“Slow down, poppet, or she’ll drown to death in your spit.” I lean against the porch door and laugh. Seeing these three reunited brings on the type of happy I feel from the top of my head down to the very tips of my toes.
“It’s all right, let her kiss on her old Aunt D. I haven’t put on my face yet.”
Aria turns her attention to Chessy, who looks less than impressed.
“Did you miss me, Chessy? Did you miss me? Huh, boy?” She scratches behind his ears and pats his wide load and puffs of fur fly with each tap.
“I don’t know when that girl’s gonna realize Chessy is not a dog. He ain’t ever gonna lick the side of your face, girl. We’ll leave the licking to you.” I roll my eyes as Chessy lets out a warning hiss, undone with all the attention he’s receiving. “I’ve already got a cup but go inside and make some cafe au lait for both of you.”
“Because that,” I say, pointing at the bundle of excitement sitting next to her, “needs coffee?”
“Oh, shush that. A little bit of coffee milk never hurt a child. My momma made it for me and your dad. Your mom made it for you and Brady.” She shoos me with a waved hand and amused scowl. “Now go on.”
“Not to mention it’s a hundred degrees out,” I mutter as I walk away to do her bidding.
Aria chants, “Coffee. Milk. Coffee. Milk” in the background while jumping up and down on her knees.
“I’ve got the fan on. You’ll be fine,” Aunt D calls out, followed by another hiss from Chessy.
* * *
“School?”
I nod my head slowly and press my lips together. “Good. Really good, actually.”
“Aria’s school.”
My lips curve into an automatic smile. “Great. She’s the belle of the ball.”
“Of course she is,” Aunt D huffs as if any other answer would have been pure blasphemy. “And the living situation?”
“Hmm…” I search for the right words to sum up the messiness of our lives since we’ve moved to Haven. We swing and sip together, watching Aria climb between the branches of an oak tree. Chessy lounges on the ground beneath.
“Better than expected, I have to admit. It’s an adjustment for Aria, letting someone new into her life. You know how she is, Aunt D. She can be so aloof and unaccepting of new people. But she’s slowly coming around. Maybe it’s time to explain to her who Seb really is.”
She slaps her knee and lets out a peal of laughter like I’ve just told her the funniest joke she’s ever heard. She places her hand over her heaving chest and tries to catch her breath.
“Whew, that’s a good one, girlie. I haven’t had a laugh like that in years.”
“What in the world are you laughing at?”
“You. I’m laughing at you.” She wipes the tears from under her eyes and chuckles. “Coming around. My Aria is ‘coming around.’ That little girl has come and left. She’s just waiting on you.”
“Left? What?” I turn sideways on the swing and wait for some kind of explanation of what the hell she’s going on about.
“When you were making coffee, Aria spilled it all, girl. Told me she has a daddy. Told me I needed to meet him soon.” Peals of laughter erupt from Aunt D as my eyes widen in shock. “Asked me if she should tell you the secret because she’s afraid … sh-she’s afraid you’ll be upset if you knew.”
Cue the howling laughter from Aunt D. Cue the tidal wave of embarrassment from me. How could I have been so oblivious?
“Oh God.”
“You got that right. And he better be calling the Lord, too. Because you know what I’ve always said.” She points at me and wags her finger. “The minute there’s someone in this world calling you Momma … or Daddy … your fat’s in the fire. You let him know.”
* * *
Me: FYI-the dad is definitely out of the bag.
Seb: ???
Me: Turns out she’s known for a while. Was afraid to tell me she had a dad. Let that sink in for a minute.
Seb: …
Seb: So I guess the birds and the bees talk comes sometime AFTER four years old. LOL
Me: I’m glad you see the humor in this. I, on the other hand, feel like an idiot. That little girl has been HANDLING me.
Seb: Now, now, give her credit. You’re a helluva lot to handle. She’s got skills.
Me: Christ…
Seb: So you know.
Seb: I know.
Seb: She knows.
Seb: But she doesn’t know that we know she knows.
Seb: Confused yet?
Me: Shut up.
Seb: I think it’s time we take the dad out of the bag and let him prance around the room for everyone to see. Don’t you think?
Me: You’ve always been good at prancing.
Seb: Shut up.
“Momma!” Her whine-yell filters down the hallway, just as it’s done a hundred times before. “Chessy won’t lay in bed wif me. He keeps trying to run away!”
The hiss and accompanying yowl tell me Aria’s gotten hold of a leg or a tail. The little girl growl that follows tells me he’s evaded her once again.
“Eyes closed, Aria! Right now.”
She groans, then quiets down. I take my own advice and snuggle into the blankets, thoughts of daddies and family and boys I swore to forget peppering my thoughts and dreams.
* * *
Two o’clock. In the morning. What the hell am I doing, wide awake? My thoughts are so alive and churning, I can’t even physically shut my eyes. My brain won’t allow it.
Shit …
I swipe my shiny new phone off the bedside table and type before I can talk myself out of it.
Me: So what was your song?
I lock the screen and throw it back onto the bedside table. No way Seb is up at this time of night.
Ding!
Seb: Huh?
Seb: And why are you still awake?
Me: What song reminds you of when you were a kid? Like “Tiny Dancer” for Aria?
Me: And because I’m a fool, obviously. Aria shows no mercy. Six AM.
Seb: “Sailing” by Christopher Cross. My mom used to play it when she cleaned. Drove my dad nuts.
I remember it, could almost swear I’ve heard Mrs. Kelly play it before. I close my eyes and play the song in my head. The words make me smile.
Ding!
Seb: You?
Me: You’ll laugh but … “You’re the One That I Want”
Me: Grease
Seb: LOL! That’s so perfect.
Me: I’m going to regret this … but … I had a whole routine.
Seb: I’m dying! How did I not know this?
Me: You don’t know EVERYTHING about me.
Seb: I got chills
Me: Shut up.
Seb: They’re multiplying.
Me: I’m two verses away from kicking a hole in your sailboat.
Seb: All right, all right.
Seb: And I do.
Me: Huh?
Seb: Know everything about you. Cheesy musicals notwithstanding.
I drop the phone onto the mattress and raise my hands in some sort of silent surrender.
I pick it up.
I drop it.
Pick it up. Drop it. Again. Again.
Two simple sentences, but there’s not one simple thing about them. They open doors that might be better left locked tight. They leave the light on, in wait. They leave me to ponder the question what if. Entertaining those two simple sentences with a response isn’t only giving into temptation, it’s inviting it over for coffee.
Were we ready for that? Was I?
Love is a lot like snow. A wonderful idea in theory, but reality brings about something altogether different. Black ice instead of snow angels. Frozen mounds covered in exhaust in the place of white wonder. Snow doesn’t always deliver on its promise of beauty. Just like love. It’s a lesson I learned the hard way a long time ago.
But if anyone or anything deserves a chance to begin again, it’s Seb and me. Maybe that’s the k
ey to it all. Not fixing the past, but letting it go. Beginning again. What if …
Me: Maybe we
Delete, delete, delete.
Me: I think we should
Delete, delete, delete, delete.
My thumbs hover over the screen, scared and nervous and thoroughly giddy at the possibility waiting for me at the other end of that screen. What if has me acting like an awestruck teenager all over again. This is harder than I thought.
Me: What if I told you I wanted to learn everything about you … again?
I hit send and release a nervous breath. I drop the phone and curl into a tiny ball, trying to squelch the adrenaline pumping through my veins as I wait for a response. I clench my eyes shut, fearing that ding almost as much as I anticipate it.
I roll over to sunlight painting the bedspread. I click my phone and see the time blinking back at me.
Five-fifty AM.
What I don’t see is a response from Sebastian.
Snow and love—two things more magical in theory than practice. Which is why I live in Louisiana.
And why I never should have gotten my hopes up in the first place.
Chapter 28
Sebastian
Present Day
Haven, LA
I roll over in bed, trying to escape the wet spot my filthy body has made, but going as slowly as possible as not to wake the spewing volcano in my gut.
Am I dead? If not, can I go ahead and do that now?
“Gatorade?” Isaac calls out from the door.
It’s as close as he’ll get to me in this condition. Smart kid.
“I’ll just throw it up,” I mutter into the pillow, and my lips leave a trail of spittle behind.
“Better than all that heaving you’re doing.”
“Stop. Talking.” Every word out of his mouth feels like a tiny dagger right in my eye, the throbbing in my head drumming out a victory song for Satan himself.
He keeps jabbering, but thankfully death is merciful and pulls me under before the daggers really get going.
* * *
“He’s been like this since I woke up this morning. Found him on the floor of the bathroom, arms wrapped around the toilet like it was a teddy bear.”
I let out a loud groan, partly to stop the tiny daggers, and partly in anger at the fact that I am still indeed alive.
“A bucket?”
My brain perks up at the sound, less knife-like and more … feminine? My brain may have come to attention, but the rest of me continues to melt into a pile of disgusting sludge. Lifting my head and opening my eyes is equivalent to wrestling a pack of starving grizzlies at this point.
“He stopped making it to the bathroom hours ago.”
“I’m glad Lexi told me he was sick when I stopped by the coffee shop. He looks really awful.”
“Ha! You can say that again.”
“Isaac, shh. My head,” I grumble as I bury my face deeper into the pillow.
Until … the volcano awakens with a vengeance.
“Oh no.” I roll toward the edge of the mattress with all the effort I can muster and reach blindly for my bucket of destruction.
“He’s gonna do it, he’s gonna do it,” a tiny voice chants with either horror or excitement, I can’t say for sure.
Then Mount Sebastious erupts with maximum damage.
Chapter 29
Autumn
Present Day
Haven, LA
“You fine, you fine, you okay, you fine,” Aria whispers as she runs her flat palm down Seb’s calf in time with her words.
Too bad he’s oblivious to her affection. He’s been longing for Aria to jump into his outstretched arms like every Hallmark movie in existence, and now he’s missing the whole thing. Every so often, we get a quirk of an eyebrow or a long, suffering groan, but I’m pretty sure those don’t count as signs of life.
“Should we call somebody?” Isaac asks, still standing at the threshold of the door with eyes wide and clueless. No amount of coaxing is getting that boy in this room. I’m pretty sure if Seb had asked for anything before we got here, Isaac would have pelted him in the head with it while standing beyond the doorway.
“Nah, it’s actually worse than it looks,” I say as I carry the bucket of death to the bathroom to dump. “You’re looking at his reward for taking care of Aria last week when she was sick. This virus has made the rounds at her school. Looks like another one bites the dust.”
“Nuh-uh. No way this is the same thing she had last week,” Isaac protests while shaking his head. “She spit up a couple of times then pranced around for the rest of the afternoon. This?” He points at the half dead lump in the bed. “This is the Exorcist with a side of Walking Dead.”
“Something you should know about kids, Isaac. They are a host of germs and dirt. The first time Aria got ringworm, the doctor just shrugged and told me, ‘Children are filthy animals,’” I call out from the bathroom. “Seb hasn’t been around a lot of kids lately, or schools. He’s like a bubble boy who got thrown into a cesspool. Basically, Aria’s immune system kicks Seb’s immune system’s ass. That’s why she bounced back so quickly. That and she’s a four-year-old spring chicken.”
Aria sits on the corner of the bed, beaming as Isaac watches her with fear in his eyes. An elephant cowed by a teeny, tiny scorpion.
“A-a-am I a bubble boy, too?” He lays a hand on his chest in a “Who me?” type gesture.
I chuckle and shake my head. “No, you’re probably good. You’re still in school, so you’re a filthy animal in your own right.”
He looks insulted by my accusation and poised to argue the point.
“What? Would you rather be filthy or sick?”
“Good point.” He grins and shoves his hands deep into his jean pockets. “How can I help?”
“From a distance, you mean?”
He smirks sheepishly. I toss him my keys.
“Take Aria for a snack at the coffee shop, then you two cesspools hang out at our apartment for a while. I’ll take care of the Exorcist over here.”
“Yay!” Aria hops off the bed with a clap and bounds toward Isaac.
He gives her a wide berth and a light tap on the head. She giggles, oblivious to his terror as she grabs his hand and pulls toward the front door.
* * *
It’s nearly dark before Seb shows any real signs of life, and most of those are moans and grunts as I clean him up and change his wretched sheets. The actual retching seems to have tapered off, which I’m eternally grateful for. I have a strong stomach most of the time, but a girl can only take so much before she breaks.
As he sleeps off what I hope is the last of this virus, I take a look around his house. I mean, I don’t open any drawers or anything. I’m not a total creeper. I only scope out what’s in plain view, like I’m a cop without a warrant. No harm in that, especially if he never finds out.
So, here’s what I gather from my quick perusal: Seb’s a whole lot neater than he ever was before, he’s got great taste in art, and an album collection that would rival any musician’s. The only photograph in the entire house is of Aria—the one he nabbed the night he learned of her. It sits on his bedside table, along with a lamp, his wallet, and his cell phone. That’s the extent of the personalization of Seb’s house. A bedside table.
I take a second glance at his cell phone, then I accidentally trip and press the ON button. Oops. The screen illuminates, and my last text lights up the screen.
Autumn: What if I told you I wanted to learn everything about you … again?
He never saw it. He never saw the text, so he wasn’t ignoring me … or blowing me off … or being a complete douche. A sense of relief washes over me, followed closely by a wave of panic. He hasn’t seen it and, holy hell, what if I’m here when he finally does?
Shit, shit, shit …
“No need to panic, I promise not to puke on you,” Seb mumbles, and I jump at the sound of his voice. “Wait, maybe I already did. Have I? Puked on you
?”
He pushes up to sitting and runs a hand over his still-pale face. He looks down at his bare chest in confusion then turns to me.
“I, uh, took it off when I gave you a kind-of bed bath. I didn’t put a new one on because too much movement, and you’d…” I gesture to my mouth theatrically, and he flinches in shame. “Figured it was best not to tempt fate.”
“So, I did puke on you. Shit, sorry.”
“No, no, you’ve got a much better aim than your daughter.”
I shove my hands in my pockets, trying to stow away some of the nervous energy vibrating down to the tips of my fingers. I ball them into fists and take a deep breath.
“Bed bath, huh?” Seb grimaces and shoots me a sympathetic smile.
“It was all on the up-and-up, I assure you.” I laugh at his obvious disappointment. “Although I did notice you have a lot more bulging than before.”
He lets out a choking sound, and I gasp.
“Muscles!” I shout at the top of my lungs and cover my face. “I meant muscles. Shit!”
“Sure, right. Sure, you did.” He throws his head back in laughter then clutches his stomach. “You gotta tone down the jokes, woman. My stomach is sore from the revolt.”
“Gatorade? Something to eat?” I offer, thinking of anything to keep my idle, twitching hands occupied.
“Shower?” My eyes widen, and he lifts his hands in protest. “No, not shower with me. I meant do you mind if I take a shower? Bed bath aside, I feel like a greasy dirtball.”
“Sure, of course.” I turn to leave the bedroom, but he calls me back.
“You’ll … you’ll stay, right?” he whispers, and the vulnerability in his voice unnerves me. “We still need to discuss that dad. You know, being out of the bag.”
“Right. Yes, I’ll just,” I point toward the door, “wait in there.”
I mosey out of the bedroom but turn my head just in time to see him swipe his phone off the table before heading to the bathroom.
Waiting for Autumn Page 15