[Avery Shaw 11.0] Unwritten & Underwater

by Amanda M. Lee

  Oh, well, there’s my opening. “I didn’t say anything,” I lied, keeping my face impassive. “If you heard something, you might want to get your ears checked. In fact, if you imagined something, you might want to have your mind checked. You might have Alzheimer’s or something.”

  Mom is the one person who has never been impressed with my sense of humor. Even people who hate me occasionally laugh at the way my mind works. Not my mother. “What did you say?”

  “She said she’s happy to see you and can’t wait until you visit the house Sunday so you can see all of the hard work she’s been putting in,” Eliot clarified, keeping a firm grip on my arm in case I decided to pull one of my patented vanishing acts. For those who are curious, there’s no finesse to the move. Whenever someone in my family says something I don’t like and I’m not sitting down I simply run for the nearest door and pretend a tsunami is coming. It doesn’t work and I always get in trouble, but sometimes it’s worth it.

  “I’m pretty sure that’s not what she said,” Mom argued, tugging on her shirt to smooth it and fixing me with an icy look. “Are you wearing flip-flops?”

  Crap. I forgot about her hatred for flip-flops. “No. They’re special Nike sandals for people with weak arches.” That sounded plausible, right?

  Mom didn’t look convinced. “They look like flip-flops. You know how I feel about flip-flops.”

  “How does she feel about flip-flops?” Eliot asked, legitimately curious.

  “The same way I do about Kardashians.”

  “Ah.”

  “And soy dogs … and turkey bacon … and cooked carrots … and … .”

  “I got it.” Eliot cut me off with a hand wave. “We don’t need to get sidetracked with a list of things you hate. We’ll be here forever, and I’m starving.”

  Mom’s expression shifted to one reflecting unadulterated love and joy as she focused on Eliot. She’d come to the sad realization that he was her only shot to marry me off, and she fell all over him whenever she got the chance. “You poor dear. You probably haven’t eaten in hours. You should have Avery make snacks for you when your blood sugar is running low.”

  I balked. “Why should I make snacks for him?”

  “Because he bought you a house and pays for maids,” Mom fired back without hesitation.

  The simple statement was enough to serve as a dagger lodging in my chest. I was forced to take a deep breath to calm myself. “Right.”

  “No, that’s not right,” Eliot countered, taking me by surprise. He rarely argued with my mother. He knows it’s a useless effort. “Avery and I bought a house together. We live together. We’re building a life together.”

  He was so earnest that it was hard not to fall in love with him all over again. Apparently my mother didn’t have that problem.

  “You’re a saint.” Mom patted Eliot’s shoulder. “You deserve so much more than you’re getting. I can only hope that whatever mental illness you’re suffering from lasts for a few more years.”

  “I hope it lasts forever,” Eliot muttered, slipping his arm around my waist as he pushed me forward. “Come on, Trouble. We should get some food before I lose my appetite.”

  Even though Mom’s dig had been for my benefit, Eliot was bothered by it. I couldn’t ignore the grim set of his jaw as we sat. “I bought a spray canister of whipped cream at the store earlier. We don’t have the makings of strawberry shortcake at home, but we can get some here and take it back and eat it with the whipped cream in the pool.”

  Eliot barked out a laugh. “You always know how to make me feel better.”

  “I do my best.”

  The family booth is large enough that it takes up one whole wall. The rectangle contains three smaller tables placed inside so people can move in and out of seating configurations as they see fit. I was happy to see that my favorite relatives – which isn’t saying much because I have an entire set of irregular cousins I would like to forget exist – were already at the table.

  “There she is.” My cousin Mario, his prematurely balding head gleaming under the harsh restaurant lights, beamed as he leaned back in his seat. “Did you make anyone cry today?”

  “Just me,” Mom lamented.

  I ignored her. “Not yet, but the day is young. I almost got in a fight in a Meijer a few hours ago, though. That should count for something.”

  Mario bobbed his head, pleased. “That’s always fun. Was it a chick fight?”

  “Why does that matter?” I asked. “I punch like a dude.”

  “I know that,” Mario replied, waving off my concern. “It’s just … when chicks fight it’s always fun to watch because there’s a possibility that someone will rip someone else’s shirt and I might get a chance to see boobs.”

  My stomach rolled at the suggestion. “You’re a sick man.”

  “You are sick,” Eliot agreed, grabbing the specials menu. “She’s your cousin.”

  “So?”

  “So, she’s your cousin and you just said you want to see her boobs,” Eliot answered. “That’s sick.”

  “I wasn’t talking about seeing her boobs.” Mario was appropriately disgusted. “I was talking about chick fights in general. When it comes to an Avery chick fight, all I want to see is closed-fist punches, vicious kicks and the occasional crying female.”

  “That’s all I want to see, too.” I rested my cheek against Eliot’s shoulder as I read the specials. “They have prime rib.”

  “That’s what I’m getting,” Eliot announced. “Prime rib and strawberry shortcake. If I was on death row, I think that would be my last meal.”

  “Mine would be the Ultimate Feast from Red Lobster,” I offered. “That’s my favorite. I saw a commercial the other day, and I’ve been having dreams about it ever since.”

  “How about I take you there for dinner on Monday?” Eliot suggested. “That will be a nice way to end our extended weekend.”

  I knew he was still smarting from what Mom said about the household finances – coming on the heels of what I admitted myself while shopping, it had to hurt – so I agreed without putting up a fuss. “That sounds like a plan.”

  Grandpa, a napkin tucked into his shirt and food crusted at the corners of his mouth, barely looked up from the sour cream he spread over his prime rib. “Any good stories land in your lap lately, kid?”

  Grandpa’s eating habits didn’t bother me – I was used to them, after all – but Eliot still cringed when Grandpa mixed together odd food choices and declared them gourmet offerings.

  “Not really,” I replied. “I have a long weekend and I’m looking forward to it. After that, I have to cover the opening of that new aquarium at the mall. It’s supposed to be a big deal for the county, but it will mostly be politicians so it will be an easy assignment.”

  “Well, I’ll have your grandmother pray you get a murder to cover when she goes to church on Sunday,” Grandpa offered.

  “Thank you.” I smiled. “It’s good to have a grandfather who understands my needs.”

  “It is,” Grandpa agreed.

  “Don’t you go to church with her?” Eliot asked, resting his arm on the back of the booth seat. He had an interesting relationship with my grandfather – he both respected and feared the man – and I enjoyed watching them converse.

  “God and I are on a first-name basis, but we prefer to converse on the golf course,” Grandpa explained. “I didn’t make the rules. He did. I simply follow them.”

  “Ah, well, as long as you have it figured out.” Eliot smirked as he cast a sidelong look in my direction. “Your family makes me laugh.”

  “You won’t be saying that when they eat all of our food Sunday,” I argued. “When that happens you’ll call them vultures and parasites, and not the fun parasites that burst through your chest wall and kill you like in Alien.”

  “You’re nothing if not a happy and sunny person,” Eliot teased. “I love how you always look at the bright side of life.”

  “It’s a gift.” I flicke
d my eyes to the door when I heard the overhead bell jingle, narrowing my eyes when I caught sight of my cousin Derrick walking through the door. He wasn’t alone. The woman he impregnated because he was too slow to figure out how birth control worked was with him.

  Devon Lange, metropolitan Detroit’s most annoying television reporter, practically scurried in our direction. Her eyes gleamed as she squealed, not stopping until she stood in front of Derrick’s mother and extended her left hand.

  “Guess what? We’re engaged!”

  The table broke out in pandemonium, everyone but me offering hearty congratulations. Instead I shifted my eyes to Derrick, making a clucking sound as I shook my head. He looked terrified rather than excited. Of course, I couldn’t blame him.

  “I bet you wish this place had a liquor license, huh?” I couldn’t think of what else to say.

  Derrick fixed me with an odd look, which made me realize for the first time that he felt as if he was drowning in a sea of uncertainty. “You have no idea.”

  I LEFT ELIOT to order my dinner and led Derrick to the storage shed behind the restaurant, using the excuse that I wanted to help the kitchen staff by bringing in extra strawberries. My grandfather knew better – I loathe kitchen work, even if it helps him – but he didn’t say anything as Derrick and I made our escape. No one else even bothered looking in our direction because they were too busy gasping over Devon’s ring.

  I waited until we were alone in the storage shed to speak. “So … um … you proposed, huh?”

  Derrick scowled as he watched me dig out the bottle of whiskey we knew Grandpa kept for special occasions behind a big tub of ketchup. I wordlessly handed the bottle to him and watched as he twisted off the cap.

  “I’m going to be a father,” Derrick pointed out. “I had no choice but to propose.”

  “You had a choice,” I argued. “It might not have been a popular choice, but you had a choice.” I watched him make a face as he swigged the whiskey. “Do you want to marry her?”

  Derrick handed the bottle back to me so I could take a drink. “I love her.”

  “That’s not what I asked. Ugh.” I preferred my hard liquor mixed with something, so the whiskey went down rough. “Do you want to be married to her?”

  Derrick shrugged, noncommittal. “I love her. I don’t think that’s going to change. I’d be lying if I said the idea of having a kid so quickly isn’t terrifying.”

  “The idea of having a kid at all is terrifying.”

  “I want kids. It’s just … I thought I would have more time.”

  I could see that. I handed the bottle back to Derrick and watched as he took a long pull. “I’m sure everything will be okay.” I wasn’t sure if I believed that, but it was obvious he needed to hear it. “You’re just nervous. It’s like when Eliot suggested we move in together and I kind of freaked out. It was the best thing for me, but I was too worked up to see it for a little bit.”

  “But you’re happy, right?” Derrick pressed, desperation clawing through his calm demeanor. “You’re happy you moved in with Eliot, right?”

  “I am,” I confirmed, bobbing my head. I wasn’t saying the words merely because Derrick needed to hear them. I meant them. “Eliot and I fit together. It’s as if we’re the only two pieces in a two-piece puzzle or something.”

  “That is so … schmaltzy.” Derrick rolled his eyes.

  “Do you feel as if you fit with Devon?”

  “I do,” Derrick hedged. “It’s just … things are happening so fast. She’s so excited, and I feel as if my world is spinning out of control. I don’t know what to do about it.”

  “You could talk to her,” I suggested. “Tell her how you feel. She might console you and make you feel better. Eliot always does that for me.”

  “He does?” Derrick looked surprised.

  “He does. No matter what’s going wrong, he knows how to handle the situation. He knows to pretend I’m invisible until I’ve had my first cup of coffee in the morning. He knows to join in when I start hating on annoying celebrities. He knows to listen when I complain about co-workers – and threaten to kill Duncan Marlow when he starts acting up.

  “Eliot knows exactly what to do to make things better,” I continued. “I’d like to think that occasionally I do the same for him. Devon should be able to do that for you if you give her a chance.”

  “I guess.” Derrick took a final drink of the whiskey before handing it back, watching as I nipped a bit before replacing the cap and stowing the bottle behind the ketchup. “I’m a little afraid.”

  “Everything will be okay.” Whether I believed it or not, Derrick needed to have faith more than anything, so that’s what I tried to give him.

  I picked a slow pace when I walked out of the shed, pulling up short when I saw Eliot standing on the other side of the door, arms crossed over his chest and lips pursed. “What? I wasn’t gone that long.”

  “No, you weren’t.” Eliot’s expression was hard to read. “I worried you were out here getting sloshed. I wanted to make sure that didn’t happen because we have pool plans for later.”

  “I guess you heard me talking to Derrick, huh?”

  Eliot nodded. “I did. You were good with him.”

  “I hope so. In truth, I think Devon is the devil. He needs to believe he’s going to get everything he wants, though. If he doesn’t, he’ll fall apart.”

  Eliot’s lips curved. “You’re not nearly as narcissistic as you want people to believe.”

  Well, that was just insulting. “Hey, pal, the world is all about me.”

  “It is.” Eliot grabbed the front of my shirt and hauled me in for a long kiss, taking my breath away. “We definitely fit, Trouble. That thing you said about the puzzle pieces … I feel that way, too.”

  My cheeks colored when I realized he knew I’d been a sentimental putz during my absence. “Oh, well … .”

  “Don’t say anything to ruin it,” Eliot warned, planting one more kiss on my mouth before releasing me. “I’m feeling very warm and fuzzy where you’re concerned at the moment and I don’t want that stripped away.”

  “Does that mean you’ll eat strawberry shortcake in the pool with me later?”

  “That means I’m going to romance the crap out of you,” Eliot clarified. “The strawberry shortcake and whipped cream will simply be a bonus.”

  Finally! The night was going in the exact direction I wanted it to go.

  4 Four

  “There’s someone at the door.”

  The day of the barbecue arrived, but because most everything was handled – and we had two hours until anyone arrived – I decided to play Lego Star Wars and pretend that our new house wasn’t about to be invaded.

  Eliot sat next to me on the sectional, my back resting against his shoulder. He had an iPad open on the coffee table so he could watch baseball, and flipped through some private detective catalog that offered the latest in new equipment. He seemed blasé when I pointed out the obvious.

  “Then answer the door.”

  “I’m busy.” I made a face as I weaved my character through the level. “You need to get it.”

  “I’m busy too,” Eliot argued. “I’m actually trying to work.”

  “It’s our extended holiday weekend. You said no work was allowed.”

  “This is different.” Eliot was only mildly annoyed despite the way he rolled his eyes. “You need to get the door. It’s probably for you anyway.”

  “How do you figure that?” The doorbell rang again and I pretended I didn’t hear it. “All of the people who have visited this house so far today have been for you.”

  “The only people who have visited this house have been delivering food,” Eliot countered. “That means they were here for both of us. I have a feeling whoever is at the door is here for you … so you should definitely get it.”

  “You have a feeling?” Now he was simply being ridiculous. “What? Are you suddenly psychic?”

  “You don’t know,” Eliot cou
ntered. “I could totally be psychic. If I am – which is a possibility – you’ll be glad you locked me in before I become famous for predicting the future.”

  “Really?” The more time we spent together, the more he acted like me. It was both revolting and refreshing. “If you’re so good at predicting the future, what finger am I going to hold up as soon as this level is finished?”

  “The one you use to tap your lip when you’re having sexy thoughts.”

  Hmm. That was a fairly good answer. Still, I wasn’t falling for that. “Get the door.”

  “You get it.”

  “Don’t worry. I got it myself.” Jake Farrell, my former boyfriend and Macomb County’s favorite sheriff, let himself into the house and cast derisive looks in our direction before shaking his head. “I thought I’d come over early to help in case you guys were drowning in preparations. Heck, I even thought you might be so busy cleaning and arranging things that you couldn’t answer the door. Silly me. You’re playing video games. What was I thinking?”

  “She’s playing video games,” Eliot corrected, not bothering to look up from his catalog. “I’m working.”

  Jake, his normally messy bird’s nest of dark hair perfectly coiffed, made a face as he walked around the couch and settled next to me. I was a good enough hostess to raise my feet to give him room to get comfortable, immediately lowering them when I was sure he wouldn’t immediately get up and ruin my flow.

  “What are you working on?” Jake asked, ignoring the fact that I didn’t ask before saddling him with my feet. “That looks like a catalog.”

  “I’m looking at this new surveillance equipment,” Eliot explained. He owned a pawnshop when I met him but was expanding into personal security these days. He seemed happy with the decision. “Have you heard anything about this new Lexor listening device?”

  “I’ve actually heard good things about that,” Jake replied. “We can’t use it at the sheriff’s department but you’ll probably enjoy it.” He flicked his eyes to the baseball game on the iPad. “Why are you watching the Tigers on that little screen when you have a big one in the same room?”