And this is what I tell myself so that I can focus on my editing work, rather than berating myself for a teeny-tiny peck of thanks.
Two hours later, I hear the back door open and close and the guy’s voices echo in the kitchen. They’d left a while ago to walk along the beach; Dean had popped his head into my room to tell me. When I peeked at them before they left, they were still on the couch, but deep in discussion. Mark’s head had been resting in one hand, elbows on knees, and Dean was sitting facing him, an expression more open and attentive than I think I’d ever seen on his face. I tiptoed back to my room and let them be; and now, they were back and my stomach said it must be dinnertime. Mr. Bubberchop stretches his arms and legs in his spot of sunlight where he lay, almost reiterating the fact.
“Are you hungry too, kitty boy?” I ask, giving his head a scratch, to which he responds with a succinct meow. Dean had been so good about feeding Mr. Bubberchop and cleaning his litterbox while also taking care of me. Bubbers had been repaying his kindness with attention, something my kitty did not give many people, but he did to Dean. And I, apparently, was now thanking him with kisses. Ugh. I was mid-head-shake when he, himself, the receiver of unsolicited smooches knocks at the door before letting himself in.
“Hey, you getting hungry?”
“I could eat, yeah. But I’m done here, so I’ll come out and help.” I begin the process of saving my work and shutting my program down.
“I didn’t realize we were gone so long, sorry.” He’s lingering half in and half out of the doorway.
“No reason to be sorry,” I click a button before looking up at him with a smile. “Is Mark staying for dinner?”
Dean comes all the way in now, reaching for a pair of jeans that he’d tossed over the back of my chair and Mr. Bubberchop takes that as an invitation, hopping up on the chair and arching his back, making it easier for Dean to reach and scratch.
“Nah, he’s gotta head out. He’s on the phone with his wife right now, but he wanted to say goodbye to you before he left.”
“Okay, I’m coming.” I close my laptop, swing my feet over the side of the bed, and before I can make a move, Dean is there to take my hands. He pulls me up and close to his chest, closer than usual, and when I feel brave enough, I lift my face to meet his. I wonder if he’s waiting for another kiss, if he’s thinking about it, or if I am the only one obsessively dissecting the incident. But the way his eyes narrow, the way he licks at his bottom lip, the way his hands squeeze mine before lacing our fingers together, all make it seem like he is thinking about just that. My heart does a little hop in my chest and my happy place flutters because, even though we’d gone all the way, I’d never had this laser level of sexual focus beamed at me. I mean, good grief, the man is oozing sexy all over my pretty bedspread and cushy carpet. If he kisses me now, I’ll be a goner, for sure.
But he doesn’t. Because the front door slams, we blink, and poof, the spell is broken. He steps back, both of us take a deep breath, Mr. Bubberchop weaves through our feet, and we step to the door to see our guest off.
Chapter 31
Dean
I’m leaving tomorrow and I can’t sleep. How is it possible that eight weeks have passed since I’d come home, four weeks I’d been living at Holly’s, two weeks in her bed. Several thoughts are cycling through my mind, keeping me awake, the one at the forefront of my mind right now: how do I go back to living without Holly in my daily life? How do I go to San Diego and leave my pregnant…what? Woman, I guess, because she isn’t my wife, she isn’t my girlfriend, but she certainly isn’t a stranger, and she is definitely more than a friend. I reassure myself with the fact that San Diego is, with good traffic, only an hour away from here, and most first pregnancies have a labor much longer than that. And, yeah, I Googled that shit.
Just thinking of being away from Holly when she might need something has me rolling over and wrapping an arm around her. That night she woke up from a bad dream was the best thing that had happened to me. Not that I want her to have bad dreams, but it made it so that I got to be right here every night. I slide my right arm under her head so that there is no space between us. She’s always warm, her body soft, and I haven’t slept this good since I’d first enlisted. Even now, lying here awake, anxieties taking over my brain, is better than any night in the desert.
Sometimes, I think she feels it too. I know she’s attracted to me, I mean, that’s part of what got us in our current state of relationship in the first place: a mutual attraction. But sometimes, it feels like there’s so much more between us, like she wants there to be more. I wasn’t exaggerating when I told her I was terrible at navigating relationships; I don’t have a clue what move to make here. Do I tell her how I feel about her, that I think about her all the time, that there’s no one in this world that matters to me more than she does? Do I risk everything we got going for us right now? Because things are good, we’re getting along and working together. I don’t fucking know. I bury my face at the back of her head and her hair swallows my head whole. It’s so soft and smells so good, so I rub my face in it and breathe deep. Jesus, I hardly recognize myself anymore. Since when am I the guy who sniffs hair and appreciates soft curls? Since Holly O’Brian, I guess.
Baby girl gives a little kick against my hand and I rub the spot on Holly’s stomach to say hello back. It’s a good thing Holly’s a deep fucking sleeper, because some nights, I have a full conversation with our baby girl. I tell her how amazing and smart and tough her mother is, I warn her about the crazy family she’s inheriting, all because I’m her dad. I tell her about the beauty of the ocean and promise to take her to the beach as soon as I can and to hold her tight while we ride the waves together, just like my dad did for me.
And, as I finally begin to drift off to sleep, curled up to Holly’s body, I feel so grateful for this woman, for her part in making me see the man I could be, demons and all; for giving me a future outside the Marines, a future I wanted, but never thought I’d get.
Chapter 32
Holly
Dean is leaving tonight.
When I get into my bed this evening, curl myself around my body pillow, and cover my figure with soft blankets, I will be doing it alone.
Having that bad dream was the worst thing to ever happen, because now I know what I’ll be missing. If I had never had that dream, I never would’ve asked Dean to get in bed with me, and, therefore, going to bed alone would be no biggie.
But, no. Now I know how it feels to have his hard body pressed against his back, to wake up with his breath light on my shoulder; I know what it feels like to nuzzle my face into his neck, dammit.
I huff rather harshly, causing my hot cocoa to ripple dangerously close to the edge of my vintage Reading Rainbow mug.
His parents invited us to barbecue at their house, but Dean declined, and I find myself relieved, thinking maybe he just wants to have a quiet day with me, because goodness knows, I want to hoard that man until his very last minute. In reality, he probably just needs to pack. In fact, he’s over at his folk’s house right now gathering up his uniforms and boots and stuff he didn’t bring over when he all but moved in with me.
From now on, he’ll leave here on Sunday night and return Thursday night. He’s lined up alternate babysitters for me, regardless of my complete and impassioned insisting that I didn’t need anyone, I was doing fine and would continue to do so. My blood pressure and urine were perfect at my last visit, I was not dilated or effaced, baby girl was not in position for labor. All systems were checked and in working order.
None of that was good enough for Dean, so he made a schedule. His sister will stop by in the mornings on her way to work, his mom in the afternoon, Red on Tuesday night for our taco date and Maya on Thursday for our girl’s evening. Luckily, for him, he surrendered at setting up a camera inside the house that he could check from his phone (!), because I absolutely put my foot down on that one (though I ok’d a camera at the front and back doors of the house. I mean, that�
�s just practicing good safety protocol, right?).
I mean, it’s all very sweet, I suppose, the way he looks out for me; it’s just not something I’m accustomed to, so I have to keep reminding myself of that. Does that make me a terrible person? I hoped not. I really was trying and it felt like we were working together so well now. If only I could shake this pesky crush I had on him, or at least discover a way to stop the wave of lust that comes over me every time he walks into a room…or looks at me…or presses his ahem against me in the wee minutes of the morning before he wakes up.
Oh my-lanta, I must get a grip.
When Dean walks out into the living room, his head is freshly shaved and he’s wearing track pants, a t-shirt, and his running shoes, carrying a big camo bag, the one I’d seen him carrying when we picked him up at the airport. Sheesh, that day seems like years ago.
Blech, it’s getting hard to swallow and my eyes are just blinking so much.
Crap. Do not cry, Holly. Do not cry.
I track his every movement, watch him drop his bag down by the front door like it weighs nothing (though, based on the thud it made when it hits the floor, it could very well weigh as much as me), then watch him stalk over to where I’m curled up in my favorite spot on the couch.
He leans in, both hands on the back of the couch framing me.
His face gets close to mine, but is far enough away so he can look me right in the eye and do his staring thing. My eyes are wide and maybe a touch watery.
His soften in slow increments as he scans my face, like he’s memorizing every freckle, and I feel a gentle tug at the side of my head which mean he’s pulling his finger through a curl the way he likes to do.
“I will see you in four days,” he promises, his voice low and deep.
“Okay.”
“Please be good.”
I narrow my eyes in irritation.
He smiles, small and controlled, and I lift my hand and brush two fingers against his cheek.
“You be careful…and all that.”
He turns his head just enough so that his lips can kiss my fingertips before pushing himself away from me, holding onto my curl until he can no longer reach.
And then, because he can’t leave without issuing one more command, “Answer your phone when I call or text, Mama,” he says before grabbing his bag and walking out the door.
I spend the first day watching musicals.
I’d woken up Monday morning sad, so after Grace left (and I faked joy for an hour), I put on Westside Story-which turned out to be a huge mistake because it’s so sad and I bawled so hard I couldn’t see through my puffy eyelids. Oh, Tony! Sigh.
So then I switched to Mamma Mia! because, hello: Abba, a beautiful island, and Colin Firth? It’s frickin’ impossible to be sad with all that. And from there, the marathon continued with South Pacific and Oklahoma.
I loved musicals.
On Tuesday, I can’t bear being confined to the sofa any longer, so I sit at the dining table for a while and do some editing work, I take a book out to the chair on my little front porch, and put my feet up in the sun. Red comes by that night with cheeseburgers and milkshakes (my hero!) instead of tacos, and we talk. I pry him for details on his upcoming nuptials with Babe, but it’s pointless because he doesn’t really know anything except it’ll happen in just over two weeks at Mermaid’s Cove.
Dean’s mom shows up every afternoon, empties my cat’s litterbox, checks the fridge, sweeps my floor-it’s horrible. I’m not used to people taking care of me like this, but on the first day, when I try to get up and help and she gives me a very stern look and tells me to sit down. It was so much like Dean, my heart squeezed. When she leaves, I pace the house (Dr. Graysen said I was supposed to walk a little) and I chew my fingers and I twirl my hair around and around my finger.
By the time Thursday evening rolls around and Maya is knocking on my door, I’m an anxious mess.
“I brought ice cream!” She announces, strolling through the door in her work clothes. “What’s wrong?”
She stops, dropping the hand that’s holding up the ice cream like a trophy.
“You’re freaking out, aren’t you?”
She click-clacks to the kitchen, where I hear the freezer drawer open and shut with a squeak.
“Alright, look, I bookmarked some pregnancy relaxation techniques I found online, you know, in case of all this,” she waves a hand in my general direction. “You’re bored, you’re alone, unable to do the things that usually occupy your mind and body, and I, being the world’s best friend, have prepared.”
She pulls off her heels, hikes up her skirt, and takes a seat on the couch. I haven’t said a word.
The majority of Maya’s day at work is taken up with counselor duties like scheduling, graduation requirements, college prep, but she has a bachelor’s degree in Psychology and a Master’s in Educational Psychology. Which means, she knows about the long term effects of being raised by addicts. Which means, she’s pretty much the bestest best friend I could have, especially at this particular juncture in my life.
“Okay, it says here,” she begins, her finger scrolling down her phone’s screen, “to rest. Hmm, guess we can check that one off. Okay, exercise is number two, nope, next. Three, fresh air and sunshine?” She tips her head up to me and I gesture to the darkening window. “Right, maybe this weekend. Okay, I love you, but I’m not going to massage you. I mean, I guess I could do, like, a neck rub…well, what’s next? Oh, meditation! Ooh, let’s try that, I’ll walk you through it.”
She stands up, comes over to where I am on the couch, and begins to arrange pillows, gesturing for me to lie down. I attempt to do just that, but lying on my back hurts, so I have to shift to my side which takes, like five minutes, and by the time I’m settled, I’m huffing and puffing, so you may as well check deep breathing off the attempted relaxation technique list. Then Maya starts laughing, like, hands on her knees, snorting kind of laughing, which makes me laugh, and, what do you know, I feel better!
“Well, I feel better, how about you?” She asks, leaning back on the coffee table.
“Why do you need to feel better? What’s going on?” I ask, feeling selfish.
“Oh, just the usual, full-time working mom stuff, you know, nothing new.” She reaches out to rest a hand on my arm. “I know you think you’re a burden, I know you feel like you’re putting people out, but, honey, that’s just not the case. The people that are here for you, Dean’s family, me, we’re here because we want to be. We all care about you and this baby and we want to help, and, for me, being here is a stress relief. Hanging out with your sorry ass, laughing at your ginormous belly, it’s fun for me, so thanks.” She pats my arm and sits up, stretching her back.
“Glad to be of help,” I mumble, rolling my eyes. “Now help me sit back up.”
She cooks me dinner and we eat big bowls of ice cream while watching The Voice, and when she slips her heels back on to leave, I stand up and hug her. I’m not really a hugger, and I can tell she’s surprised, but she squeezes me back hard and promises to call me this weekend.
I’m showered and in bed when Dean calls. He’s called every night this week at nearly the same time, but tonight he’s headed home and calling from his car.
“Hi,” I say quietly into the phone, snuggled down in my bed with Mr. Bubberchop.
“Hey, how was your night with Maya?”
His voice is comforting. I mean, if I can’t have his body here with me in bed, his deep, gruff voice is a nice consolation.
“It was good, actually.”
“You okay?”
“Yes, Dean, I’m okay.”
“I’ll be home in about an hour, I got a later start than I planned.”
“Okay, I might be asleep, but I’ll try to wait up.”
“Alright, Mama.”
At some point along this strange journey with Dean, I’d grown attached. I’d missed him this week more than I could have imagined, and I have a pretty good imagination. He’
d become this steady fixture in my life, a, dare I say, partner. I think I even…trust him. I didn’t before, I didn’t want to and I was skeptical. But in the past month, he’d done more for me than any other person before in my adult life, and I was really just looking forward to him coming home.
Chapter 33
Dean
Holly’s asleep when I finally make it home that night. I’d been working ten to twelve hour days all week so that I can leave base on Thursday. Her cat pops his head up from his cushy spot behind her knees, gives me a long blink, and goes back to ignoring my presence. He is good at that, as am I; call it a symbiotic relationship, I feed him, scoop his litter box, and he lets me share the bed with Holly.
I stop at the foot of the bed, still in my uniform, to take in the sight before me. Holly’s body is wrapped around that pillow I’d gotten her weeks ago, the blankets shoved down to her feet. Every night, about an hour after she falls asleep, she kicks all the blankets off. I’ll wait a while, pull them back up, only to wake again in the middle of the night to find that she’d done it again.
Man, she is beautiful. She’s been wearing her hair in long braids lately, sometimes one down her back, sometimes two (my personal favorite), because she says it keeps the curls under control. Only, I like it when the curls get a little out of control, too.
I was still pretty sure she didn’t like me about seventy percent of the time; which seems like a lot, but considering a month ago, I was pretty sure it was more like ninety-nine percent of the time, I figure seventy isn’t so bad. I’m winning her over, little by little. I know enough to know she’s not going to trust me easily, not going to give up control without a fight, so I am trying to be patient.
I tiptoe back out of the room to head into the bathroom, get out of my uniform, and take a shower. When I first started sharing her bed, I’d sleep in socks, pants and a t-shirt, as much coverage as possible; but over the last couple of weeks, I’d been losing articles of clothing, so that now I was able to crawl into bed in just my shorts. It may be part of my infiltrate Holly O’Brien’s psyche technique.
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