by Hall, S. E.
“Okay, well I have a work order to baby proof,” he sweeps his brown eyed gaze down to my belly then back up, question in them, “your place today?”
Bless his heart. I blush at his inferred compliment, suddenly not feeling nearly as frumpy and dumpy as I have been lately. “I can guess who sent you.” I laugh, stepping aside and motioning him inside. “Come on in.”
He springs into action, laying his clipboard on top of the pile and scurrying around to prop up the dolly and wheel it inside. He turns to shut the door for me and wipes his feet thoroughly, smiling the whole time. “All right,” he picks up his clipboard once more, glancing over it, “looks like you’re set to have all the rooms done. Anywhere specific you’d like me to start?”
I should know the answer to this, being the expectant mother and all, but it was just so cute to let Sawyer read the book instead. Not so long ago, he’d even read in the bathroom, screaming out factoids to me as he took care of business. Perhaps not the cutest of moments I could have referenced, but to me, every time he read about baby stuff was precious.
“We could start with toilet locks. Usually only one or two of those, knock out one item quick.”
“Oh,” I shake off my reminiscent thoughts, “I’m sorry. Sure, only one toilet.” I point down the hall to the bathroom. “Do you need me to do anything?”
“No, ma’am, but when I’m done and mark off each task, I’ll need you to initial that I’ve shown you how to work it. Which I will,” he grapples, unable to situate the pen under the clip as he desperately wants to, “show you, I mean.” He’s so adorably nervous, his voice shaking unsurely through his constant smile.
“Scott, is this your first time doing this?” I ask, sure of the answer.
“Yes, ma’am,” he nods his head, “but I swear I know what I’m doing. All three of my sisters have kids and I got their places fixed up water tight.”
I giggle, but reign it in fast. I don’t want to make the poor guy think I’m laughing at him. “I’m sure you do. So go ahead and do your thing and I’ll just try to stay out of your way.”
He nods again briskly, then starts unsnapping the lids of his tackle boxes, getting to work. I leave him to it, finding my phone and heading to the kitchen. If he’s going to the bathroom, this puts me furthest away from him as I make my call.
“Hey, Em,” he answers, winded.
“What’re you doing? You sound out of breath.” I steal a peek around the corner, confirming Scott’s occupied in the bathroom.
“I’m jogging, late for class way the fuck across campus. What’s up?”
I wonder why he’s late for class, but don’t ask. For reasons that can’t be precisely defined, I’ve let lots of small things here and there go unquestioned lately. It’s not that I need to know every move he makes—it would drive me insane if he expected a daily recollection of my whats, wheres and whos, which would take approximately ten seconds with my boring life lately—no, this is more about me and what it means that I consciously don’t ask the little things anymore.
“I thought I’d call and let you know the baby proofing guy you ordered is here. Anything special you wanted done, or—”
I wish you’d told me? Asked what I thought? Be here when it happened?
“Ah shit, I forgot! He’s there now?”
“Yep, he’s in there locking up the toilet as we speak. I was surprised when he showed up, since I’m not sure what we’re having done.” I keep my tone nice, ‘cause it is very conscientious and thoughtful of him, but insinuating all the same.
“Hey, Sawyer, where’ve you been hiding?” I hear the girl’s chirp in the background.
“Hey,” he answers her a tad awkwardly, yet wears a smirk on his face as he does so. I can hear it.
“Sawyer?” I draw him back tersely. “I’ll let you go, just telling ya.”
“I’m sorry, Em, I should be there. I…” His frustrated breath is loud in my ear. “I forgot. I’m not really sure what else to say.”
Lucky for him we don’t take the time to play our “I’m sorry” game anymore; he’d run out of facts.
“It’s fine, really. It was nice of you to think of it, thank you.” The goodbye is tickling my lips, but I pull it back, and try again. “Hey, babe?”
“Yeah?”
“Is everything okay?”
“Em,” he sighs, “everything’s fine, I promise. Can you try to bear with me?”
“Of course,” I whisper, clenching my eyes shut, squeezing back the building moisture.
“Thanks, babe. I’ll see you tonight.”
He’s gone, hung up, when I open my eyes, composure reclaimed. I can hear Scott on the other side of the wall right beside me, digging in his boxes. Toilet done, he must be ready to move on to the next project, so I grab my current book off the counter and plop down on the couch…out of his way too.
My neck is stiff. I roll my head back and forth and rub my eyes, stretching my arms out in front of me. I’ve read the same chapter of the paperback I’m holding three times, absorbing no facts of the story, unable to picture the scenes in my head, when Dane breezes in through front door with no obligatory bell or knock.
“Hey, Emmett, how are you?” he says cheerfully.
I look around and behind him, finding no Laney, then back up to him, puzzled at minimum. “Hey, Dane. What’s, uh, can I help you?” What else do I say? What the hell are you doing here?
“No, no, don’t get up or anything. I was down at Laney’s and saw the van parked here. Thought I’d come by and make sure everything was all right.” He’s not fooling anyone. He’s talking to me but staring holes through Scott in the kitchen. “Who’s your guest?”
I roll my eyes, setting down my book and pushing myself up off the couch. “Scott,” I call out as I do so, “can you come here a minute, please?”
In a blink, literally, he’s standing in front of me, smiling politely. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Uh, this is my…” Boss? Friend? I have no idea the appropriate thing to say here, but thankfully the two men save me from having to decide.
“Hi, I’m Scott Barton with Baby Steps,” Scottie Too Hottie says, sticking out his hand. “Making your baby’s home a safe haven.”
Dane eyes him curiously; he probably wasn’t expecting the full ad. “Dane Kendrick,” he offers his hand, “her man’s best friend.”
Knowing what little I do of Dane, it seems perfectly within his idea of normal to take it upon himself to stop by, walk in unannounced or invited, and investigate suspicious vehicles. But, it seems more likely that Sawyer sent him to check out the man alone in the house with me. I’d allow it to miff me a bit, except…Sawyer sent him.
Scott glances back and forth between us a few times before shrugging and saying, “Well, it’s nice to meet you. I’m gonna go ahead and get back to work?” he questions me with his tone and his eyes.
“Yes,” I nod, “thank you.”
Dane clears his throat, shifting beside me, so I look up at him. “Can you walk me out, Emmett?”
“Oh, sure.” I clear my face of confusion and head to the door.
One step on the porch and Dane has already closed the front door and placed a hand on my arm, startling me. “You don’t have to walk me to my car, Emmett. Do you feel safe with him here while Sawyer’s gone? I can stay.”
“Wow, that’s very nice Dane, thank you. But it’s fine, really. I feel perfectly safe. And if I didn’t,” I just realize I’ve shifted my stance to somewhat defensive and crossed my arms, “I’d call Sawyer and expect him to come home. He’s the one who ordered this, after all.”
He runs a hand back through his hair, eyes flicking left, right, down, then back to mine. “Emmett, I may be out of line, if so, I apologize, but,” hand through hair again, clearly his coping gesture, “well, is there anything I can do? Or talk to Sawyer about?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do.” His eyes aren’t cold, but they’re serious, as is his tone.
“Sawyer’s my brother, I love him very much, and I know him very well. I can’t stand by and watch him sabotage himself, so I’d like to try and help if I can. Nothing would please me more than for him to be happy, and I know you’re his happy.”
For some reason, I always find Dane to be very intimidating, and even though his words are kind and his intentions are noble, right now I feel especially feeble to his aura of power and control, so it takes great effort to hold my voice steady and keep my chin up as I say as confidently as I can, “I appreciate your concern, I really do, but Sawyer and I are great. We don’t need anyone to run interference. We’re a team, together, and we’ll find our own way back to good.”
He considers me and my answer, rubbing his chin and finally letting a coy grin take over his face. “That’s how it should be. Good answer,” he says decidedly. “All right then. If anything feels off, you call him right away. All right?”
“All right.” I nod and walk back in the house and he heads to his car.
Now I need to convince myself, as I just did him, that I’m confident in my team.
***
For the first morning in what seems like forever, I’m up before Sawyer. Not only will I get to see his face instead of the occasional note this morning, but I’m excited to attempt my first Thanksgiving dinner. I’m hoping for edible and praying for no food poisoning, so anywhere in the middle will be considered a success.
Things have been lackluster, to say the least, between Sawyer and I lately, and there’s a distance between us that I feel growing wider every day. I’m not a moron, I see the signs, but one person’s slow down is another person’s go faster before it turns red. A racecar driver at heart, I continue to try. I’d put up a fight and he continued to fight for me, I’m more than woman enough to do the same. There’s still a “we” inside him, I catch glimpses of it every so often; a brush of his hand on mine, a wink here and there…deep down, we’re more than just the roommates we’ve become. Maybe this holiday meal, just he and I, will bring us back to good. Bellies full, snuggled up on the couch with a movie, maybe finally a good heart-to-heart conversation…
“You’re up early.” His groggy morning greeting startles me.
“I am. Good morning.” I go up on my toes for his kiss, but all I get is a chaste brush of his lips then he steps around me to open the fridge. “I had to get the turkey in early if we want to eat by lunch time. I’m about to start peeling potatoes. You wanna help?”
“Oh, um,” he falters, eyes flicking around the room, “I didn’t know you had a big deal planned. I was gonna go in to work.”
“On Thanksgiving?”
“Yeah, Em, on Thanksgiving. I need all the money I can get. I have responsibilities.”
“I have responsibilities too, Sawyer. I’m up to my eyeballs in responsibility,” I measure that with a sideways hand at my eye line, “but taking today for family seemed pretty important too. Can’t we just have today?”
“Sure,” he concedes with a small smile that reeks of effort. “What time you want me to be back?”
“Whenever.” I toss the dishtowel on the counter, my mood turned.
“No, not whenever.” He reaches out and grabs my hand, pulling me to him. “What time, Em?”
I bury my face in his shirt, hiding my teary eyes and disappointment. “I don’t want it to be a burden, Sawyer. I want you to want to be here.”
“I want a lot of things, Emmett.” His face goes to my hair and for a fleeting, hopeful second I think he’s going to give me one of his infamous head kisses that I’ve gone far too long without, but he merely speaks. “I’ll see ya at two. Good?”
All I can do is nod, afraid to try and speak any more. If I dare, I’ll either cry, burdening him more, or scream out my frustrations, driving him further away. So I nod, lift my head, and release him.
“Okay, I’ll be here at two.”
Here, not home. No kiss goodbye.
When he’s gone, I slide down to the floor, right where I stand, and wrap my arms around my knees. We aren’t “playing house” any more and reality’s proving to be too much. I’ve lost Sawyer to his own mind—I’ve become his responsibility. Who could blame him for checking out? The road to heartache, it would seem, is also paved with good intentions.
“Happy Thanksgiving.” I rub my stomach and let go of the hold I had on my tears, watching with a strange detachment as they splash onto my shirt.
***
I suck in a harsh gasp, quickly wiping my face and scrambling to my feet. Hoping my mask is in place, I turn, elated that he’s come back in.
But no, he hasn’t…I hear his voice, but he isn’t speaking to me, it’s floating through the open window. And damn you all to hell, Georgia, for hosting Thanksgivings warm enough for open windows, ‘cause what I hear Sawyer say next reaches into my chest and takes the last hopeful piece of us I had left and snuffs it into the ground.
“Hi. I didn’t think you’d answer on Thanksgiving. Can I come over now and talk?”
CHAPTER 26
My Family Stone
***Emmett***
“This feels amazing. You’re all geniuses.”
“All?!” Whitley cries. “Do not even think of giving Laney credit for pedicures! She wouldn’t even know that word if it weren’t for Bennett and I. Right, Ben?”
“Right.” Poor Bennett is breaking a sweat taking the pumice stone to Laney’s crusty, ball playing heels. “God, Laney, I hope you wear socks to bed! If not, Dane’s not gonna have any skin left on his poor legs!”
“I can hear you bitches when you talk out loud,” Laney retorts, her head back on the couch and cucumber slices over her eyes.
I giggle even though I’m only half-listening to their banter. Whitley is a rubbing, scrubbing goddess, performing crazy miracles on my swollen feet right now. I’m so relaxed I might fall asleep.
This is precisely what I needed, an evening with awesome ladies and my aching cankles being tended to. Nowhere in the book Sawyer’s reading did it say that the minute you hit 27 weeks your water retention triples overnight and you turn into an Oompa Loompa. If it did, he didn’t read me that part.
Then again, Sawyer hasn’t been reading me any parts lately. Nor have we watched movies together, and the two times I treated myself to some Coldstone relief, I was alone. He missed the first breastfeeding class, which I understood, since he doesn’t need to know how to do that, but missing the last doctor appointment? That spoke volumes. Even louder is the fact that he hasn’t so much hinted at, let alone made love to me in weeks. Maybe the person he can “talk to” filled that gap as well…
Lately, I’ve been regarded with little more than causal friendliness, with pecks goodbye and radio rather than conversation on the trips to and from work—the ones we actually make together, that is. He still finds his way to my bed every night, but he sneaks in late when he thinks I’m asleep and I do nothing to let him know otherwise. In the morning, he’s always awake before I stir. He’s there, but nowhere to be found.
I don’t think I’m grotesque, my total weight gain thus far is nine pounds, which Dr. Greer assures me is healthy and acceptable. I can still wear almost all my old clothes, even my jeans, if I push the top of them below my baby bump. I haven’t spied any stretch marks yet, but I still lather in Vitamin E Cocoa Butter every morning and night.
So I’m not sure what the problem is, or when it officially started, but my Sawyer is gone and left “Dutiful Sawyer” in his place. If he’d just talk to me, confirm what I already know deep down, he’d find that I’d peacefully be more than okay with simply having my friend back.
“Emmett, you okay?” Whitley smiles, drying my feet and placing one on her knee. “Lost ya there for a minute.”
“Oh yeah, fine. It’s so relaxing, I must’ve started to doze off. Are you done?”
“No silly! Now I have to clip and paint your toenails. You pick color?” she says in her best pedicure technician voice.
“Surprise me. Before long I
won’t be able to see them anyway.” I laugh.
Bennett’s sigh can probably be heard by the whole block when she’s finally to the nail painting phase of Laney’s feet. “So what’s everybody doing for Christmas? I can’t believe there’s only two weeks left!”
Whitley answers first. “Evan and I are going to Parker and Hayden’s, and of course, to see his parents.”
“How is Hayden?” Laney’s interest now piqued, she peels the vegetable patches off her eyes and sits up. “She should be popping out those triplets anytime now, right?”
Whitley frowns, her lip quivering some. “She’s due January 4th, but with triplets, they could come any day. Her doctor’s adamant to keep them in there as long as possible, so she’s been on bed rest for over a month.”
“I should have known that,” Laney says softly, a flash of shame moving over her face. “I’ll be over to see them too. Dane and I are going to Daddy’s. And a trip to Mom too, of course. And let’s not forget, a very important visit to Bag N Suds! I have to make sure Kaitlyn’s kicked out of college ass is enjoying her new job,” she cackles, holding her stomach and throwing her head back.
“No way! I hadn’t heard that!” Whitley’s face lights up and Laney bobs her head yes very enthusiastically. “What do you know? Karma got something right.”
I don’t know who Kaitlyn is, and as much as I should be a good friend and ask, I don’t really feel like it. I’m such a sadsack lately…stupid hormones.
“What about you, Emmett?” Bennett asks me. “What are your and Sawyer’s plans?”
I must look as pathetic as I feel with the three of them scooting closer in on me. “I, uh, haven’t heard that we have any specific plans, per se. I’m sure we’ll talk about it soon. In fact,” I go for exuberance and a subject change, “I need to get a tree up and shop for some presents for you ladies!”
This seems to placate them and all three start rattling off ideas for a Crew Christmas before everyone leaves and maybe drawing names out of a hat for buying.