Pieces For You

by Rulon, Genna

  “No,” I said firmly. “If this really isn’t my apartment, then I don’t want to stay here. We’ll find another place. I have money. I’ll hire a lawyer to investigate if I have grounds, but I am not going to stay here if I don’t have a chance of winning the case. No sense in delaying the inevitable and indebting myself to them further.”

  Griffin’s arm wrapped around my waist and squeezed me, conveying his approval. He understood my need to sever these ties with my family and the importance of only fighting battles that could be won.

  “I hear you, but I don’t think you should sign a lease and tie yourself to another apartment until you have a clearer picture of your legal options,” Ev said.

  “You’ll move in with me,” Hunter said, suddenly very pleased, “…both of you. My apartment is only one bedroom, but I’ll buy a pull-out couch today for Sam. It’s not a permanent solution, but I was planning to buy a house sometime this year anyway—this is as good a time as any to start our search. It won’t fix the issue immediately, but…it could become our permanent solution,” he said, looking at Ev as if the sun had just risen after a year of night.

  “Did you just ask me to move in with you?” Ev asked, shocked.

  “This wasn’t how I was planning to ask you, but my plans never seem to come to fruition the way I expect when you’re involved.” He held her face between his hands and kissed her lips once with devotion in his eyes. “Everleigh, I love you with all my heart. I want to fall asleep with you every night and wake up with you each morning. I want to fight with you about who used the last of the toilet paper and didn’t replace the roll. I want to cook you breakfast for dinner when we get sick of take-out. I want to see your clothes hanging in the closet next to mine when I get dressed. I want to know that we are both equally tied to the place we call ‘home.’ Will you move in with me, buy a house, and make a home with me—our home?”

  Tears filled my eyes; I was so touched by his heartfelt request. His every word expressed he wanted her by his side every day. She deserved this, the unwavering love of a good man who knew her value, one who saw her flaws and accepted them as a part of her without trying to change them.

  She kissed him softly as she whispered “yes” against his lips.

  I was so glad I was here to see them take the next step in their relationship, but it reaffirmed a concern that had been flitting through my conscience with increasing frequency. They needed their space, time alone as a couple. I couldn’t have made it through those first two months after TPC without them by my side. They were self-sacrificing, gracious, supportive, and loving every step of the way—deciding together to make my recovery their priority. I didn’t believe their relationship suffered from that choice, but it must have been difficult for a new couple that just wanted to get lost in one another. It was time for me to repay their charity by freeing them from the Sam-shaped cage in which they had willingly sealed themselves.

  “Actually, I’ve been thinking you two need your space. I can never thank you enough for all you’ve done for me…but I’m better now, I don’t need babysitters anymore. Save the money on the couch and put it toward the house. I’m going to stay in a hotel until the apartment situation gets sorted out and then I’ll decide what to do. I may just let them have this place either way—rid myself of the reminder.”

  Hunter nodded, easily accepting my decision, but Ev looked conflicted.

  “And if I need you, I’ll come crash on the couch for the night…just not every night. Have you even considered where I would organize my wardrobe in Hunter’s apartment? You’d both be forced to store your clothes in the kitchen if I moved in, because I sure as hell would be taking over all the closet space,” I joked, hoping to lighten the mood. “It’s time to cut the apron strings, fly from the nest—and you two need an empty nest to make the tree shake without concern of an audience.”

  Ev nodded, but I could see she was feeling the same way I was. As happy as she was to be moving in with Hunter, it would mark the end of an era. We had been attached at the hip most of our lives but now we were growing up—not growing apart, but growing. It was exciting and a little bit sad.

  “It was bound to happen at some point,” I assured her. “You found your penguin, your mate for life. It’s time for you to start building your life with Hunter and time for me to live on my own and be independent. I need to prove to myself that I can do it, so one day I can find my own nest-mate.”

  Griffin leaned into my side, his lips kissing the base of my neck and gliding up to my ear.

  “Do you have any particular Big Bird in mind to join you in the nest?”

  I shivered from the warmth of his breath against the shell of my ear. Hot damn, the man could even make Sesame Street sound sexy.

  “Maybe, someday,” I answered coyly.

  “There’s no reason to waste your money on a hotel and I’m not sure if it is the safest option at the moment,” Griffin said, his concern evident. “I have a guest room and my house isn’t far from here. You can store your furniture and whatever else you need in my garage—you’d have to arrange for a storage unit if you stay in a hotel.”

  Hmm…stay with Griffin? Not live with him like Ev and Hunter were talking about, but still. Staying with him for a period of time, seeing him every day—the idea had its merits. My only hesitation was that our romantic relationship was only beginning; I didn’t want him to get sick of me. On the flip side, it would certainly let me know early on if we had the potential to go the long haul. Plus, I would feel safer knowing a big, strong man was in the house with me, even if he wasn’t armed like Hunter. I didn’t want to admit it, but living alone scared me slightly—I needed to do it, to push myself. However, the prospect of having Griffin’s muscles handy was appealing in the short term, in more ways than one. Either way it would be temporary; he wasn’t asking me to move in with him. I teetered on the edge of decision.

  “Did I mention the guest room has a walk-in closet that’s bigger than your bathroom here?” Griffin asked with a victorious smile.

  “Sold!” I said, letting him believe it was the closet that closed the deal and not the fact that he knew how much the closet would sway me.

  “Okay,” Hunter said, “Sam, why don’t you work the legal angle and get all the information before making a final decision about whether or not to fight? In the meantime, you girls can focus on packing up the apartment so you’re ready to move into your temporary homes on Wednesday.”

  Ev and I nodded our agreement.

  “Let’s go get some boxes for them, I have my pick-up,” Griffin said to Hunter.

  “Good plan.”

  After the guys left, Ev and I remained in the den, lost in thought.

  “Congrats,” I said genuinely. “It’s bittersweet. I am thrilled for you and Hunter, but I’m gonna miss living with you. Lord only knows what fashion crimes you’ll commit without my supervision.”

  “True. You’ll have to come by frequently to make sure I haven’t stocked up on flannel and tees.”

  “I just might.”

  It was hard to believe this phase of our lives was ending and we would no longer be roommates. Constant companions, we had lived together for over four years.

  Ev rearranged our work schedule to give us both time to focus on packing. The apartment might not have been large, but we had acquired a massive amount of stuff in our time there. We decided to store the furniture in Griffin’s garage since Hunter’s current apartment didn’t have the space and I was currently without a permanent address.

  Griffin’s house was not the bachelor pad I expected; he had a ‘grown-up’ house. A well-maintained colonial with three bedrooms, two-and-a-half bathrooms, and an office greeted me upon arrival. It was an impressive house with modern updates in high-quality materials, and was both clean and comfortable. My eyes swept over the heavy wooden tables, soft leather couches, and masculine bedroom set. He had all the requisite man technology like a huge flat-screen TV, surround sound stereo, gaming systems,
you name it. The pictures on the walls hinted at the man who lived there and I couldn’t help but smile—he had a collection of musical instrument prints, abstract in black and white with pops of color. There were others with recognizable travel destinations, and various pub-themed posters and signs decorated the walls of the office.

  I cooked an extravagant dinner for my first night; field green salad with goat cheese and apple walnut dressing, Texmati rice with barley and rye berries, and zesty chicken piccata coated in seasoned homemade breadcrumbs with grilled vegetables.

  “Sam, if you cook like this a couple nights a week, I’ll never let you leave,” Griffin said while devouring his third helping of chicken.

  “I love to cook; it’s a great stress reliever. Ev always joked that she ate best when I was conflicted.”

  “Where did you learn?”

  “I spent a lot of time in the kitchen growing up. The chef at my parents’ house was phenomenal and always happy to teach me.”

  Over dinner, I learned Griffin had worked at the family restaurant since he was fifteen and began bartending at eighteen. He carefully saved his money like a squirrel collecting acorns for winter. After graduating from Hensley University, he used his nest egg to purchase this house and handled the renovations himself. He shared his plans to manage the bar his parents had left him when they retired to Florida and open a small private practice that would be client driven. He wanted to provide help even to those who were unable to pay.

  As I listened to him, I was struck by how much responsibility he shouldered. He obviously loved running The Stop and it provided a lucrative salary, but I was proud he had followed his calling as a therapist and also managed the family business he loved.

  As Griffin shared the details of his life, his passions and dreams, my admiration for him deepened. I was surprised to find he could relate to the conflict with my parents from personal experience—the frustration felt when parents attempt to control your life and dictate its course. He was a man anyone would be proud to call friend; a man any woman would be honored to call hers.

  After dinner we snuggled on the couch, watched a movie, and fell asleep after an exhausting day of moving. Neither of us woke until daylight spilled through the sliding glass doors off the family room.

  As wonderful as it was to spend the night in Griffin’s arms, it was too soon be moving in together. I wanted our relationship to have a fighting chance, and moving in together too soon could be the kiss of death. I felt like I needed to have my own place in order to maintain my self-worth. Perhaps if I hadn’t been attacked, I would be more willing to throw caution to the wind. But I needed to prove to myself that I was strong enough to survive on my own before I could make a full commitment to any person.

  I spent the day on the phone with my lawyer and financial advisor, attempting to sort out my options. The guest room Griffin offered me was lovely and I took my time hanging my clothes in the large walk-in closet. I did not intend to stay forever, but I would not live out of boxes and suitcases while I was there. At bedtime, an unintentional stand-off ensued. I was waiting for an invite to his room and he was waiting for my cue as to whether I was ready to try using him as my body pillow again. We stood in the hallway, straining to find random bits of dialogue, trying to figure out what the other wanted. When I asked who should be responsible for buying toilet paper, Griffin took action, sweeping me into his arms and carrying me into the master suite. I had never been so grateful to toilet tissue.

  I continued to wait on news from my attorney, but my initial hopes for an easy resolution were dwindling. I found myself happy at the prospect of losing the apartment that tied me to my parents and looking forward to finding my own place, one purchased with money not associated with them.

  In the meantime, it was strange to live with someone new and to learn their schedule and habits. Griffin was a considerate roommate—he would switch my clothes from the washer to the dryer, make me coffee in the mornings, and even brought me dinner several nights a week. I cooked many nights to express my gratitude for his hospitality.

  However, it wasn’t all sunshine and roses. Griffin was tidy but had several quirks that irritated me the first few days. For reasons I was unable to comprehend, he always managed to leave a pair of dirty socks on the floor in the family room at the end of the night. It was baffling! The man never left a glass on the table or a plate in the sink, but his discarded socks greeted me daily. I also learned Griffin despised the smell of nail polish remover, forcing me to relocate my frequent nail polish changes into the bathroom, instead of in the den while watching TV.

  Ev and I would call or text one another when our men exhibited odd domestic behavior. Living together was a rousing success for Huntleigh, despite the fact that Hunter perpetually left his discarded clothes next to the hamper instead of putting them in their target destination. Ev even tried leaving the lid open and sliding the receptacle a foot to the right. She theorized Hunter had been throwing clothes from across the room and consistently missed the basket, but her attempt was a failure.

  Ev also managed to push a few of Hunter’s buttons. My favorite was when she rearranged the kitchen to place her coffee supplies in the optimal location, moving his pots and pans to a high cabinet across the room. There was also an ongoing debate about where the toothpaste tube should be squeezed—Ev, a chronic middle squeezer, and Hunter, a resolute bottom squeezer. I believe they secretly loved having new material for their ongoing verbal warfare—it was their weird form of foreplay.

  On nights when Griffin wasn’t working late at The Stop, I would sleep with him in the master suite, where he continued to prove that our first night together was no fluke. The man worked my body like he had written the owner’s manual. Each time was better than the last and I was able to reach the big hellO more quickly, unless Griffin decided to tease me and make me wait for it. He was commanding and playful in bed, and I was seriously considering taking our fun all the way to home base. I desperately wanted to, but I was still afraid of not being able to complete the act. Even though I knew he would understand, it was a possible failure I was still afraid to try.

  A week after I moved into Griffin’s house, my attorney finally called with the news that the deed to the apartment was exclusively in my father’s name. He advised I could fight for joint ownership since the apartment was a gift, but it would come down to judicial decision, which would likely fall in my parents’ favor since they originally purchased the property. What he didn’t say was that I was likely to be perceived as a greedy brat who was trying to mooch off my parents’ affluence. If that was not enough to dissuade me, the fact that my father played golf with most of the sitting judges in Suffolk and Nassau Counties was. I was officially homeless. I had a place to stay, thanks to Griffin, but it wasn’t a permanent solution.

  After our call, I immediately contacted a real estate agent and provided details of what I was looking for and my budget. I was anxious to find my own home as soon as possible. Since I had been at Griffin’s, I found myself imagining what it would be like to truly live there. Despite knowing it was the wrong decision, the idea of staying forever was a temptation and if I didn’t move out soon, I may never do so. I was so comfortable in his house with him it felt…well, it felt like home. I knew I wasn’t ready to play house yet; I still had too much to prove to myself. So I used my day off the following week to tour several townhouse condos. Griffin tried to hide his disappointment, but I could tell he wanted me to stay. I fell in love with one property, but the seller had tentatively accepted an offer, pending the buyer’s mortgage approval. I was disappointed, but we scheduled several more viewings later in the week.

  Two weeks after I moved in, Griffin went to my car to grab the sunglasses he had forgotten. I was on the couch reading the latest Kristen Ashley novel when I heard a very loud, very angry “what the fuck” seep through the front window. The front door slammed against the wall in the foyer as Griffin called my name.

  Griffin could never s
care me; I trusted him with my life. But I had to admit the sound of him stomping around was intimidating.

  “In here,” I called, forcing my voice to remain casual, as if I didn’t notice his dramatic entry.

  He strode into the room with purpose, arm extended before him, something clutched in his hand.

  “Would you like to explain what the hell these are and why I had no clue they existed?”

  Uh-oh. After taking a quick inventory, I concluded he had found the weekly threats I had stuffed under my visor—the ones I’d neglected to mention to him…or anyone for that matter. I weighed my options, calculating my most promising method of response before deciding on humor.

  “They’re poetic, aren’t they? I mean, he’s no Emerson, but he has a definitive style.”

  “You think this is funny?” he asked softly, the effect louder than any shout could ever have been.

  “Not funny, ha ha, but insane funny, yeah. You gotta laugh, right?”

  “No, I do not gotta laugh,” he said through clenched teeth. “I can’t believe you are turning this into a joke. These are blatant threats against you…your life.” He paused to flip through the six wrinkled papers clutched in his fist and handed one to me.

  It was the most recent threat, found on my windshield when I left for work yesterday morning. Reading it now, I could see why Griffin was upset. I hadn’t mentioned its arrival, and this was the most explicit threat of the lot. Heck, I was upset by them too. I had intended to mention them to Hunter and Griffin when I received the third note, but with the move and house-hunting, it had slipped my mind. Okay, that is not entirely true—I pushed it out of my mind, not wanting to deal with the threats. It was immature and perhaps irresponsible, but I knew once I told everyone it would become a ‘real’ issue to be handled. I didn’t want to acknowledge that I could once again be in danger.