A Song I Used to Know, page 21
The other side can’t get past Miranda’s words. Whether they’ve changed anything between us or will drive a permanent wedge between Mason and his parents. What if my existence in his life ruins his relationship with his mother? I can’t be responsible for that.
Is he having second thoughts? Why does he look so sexy simply sitting on that bed, and how long can I go without compulsively throwing myself at him? Am I really a cliché?
That’s the word she used. Not even a skank anymore. Just a cliché.
Mason creases his brow, scanning me up and down. “You doin’ okay over there?” he asks.
I can’t unload my neuroses on him. Not now, so soon after my massive meltdown over the videos of my parents. He’ll start to think all I’m capable of is breaking down and shedding tears. He’ll want the ring back.
“Stevie?”
Normal. Say something normal.
“You could fit my whole house in here.”
Solid choice, Stevie.
“There she is,” he says, then raises both arms to entice me toward him. “Come’ere.”
I wrinkle my nose and twist my lips before running full speed at him, tumbling onto the mattress. We flop and roll in a tangle of arms, legs, and laughter until he has me pinned under him.
His hair falls in his eyes as his fingers trace my cheek, my neck, my collarbone. I all but catch fire. With only a single—albeit great kiss, he lies beside me, pulling me into that safe haven between his arm and chest. My arm drapes across his stomach, and I meld into him. His bed is so comfortable, I could cry.
“Good talk,” I tease.
“Ha!” He presses his lips into my hair. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve been right here.”
“No,” he says gently. “You haven’t. But I understand. Stevie, I…” He exhales. “I’m so sorry. She’s completely out of line.”
“Your dad is very enthusiastic,” I divert. “I like him.”
I feel him relax. “That enthusiasm was completely heartfelt, by the way. He wasn’t just trying to be nice.”
I twist my lips back and forth. “I guess one out of two isn’t the absolute worst. But…damn. I mean, she really hates me.”
“Stevie, no,” he whispers, holding me tighter.
I turn into him, burying my face in his chest. “Who is that woman?” I ask. “The one you two were arguing about.”
“Daniel’s mom. She…” I sense him struggling to find the right words.
“She hurt you, didn’t she? She hurt your family.”
He sighs. “Yeah. She was complicated. It felt like my life was in pieces for a long time.”
He’s so tense against me, and I know this is painful for him. “You don’t have to talk about her. Not with me. If she hurt you, that’s all I need to know.” He kisses my hair. “Does she—your mom—does she think I’ll hurt Danny? Is that why she hates me?”
“Stevie, she doesn’t hate you. There’s no excuse for what she said, but I’m sure she regrets it.” He rubs my back, kissing my hair again. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”
I’m beginning to crumble. “Can we not talk about it anymore? Please?”
“Stevie—”
I lift my head to meet his gaze. “I got engaged last night. To this extremely smart, talented, sexy man of my dreams. I’d like to be happy about that right now. I’d like a day to just swim in it and ignore anything that makes me sad. Okay?”
He pushes my hair out of my face, tucking it behind my ear.
“Sexy, huh?” he asks through a smirk.
“You don’t even know,” I say, brushing my fingers over his stubble. “I find you so sexy, it’s stupid.”
His smile widens. “Ditto, babe. Ditto.”
I’m about to kiss him when a little voice asks, “What does ditto mean?”
Mason and I untangle from each other and wave for Daniel to climb onto the bed. He giggles as he flops between us.
I take his chubby toddler hand in mine and kiss it.
“Why’d you do dat?” he asks.
“Because I wanted to,” I answer.
“Are you gonna stay wif us forever now?”
Tears well, but for happier reasons.
Mason kisses Daniel’s forehead and strokes his hair. “Well, Danny boy,” he says. “How would you feel about that? About Stevie spending more time here and someday moving in?”
Daniel’s eyes widen. “To live here?”
I bite my lip.
“Yeah,” Mason says. “To live here.”
“You can share my room,” Danny says, grinning at me. “We’d can get bunk beds!”
Mason and I laugh.
“We were thinking more along the lines of—” Mason starts.
“Hey, speak for yourself,” I say. “I’ve always wanted bunk beds.”
Merrin calls the moment she’s home, demanding my company. Before she hugs me, before she says hello, before I’m even inside the house, she grabs my hand and examines my ring.
“Good glory,” she cries. “Honey, that ain’t white gold. That’s platinum.”
“Really?”
She pulls me through the door and wraps me in a hug, squeezing a little too tightly.
“Oh, Stevie. How can you be so smart and yet so, so dumb?”
“Okay, ouch.”
She releases me, wiping her glistening eyes.
“No,” I say, pointing a finger. “Don’t you dare cry. If you start crying, I’ll start crying. And I’m not crying today. No.”
“Sorry,” she says, fanning her face. “I’m just so happy.”
“Tell me about it.”
We settle onto the living room sectional with snacks, scrolling through Merrin’s pictures of New York. Each one has a lengthy story attached, but I’m content to listen.
By the time Merrin begins narrating the flight home, Nancy wakes from her post-vacation nap and joins us on the couch. She doesn’t interrupt Merrin but holds out her palm. I offer her my left hand, and she gasps.
Merrin pauses, glowering at her mother. Nancy mouths a sorry as she releases my fingers.
“No,” Merrin sighs. “It’s ok. I’m done, anyway. I’m sure we’d all much rather talk about Stevie’s fairytale engagement than relive Dad snoring at O’Hare.”
Nancy makes a gargling sound, burying her face in her hands. “Please, let’s never discuss it again,” she mutters. She eyes my hand, biting her lip. After a moment’s hesitation, she asks to see it again, and I oblige.
“I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s stunning.” She shakes her head, sighing. “And you’re sure about this?” There’s no malice or distrust in her words. Only genuine interest.
“I know it sounds crazy, Nan, but it was the easiest decision I’ve ever made in my entire life.”
She nods. “That’s not crazy, sweetie. I was eighteen when I met Max. Even so young, I knew. If he’d asked me on the first date, I would have said yes. And the whole year-long engagement thing? That was only because our parents bribed us.”
“Bribed you?”
“Yeah, they joined forces. Told us if we stretched the engagement out at least a year, they’d give us a down payment on a house.”
“Oh, wow!” I let out a low whistle. “Hard to argue with that.”
“It was the longest year of my life,” she says, seemingly staring into her past. “I thought I’d wither away and die waiting for the day to arrive. But I tell you what, seeing the looks on our parents’ faces when they had to pay up?” She laughs, shaking her head. “That made it all worth it. They were counting on us either eloping or breaking up. They never thought we’d make it.”
“But here we are,” Max says, entering the room, a lightness about his tone I’m not accustomed to. He kisses his wife before settling in his recliner. “Must have done something right, eh, Nance?”
They share a look that makes Merrin audibly gag.
Nancy squeezes my knee. “Look, honey. I won’t sit here and tell you it’s been easy. But I regret nothing.”
Her words are a salve I didn’t realize I needed. It’s been days since the Miranda Incident, and though I know Mason has likely spent time with her in Coeur d’Alene, he hasn’t mentioned her to me in any capacity. It’s been nothing but I miss yous and pictures of Danny with his cousins.
As much as I know Mason loves me, I’m feeling the weight of his mother’s disapproval, almost like a bad omen slowly blacking out the sun I’ve been basking in ever since Mason first kissed me. Having Nancy in my corner, advocating for love, even young love, and sharing her sentiment of no regrets, I feel a renewed faith that things will, in fact, be alright.
“So, have you told little Daniel yet?” Merrin asks.
“We told him a few days ago.”
“How is he handling it?”
“He seems elated. He asked if he should start calling me Mommy.”
Merrin and Nancy aww simultaneously. Max shakes his head, standing and leaving the room. Nancy smacks his butt as he walks by, and again my best friend gags.
“Anyway,” she continues with her dad out of the room. “What did you tell him?”
“Mason and I told him he should call me what makes him comfortable. It was kind of a long discussion, but in the end, Daniel decided he would call me Stevie until the wedding, then afterward, ‘maybe Mama Stevie.’”
Nancy rubs my arm. “How are you feeling about that?”
“Blissful. Honestly. I feel like he was meant to be mine. Which, again, probably sounds crazy. I can’t explain it.”
“You don’t have to, honey,” Nancy assures me. “For one thing, you’re an adult, and you’ve been taking care of yourself a long time. Beyond that, you’re smart, and you have good instincts. I trust you, Stevie. Implicitly. And I’ve got pretty good instincts, myself,” she adds, winking. “That being said, if you start seeing any red flags, I want you to run. Do you understand me?”
I tilt my head, squinting.
“I’m serious. It’s never too late to walk away from something. Okay? Promise me.”
“Yeah,” I agree, nodding. “Okay. I promise.”
She relaxes into the couch. “Good girl. And if there’s anything you need help with—wedding planning or anything else—I hope you know you can come to me.”
“Well,” I say, drawing the word out, “there’s actually something I’m hoping Max could help—”
Nancy bolts up. “Max! Max, get in here!”
“It doesn’t have to be now,” I start.
“Don’t bother,” Merrin says dully. “You said the magic word. She’s been activated. Parents live for their adult children asking for help.”
She says it in a whisper, but it resonates like a scream, the idea I might be considered someone’s adult child.
Max scowls as he reenters the room. “What? Who died?”
“Good grief, Maxwell. Just sit down.”
He grumbles but takes a seat in a recliner.
“Stevie has requested your help,” Nancy tells him.
It might be my imagination, but I swear he perks up at these words.
“Well, the thing is,” I say, “I’ve got this house.”
The first day of the semester has me questioning my sanity. I’m taking too many classes, and they start way too early in the morning. But the knowledge my boys are on the other side of it keeps me going. I haven’t seen them since we told Daniel about our relationship. They’ve been busy visiting family, and I’ve been so busy packing up the house and cleaning, I haven’t even updated Mason on the big change. I’m still coming to terms with it.
Selling the house. I am selling my house. It will officially be on the market in under forty-eight hours. I don’t even live there anymore, and I never will again. I’m taking up temporary residence in a spare room in the Caraway’s daylight basement. In a real bed, on a real bedframe.
Overly eager to see Mason and explain it all to him, I don’t register the somewhat familiar car parked in front of the house.
Daniel runs up to me as I come through the door. I don’t bother with knocking anymore—I even have a key. Mason slipped it on my keyring the last time we were together.
“Stevie’s here! Stevie’s here!” Daniel announces to the house.
“Hey, little man!” He lunges at me, latching onto my leg. I drop my bag and coat where I stand, placing my hands on either side of his head, stroking his soft hair. “I missed you. How was your visit with your cousins?”
“Dey have Candyland and we’d played it every day!”
“Every day, huh? That’s amazing.”
“Can we’d make cookies today?”
“Maybe, sweetheart,” I say, stiffening as Mason and Miranda come into view. Mason wears a smile I’m not sure I should trust.
“You’re early,” he says, walking toward me.
“I can go. I’ll come back later.” I clumsily bend to pick up my things, Daniel still an extension of my leg. Mason takes my coat and bag, kissing me as he does.
“Don’t even think about it,” he whispers. “It’s been days since I saw you.”
I ready myself to stand on my toes and kiss him again before remembering our audience. “I uh, I just…” I look down at Daniel, still smiling up at me. I drum my hands against his back, then tickle his sides. He squeals, detaching himself from me and running off to play. “My class times are a little different this semester, so I nabbed a slightly earlier shift at the daycare. I came as soon as I got off. I missed you guys. And I was excited to tell you…”
“Tell me what?” He hangs up my things and puts an arm around me, leading me through the house, ruining all hope of escape. “We missed you too,” he assures me in that low, smooth, steady voice that turns me to butter.
I look at Miranda. “I don’t want to interrupt.”
Miranda closes some distance between us. “You’re not interrupting. I came here to see you. The both of you. But I understand if you’re not ready to see me.”
I try and fail to respond several times before I turn to Mason and blurt, “I’m selling the house. I moved in with the Caraways.”
He jerks his head back. “Wait. What?”
Without answering, I break away from him, go into the kitchen, and pour myself a glass of water. Miranda’s presence has caught me off guard, and I’m glitching out. I need—but lack—a reset button.
I want to rewind to five minutes ago, notice her car, and just not come inside.
I want to yell at her.
I want her to love me.
Keenly aware of my audience, I drink my water, then brace myself against the kitchen counter.
“I talked with Max last week,” I say, staring at the floor. “Picked his brain about my options. Whether to use the house as a rental property—an income. Or to just cut it loose, use the money for school, and invest whatever’s leftover, seeing as the market is absolutely insane right now. And between school and work, I wasn’t sure I wanted the stress of a rental property. You know?”
Shrugging, I finally look up. Mason has taken a seat on a bar stool. Miranda stands just outside the kitchen, giving off a woman without a country vibe, unsure where she belongs.
I clear my throat, then continue. “Max talked me through the pros and cons, answered all my questions. I decided to sell.”
Mason nods. “And the moving in with the Caraways?” he asks.
“Oh. Yeah. Max suggested clearing the house out completely or staging it. The way I have things situated…” I trail off, but Mason understands. “People like to picture themselves in the home they’re buying. No one wants to picture themselves living like I do. Or did, rather.” I mean it to come out light, joking, but it draws concern from Miranda.
“Wait,” she says, walking toward me. “What’s that about?”
“Oh, nothing,” I sigh. “Lower, lower middle-class problems,” I mutter. Nothing Miranda Shepard can understand. She squints but doesn’t press further.
I turn my attention back to Mason. “I spent the weekend moving out and cleaning.”
He frowns. “I wish I’d have known. I wish I’d been here to help.”
“You needed to be right where you were,” I argue. “Your brother and Rachel needed you more than I did. Besides, it’s not like I did it alone. The Caraways helped.”
His frown softens. “Good.”
“Max has an agent coming over Wednesday to take pictures and get it listed.”
Mason shakes his head. “Wow. That was fast.”
I laugh. “Tell me about it. Max doubts the house will stay on the market more than a couple weeks.”
“He’s not wrong,” Miranda says, rejoining the conversation. “I don’t know if Mason’s told you this, but I’ve got a lot of experience when it comes to money management and investments.”
My lips twitch—almost a smile. “Yeah, he did say you were a bit of a wizard.”
“I mean, it sounds like you’ve already got someone in your corner, but if you ever want or need advice in that regard, I’d be happy to help.”
I nod, biting down the stream of snarky retorts lining up on my tongue.
“Stevie, I hope you know how thrilled I am for you and Mase. I want nothing more than for everything to work out.”
So many snarky retorts, just aching to be unleashed. Keep calm, Stevie. Just. Be. Cool.
“Are you sure about that?” I snap.
Dammit, Stevie!
But even when Miranda hangs her head, seemingly embarrassed, my mouth keeps moving.
“Miranda, I don’t want to burn bridges here. Ultimately, I want us to get along. And I can’t say I blame you for doubting I know anything about responsibility or love or marriage or parenthood. I’m just asking—begging you to take the time to try and know me a little before you go bad-mouthing me in front of your family, especially the little boy upstairs whom I want desperately to call me ‘Mom.’” My hands shake, and my eyes burn.
Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.
