by Cranford, B.
* * *
Rose walked into Liam’s house ahead of him, turning to look at him over her shoulder. “I’m gonna go put my bag in your room. Be back in a sec.”
He nodded, the look in his eyes as vulnerable as she felt. She felt like collapsing. After the morning she’d had, her body was dragging, her mind foggy. But her heart was . . . light.
No, not light. But lighter, in any case. Surprisingly so, given the argument with Kassi that still lingered between them, and the uncertainty over what was happening with her dad.
Not to mention the fact indecision was still the name of the game when it came to her future—or lack thereof—with Liam.
Putting her bag on the chair that sat in one corner of Liam’s room, she walked over to the unmade bed and flopped back on it. She really was so tired. Closing her eyes, she let her mind wander. It wasn’t until she felt a familiar warmth at her back that she opened them again.
“You still ‘fine,’ Babe?” Liam asked softly, his breath skipping across her cheek.
She started to nod, but decided that no, she wanted to face him. Rolling over, she brought her hand to his face and smiled. “I’m okay. Better than fine. But tired.”
“Will you tell me more about what you’ll do when you get home?”
They hadn’t talked about it yet, her plans for Christmas with her family and after. Probably because it was all a part of the “what will happen to us” conversation they had been—and still were—avoiding. Nevertheless . . . “What do you want to know?”
He considered it, before asking, “What’ll you do for Christmas?”
“Spend the day at Mum and Dad’s. Although, I guess I’ll be living there, so it’ll be my place, too.” She liked the idea of living at home again, though she suspected it’d get old quick smart. “Lucas will be home by then, so he’ll be there too. Our grandparents on our mum’s side will be there. My grandparents on Dad’s side, too.”
“Do they make you vegan food? Or, wait, are they vegan, too?”
“My parents are. Lucas isn’t. So, yeah, it’ll be a vegan-friendly meal. Presents, bon-bons, the blistering Australian sun. So different to Christmas here last year.”
“A summer Christmas. So weird.” Liam made a face, teasing her in the way he liked to sometimes do when it came to their differences. “And why do I get the feeling a bon-bon is something different to you?”
Laughing, Rose replied, “Because it is. It’s a Christmas cracker. Like a brightly wrapped cardboard tube thing that you share with the person next to you. You each pull an end and someone gets the prize inside. I bet you can get them online.”
“But who would I share it with?”
“Oh, right. Well, anyway. They’re fun. They have terrible jokes inside.” She giggled. “Like you.”
“Me? You’ve told some terrible ones since I’ve known you.” He reached out and tickled her sides, and it made her laugh harder, even as she tried to wiggle away. “You’re so ticklish. How am I only just learning this?”
“Unlearn it, bucko,” she warned, finally managing to roll off the bed and away from his searching fingers.
From his spot still on the bed, his laughter slowed until his face was once again serious. “Was it hard last year? When it wasn’t summer, and you didn’t have your family.”
She thought about it, bringing up the memories of spending the day in the North Carolina mountains with Kassi, and her aunt and uncle at their cabin. It hadn’t been bad, by any stretch of the imagination. Which she made sure to tell Liam. “It was different, like I said. And I think since it was my first one, it was more of an adventure than this one would be. I feel like . . . When I think about missing another Christmas back home, it hurts.” She absently rubbed at the spot on her chest that ached. “I love Christmas. I love the bon-bons and sitting around the table and judging who got the worst joke.”
“I get it,” he replied, shifting on the bed so he was sitting.
She immediately moved around so she could sit on the edge of the mattress beside him, grabbing his hand. “I know you do. I think not being there for it last year is part of the reason I’m so keen to get home.” She swallowed. “Why I can’t really consider anything but. In fact, I know it is.”
He lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the back of it. He didn’t try to fill the silence with empty words; he simply let her be until she was ready. And when she was ready, she asked him to do something with her she hadn’t done before.
Not go to the pumpkin patch, although part of her was sad to miss that. But show her all the holiday movies he’d watched as a kid—Halloween and Thanksgiving and Christmas cartoons that were considered classics, but that she’d never seen.
He agreed readily, except to say, “On one condition: no popcorn for Wilbur.”
Following him from his bedroom and into the lounge room, she flopped down on his sofa and pulled the fluffy pillow into her lap. “Kassi must hate me right now.”
“Why?” He picked up Wilbur before sitting down beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and using it to pull her closer.
“I said some bitchy things, things I didn’t really mean, because I was on the defensive. Ugh, it was like high school. I acted like a spoiled brat.”
“She’ll forgive you.” He said it with confidence, like he genuinely couldn’t imagine someone staying mad at Rose. Except he hadn’t been there and heard the way she’d spoken to Kas.
Ugh. “I hope so. I sent her a message to say I was sorry and that I’d talk to her tonight. I would’ve done it in person, but she left when I was talking to Mum and I didn’t get the chance.” She’d walked down to Kassi’s room, only to find it empty. Being unable to apologize properly hadn’t helped her mood. Not one iota.
It was no wonder, then, that Liam had picked up on her upset so easily.
His arm squeezed her a little closer and she turned into him that much more. He offered her so much strength, so much safety just by being there. And when he said, “You both needed time to cool off, and besides, you had a lot on your mind after you talked to your mum anyway,” she knew he gave her understanding, too.
“True. I’m just—I feel so unsettled now. Thank you for bringing me here.” She smiled up at him and nuzzled in closer, just as Wilbur made a successful leap from Liam’s lap to hers and tried his hand at joining in the nuzzling. The result was a cold, wet nose to her ear and a rumbling laugh from Liam that she felt in his chest.
“Hey, you don’t have to thank me. What do I need a pumpkin patch for? Seen one, seen them all.” He waved a dismissive hand, though she couldn’t help but wonder if he was disappointed.
She was, in her own way. But they had a fun, popcorn-free afternoon planned and after the morning she’d had, she needed the joy of holiday movies.
Soon, she thought. Soon, you’ll need to really talk to him.
She knew it needed to happen, that it couldn’t wait forever. But despite the small step forward she felt like she’d taken—explaining to Liam how helpless she’d felt in the wake of her mum’s phone call—she still wasn’t ready.
She would be, though. She’d get there. And she was giving herself two more weeks to do it.
Chapter Nineteen
Liam: We really need to tal—
Deleting the incomplete message, Liam banged his fist on his desk, once, twice, three times.
Liam: Are we ever going to discus—
“Shit.”
Liam: Rose, I need to know what the fuck we’re going to do when you—
Jesus, the aborted messages were getting worse. Like, way worse. But then again, so was his mood. It had been nearly two weeks since she’d had her fight with Kassi, and because he’d known she’d been bruised by their argument, he’d made a point not to bring up anything that could upset her.
But his patience was fraying.
No, scrap that. His patience was frayed.
“Stupid, asshole, idiot,” he muttered, staring at the now-blank screen on
his phone and wondering what he could possibly say to start the conversation they had to have.
Liam: Here’s an idea, Rosie. You stay here, with me, because even though I didn’t plan for you, I can’t let you leave.
“Why do I feel like she’d crack the shits at me for that one?” He smiled at his own use of “crack the shits,” one of his favorites of all the Aussie-isms she’d taught him, then shook his head. “Because it makes me sound like an unreasonable asshole?”
Liam: Babe, I know you think you’re not ready, but if we waited for you to be ready, we’d be waiting forever. We both know that your decision-making skills are about as good as my cooking skills.
That one wasn’t actually as bad as the others, since it at least struck the right balance of humor and “can we please just figure this thing out for my sanity?”, but still, he couldn’t send it.
“Can I?”
“Are you talking to yourself?” Sasha walked into his office, looking puzzled. “First sign of going mad.”
“Yeah, well, the second sign is typing and re-typing basically the same message over and over and over again. And the third”—he banged his fist on the desk a fourth time, his voice started to rise—“is letting Rose avoid the fucking topic of what’s going to happen when she leaves.”
“Whoa there, calm down.”
“Can you just leave? I don’t really want to do this with you right now.” He waved a hand, shooing her out of the room, but of course, she didn’t leave.
Of course.
“I don’t care. We’re doing this.” Sasha crossed her arms, a stubborn look settling on her face and telling Liam he was in for it.
“Sasha,” he started, forcing calm into his voice when he wasn’t feeling it, “We’re not doing this, not now. So leave.”
“You weren’t really going to text her about this, were you?” Sasha asked, ignoring his requests that she leave.
“Not your business.”
“Oh my fucking God, you were.” She shook her head. “Classy, bro.”
“None of your business, sis,” he retorted sarcastically. “I didn’t actually text her anyway. So don’t stress, okay?” He pushed up out of his chair and moved around the desk, wanting to pace the room, but not wanting to give his sister the satisfaction of seeing him so restless.
“I don’t think I’m the one who’s stressed, but sure.” She smirked at him. “Look, text her and ask her to meet you. Then think about what you want to say, take a few—as in several—deep breaths and lose the attitude.”
He closed his eyes, sighing as he thought about her advice. “Fine, I will.”
“You know I’m right, right?”
Opening his eyes again, he glared at her. “You don’t need to rub it in, Sasha. Jesus Christ.”
“What exactly has your panties in a twist all of a sudden?”
“Monday.”
“Monday? Monday’s got you pissed?” Sasha looked at him like he’d just told her he was a parrot and wanted to live exclusively off crackers for the rest of his life. “You realize it’s Friday, right?”
“Yes, I realize it’s Friday. But this Monday, it’ll be three weeks until she leaves.” No longer able to bang his fist on the desk, he instead punched it against his thigh. A twinge of pain, but nothing close to what he suspected losing Rose to her indecision would feel like. “And did I mention we still haven’t talked about what we’re going to do?”
“Then send your text, ask her to get together, and make her talk.” She shook her head like it was common sense, except . . .
“You’re the one who told me I couldn’t pressure her to make a decision!” He was practically yelling. “I’ve been waiting, hoping she’ll bring it up and nothing. No-fucking-thing.”
“You’re an idiot. Don’t pressure her into a decision and don’t try to make it for her but ask her at least.”
“Seriously?” He looked at her with disbelief, blinking hard against the frustration sending adrenaline pumping through his body. Seeing her nod, he shook his head, then brought up the message screen on his phone once more.
Liam: I know we don’t have plans for this weekend yet, but can I see you? I think it’s time we talked.
* * *
Liam was sitting across from his woman at a small café she’d chosen, considering career options. “You could be one of those people that make money posting pictures of their dog on Instagram.”
His woman. God, it sounded so good. Now if only he could find the right moment to talk to her about the fact she was leaving in just over three weeks.
Permanently, unless they figured something out.
“Excuse me?” Rose gave him a funny look—like maybe she thought he was high or something—and he laughed, refusing to think about their expiration date anymore without first talking to her about it. “Well, you said you didn’t know what you wanted to do with your life.”
“I believe I said I didn’t know what I wanted to be when I grow up.”
“Yes, right, exactly. You could be a–um, oh, what are they called?” He tapped his finger on his chin, making a show of thinking, though he truly was trying to remember the word. Then, it hit him. “An influencer!”
“Sounds like someone who passes on the flu. An influenza.” She laughed at her own joke, her pretty face lighting up in delight at her pun.
It was funny, especially when said in her Aussie accent that made her “a” sound like “er” and her “er” sound like “a.”
“But come on, Wilbur could be famous. A dog model. Paid to munch on new treats and wear all the latest in canine fashion.” He rubbed a hand over the little dog in his lap, who was currently surveying their surroundings, making sure to clock every person or dog who passed him by.
He was a good boy. Genuinely, a really good boy—he sat calmly in someone’s lap and looked around, occasionally giving a little lick or a nip. But otherwise, he behaved so well, you could almost forget he was there. Which was probably why he gave that lick or nip . . . to remind you he was there and in need of attention.
“I don’t know that I want a famous dog. Just imagine all the extra attention he’d have to endure at the dog park.” She faked a shudder then tilted her head to the side, smiling at her puppy, whose whole body wagged when his human asked him a question. “Do you want to be famous, bud?”
Liam wasn’t really given to flights of fancy, but when Wilbur gave a low, growly kind of bark, he could’ve sworn that was the dog’s way of saying no.
Which Rose clearly agreed with. “See, he’s not interested. Low barks for no, little yips for yes. It’s our language. So, I guess it’s back to the drawing board.”
“Oh, you draw?” he asked, deliberately misunderstanding her. “Maybe you could be a children’s book illustrator. A cartoonist. Or a–a–a person who draws.”
“It’s not a terrible idea except for the fact that I can’t draw. You know that ‘back to the drawing board’ is just an expression, right? Or is that one of those Australian things we need to run through?”
“You mean like when you asked me to get your jumper and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why?”
“Yes, just like that. Though . . . I’m still surprised you didn’t know what a jumper was.”
“Well, I know now.” He picked at the sweatshirt he’d pulled over his head before he’d left his place to pick up Rose. It was dark grey and had his college mascot across the front. A favorite of his. And hers, when she stayed over at his house and in his bed. “Do you like my jumpa?”
Her eyes narrowed at the way he said “jumper” and she scrunched up her nose. “Did you just mock my accent?”
He shook his head with slow, wide turns. “No, ma’am. I would never.”
She scoffed and his laugh was loud enough to earn a little yip from Wilbur, which caused Rose to give him a look that said “see, even he says you were mocking me.” Running one of Wilby’s long ears through his hand, he said, “Sorry, dude. Your mommy is funny though.”
“Pardon?”
“Mummy.”
“Where?” He looked left and right over his shoulder and turned back toward Rose after fixing a faux expression of horror on his face. “Fuck, is it after us? I knew we should have heeded the curse!” The people at the table next to them looked over, but he ignored them, waiting to see what his Rosie would do.
She looked so damn pretty, sitting across from him at the little café where they were having “afternoon tea.” She’d asked him so shyly if he wanted to come with her, to this place that she’d found that served the only kind of hot tea she liked “in all of America.”
He’d thought she’d been joking, but the look of total pleasure on her face after the first sip had said that, no, she was not.
She really did love the tea at this out-of-the-way café that he hadn’t even known existed.
And he really did love the way she laughed at his mummy joke.
“You crack me up,” she said, her laughter drawing the attention of that same table of people nearby. Clearly, they loved the way she laughed, too. “But you know what I meant. We’ll be pronouncing it ‘Mummy,’ thank you very much.”
“Fine, fine. Mummy.” His wiggled his eyebrows at her, then moved the conversation back to what they’d been talking about. “Okay, so not an ‘influenza’ and not an artist. A fisherman?”
She frowned, discomfort on her face. “Um?”
“Oh, sorry, fisher-woman. Fisher-person? Fish-catching-expert.”
“Yeah, so I was less worried about the ‘man’ part than I was about the fact that I hate fishing. Because”—she pointed to her chest then down at the bowl in front of her that had held a vegetable paella—“I’m a vegan, remember?”
“Oh, right, yeah. You know, I did actually know that.”
“I would hope so. Otherwise I’d question all the supposedly ‘vegan-friendly’ meals and restaurants we’ve been to lately. Well, not the restaurants because I can see the little icons on their menus. But now I’m wondering about all the times you’ve been in charge of ordering takeaway food.”