones.

  “I would pull you to me, sweep my hands across your torso, peel your T-shirt off.”

  I listen intently, no more interruptions.

  He buries his hands in his pockets, a playful smile plastered on his face. He’s having fun. “I would twirl you around and kiss the back of your neck softly as I undid your bra. I would bring my mouth to the inside of your wrist and lick the soft skin there.”

  I smile and close my eyes for a second, anticipating more.

  “Then I would slide my hands down your hips and peel your jeans off,” he adds, his words soft. He’s not touching me, but his words do things to me.

  “I’m naked now, aren’t I?”

  “Yes. And in the bath you go.”

  “Do you join me?” I ask playfully.

  “No. I can’t. This is PG, remember?”

  “Pity.”

  He grins. His smile is deliciously huge and wicked. And for a second, I hope no one is watching us. And I decide I don’t really care if they are.

  “Once you got out of the bath, I would wrap you in one of those big fluffy bathrobes. And kiss you. My tongue would tease yours, but just for just a split second. You’d want more, of course, but I couldn’t give you more, because, like I said, this is PG.”

  I laugh, completely caught up in him.

  God, I am so into him.

  “Then you would close your eyes, and I would kiss each one of your eyelids softly. Then I would kiss the freckle in the middle of your nose. The one I love.”

  The butterflies in my stomach are flying in a frenzy now. “Then what?”

  He smiles again. “Then I would tuck you into be
d, nice and cozy, and put on a movie for you.”

  “Ugh, but I don’t want a movie,” I almost scream. “You know what I want,” I tell him, a sly grin on my face.

  He laughs. “Sorry. Like I said…PG.”

  I smile up at him again. “I really want to punch you right now.”

  He laughs again, that contagious laugh.

  I take a deep breath.

  And I know I’m getting too caught up in him again.

  But I just can’t help myself.

  Chloe catches me off guard. “That was so awesome,” she trills. Claire grabs a tight hold of my leg, a huge grin on her face. They’ve already been on the giant piano and I missed it. Because I was too distracted, caught up in Weston again. I missed an important memory. A moment we’ll never have again.

  And apparently, according to Elizabeth, it rocked.

  We make our way back downstairs. Weston has promised each girl one toy. Chloe didn’t waste too much time making her choice. She clung on to an adorable large lemur from the get-go, his long arms Velcroed together around her neck. Elizabeth has picked out another horse for her dolls—apparently Jenny doesn’t like to ride alone. And my sweet little Claire has yet to make a decision.

  “You haven’t picked out a toy yet, Claire,” Weston says, kneeling to her. “Is there anything you saw that you liked?”

  “I liked everything.”

  He smiles at her. “Well, there must be one toy you like more than all the others.”

  I sigh, fearing this could be a long process. Claire has always had a hard time making decisions.

  She stares at him without a word. I sense she wants to say something, but she doesn’t.

  Weston takes her hand. “Why don’t we walk around,” he suggests. “I’m sure there’s the perfect toy just waiting for you, somewhere around here.”

  The sight of them, walking hand in hand is adorable, but it seems so wrong to me. She shouldn’t be holding his hand, she should be holding Gabe’s hand. I almost want to rush over to them and pull her away from him. I suddenly feel like our lives are spinning out of control. My breathing grows shallow and I close my eyes. The last thing I need is to have a panic attack in the middle of F.A.O. Schwarz.

  When I open my eyes again, I spot them at a stuffed kitties display. Claire has picked out a soft looking pink cat. She smiles up at Weston, his large presence towering over her. She seems happy.

  They walk up to me. They are no longer holding hands and this calms me.

  “What a cute kitty,” I say to her.

  She smiles, a closed lipped smile. I can tell something is bothering her, but she doesn’t say a word.

  “Are you happy with your choice?” Weston asks her, most likely having sensed her uncertainty. Weston is so perceptive, it is almost unsettling.

  “Yes,” she whispers, the word so small, I’m not even sure if she’s said it.

  “I know this is a hard decision for you,” he tells her.

  Chloe rolls her eyes. “Just pick something already. We don’t have all day.”

  “Chloe,” I scold.

  “You can have any stuffed animal here,” Weston reminds her. His gaze travels across the giant store, and settles on the big giraffe.

  “Any?” she whispers, eyes wide.

  “Yes,” he tells her, with what I think is the biggest smile I have ever seen on his face. “Even that giant giraffe over there.”

  Her eyes almost pop out of her head. “Really?”

  Panic washes over me. He can’t be doing this. He can’t be making these grand gestures, making her fall in love with him. We’re in enough trouble already.

  But I find myself speechless. I can’t ruin this moment.

  She hops over to the giraffe and inspects it further.

  “It’s yours,” Weston says.

  “There’s no way you’re eating all that,” Chloe says to Claire who holds her sandwich, completely, utterly overwhelmed by the size of it—the poor little thing seems really stressed out.

  “You don’t have to eat it all, sweetie. Just do your best.” At home, Gabe always expects her to finish the food on her plate. But at home, the sandwiches are not nearly as enormous as they are at these New York deli places.

  Her gaze shifts to Weston, searching for approval, for confirmation that she doesn’t have to finish the whole sandwich. In her little seven-year-old mind, she has already deduced that he is the one in charge.

  He shoots her a huge grin. “I think that’s the biggest sandwich I’ve ever seen. Chloe’s right. There’s no way you can eat all that.”

  She smiles back at him, satisfied, and ventures a bite.

  My own roast beef sandwich is massive. “I don’t even think I can eat half,” I confess to Roselyn.

  “Weston will help you out. He eats like no tomorrow.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  She smiles at me before taking a bite of her sandwich. And I wonder what she knows. Who does she think I am? Does she think I’m just a friend? Doubtful. Does she think I’m the mistress? I sure hope not. I kind of am, in a sense, but I hope she knows it’s cool with Bridget. I’m sure she does.

  Elizabeth seems to have a healthy appetite, like her father. She eats with gusto, and chats between bites, with just as much enthusiasm. She looks like her father but has her mother’s personality. She smiles often. She has big teeth and a slight overbite, but I can see she’ll have a gorgeous smile with the help of orthodontics. She and Chloe seem to already be the best of friends, but little Claire is left out, and can’t seem to get a word in edgewise.

  Yep, sometimes being the little sister can be the pits.

  We stop by the hotel to take a breather and change for the big night. The girls look absolutely beautiful in their new pretty dresses, jackets and shoes. And I don’t look too shabby myself in a simple black evening dress. I can’t believe how excited we all are. The girls can’t stop talking about the show, and I can’t help but wonder what Weston is going to wear.

  Weston looks absolutely stunning in a beautiful dark suit. I can’t seem to peel my gaze away from him. I am undressing him with my eyes, since it’s all I can do. But thankfully, as soon as we enter the iconic store, my attention is diverted. So many beautiful dolls.

  “Wow,” Chloe whispers, eyes fixed on the displays surrounding her.

  “Remember girls,” I’m quick to point out, “we’re only looking.”

  “Well,” Weston chimes in, “we’re having dinner at the café here. I made reservations. They can’t very well go in there without dolls.”

  “Oh, yes they can, Weston,” I argue. “I hear they have dolls they lend out.”

  “But it’s so much more fun to bring your own doll,” he points out, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.

  “Yes, Mommy, we should get dolls,” Chloe pipes up. “Please, Mommy, please.”

  I’m not happy.

  I blow out a breath and pull Weston away with me, leaving the girls with Roselyn.

  It’s just him and I, surrounded by strangers and dolls.

  “Stop it, Weston,” I snap. I feel my self-control slip. I’m just about to fall apart.

  “Stop what?” he asks, clearly surprised by my reaction.

  “Stop buying them things,” I tell him. The woman and daughter duo standing next to us turn to look but quickly shift their gazes.

  He stares at the floor, speechless.

  “The plane, the limo, the giraffe, the show, the dolls…enough is enough.”

  He still doesn’t say a word.

  “It’s like you’re trying to buy their love,” I go on, ruthless.

  He jerks back, like he’s been slapped in the face. I’ve hurt him. But I don’t care. I need to put my foot down.

  “That’s not what I’m doing, Mirella.”

  I inhale a sharp breath. “It’s what you do with me.”

  He rakes a hand through his hair. “I don’t. Is this what this is all about for you?” he asks, sudden alarm all over his face. “Th
e money? The nice dinners, the trips, the gifts?”

  “No.”

  “Is this why you are so smitten with me?” he asks, his eyes full of emotion. And I see him for a second—he’s vulnerable—the fatherless little boy who was never truly loved by his mother.

  “God no. If it was just about the money, I wouldn’t be here, Weston.”

  His eyes linger on me. He seems relieved. He’s devastatingly beautiful, standing there, in front of me, not saying a word.

  “No, it’s more about the way you look in that fitted dark suit. It’s about your eyes, your smile. It’s about your kindness, your big heart. It’s about the way you look at me and the way my stomach turns to mush whenever you do.”

  He smiles.

  Yes, it’s all about the mush. That’s what it’s about.

  “I’m just trying to be nice,” he says after a long moment. “I want to treat them, to make them happy.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” And suddenly, I feel like a real bitch. “I’m just being very cautious. I don’t want them to get too attached to you. You are very sweet, you know. It’s easy to become attached.”

  He smiles. “I’m sorry. Perhaps this was a horrible idea.”

  “No, it was wonderful idea, Weston.”

  Possibly ill-advised, but still wonderful.

  “There are so many. I can’t choose,” Claire tells me, looking absolutely overwhelmed.

  “Pick one who looks like you,” I suggest, trying to assist. “Let’s look for one with dirty blond curls and big brown eyes.”

  She follows me, holding my hand, as we peruse the dolls. Chloe and Elizabeth are with Weston and Roselyn, picking out a doll for Chloe. She’s inspecting two different dark-haired dolls closely, debating between the two.

  “You should get that one,” Elizabeth says. “She looks just like my Jessie doll.”

  Chloe mulls it over.

  “That one,” Claire blurts out, pulling at my dress. The doll stands up high and I reach for her. She has the same golden locks Claire has, and the same big brown eyes, something about her does look a lot like Claire.

  “She’s the one?”

  “Yes,” she says with a smile and looks over at Weston who smiles back, sheepish. I’m sure he still feels a little badly about the whole “doll fiasco.” I suddenly wish I hadn’t made such a big deal of it.