Until Now (15 page)

I tried to imagine being married at my age, and pregnant, but I couldn’t. That kind of life seemed alien to me.

“Mason was born two days after we graduated college,” Ryan went on. “We moved to Hyde Creek to be closer to Chelsea’s family and I got a job there. Everything was fine for a while, until Mason was about six months old. Then I started noticing things. Money missing. Chelsea started acting secretive and defensive. One night I smelled wine on her breath and confronted her. She admitted she was drinking again, so I gave her an ultimatum. She had to get help, or I’d leave her and take Mason. So she went to rehab for a few weeks, got sober. This time, it lasted several months. I thought everything would be all right now, that she’d finally beat it. You know, for Mason’s sake.”

We were back to where we started, near the playground, but I barely noticed. I squeezed his hand again, letting him know he could take his time. That I’d be patient. He squeezed back, grateful, and continued.

“One day, she got pulled over for speeding. The cop must’ve smelled something on her, because he gave her the Breathalyzer. She blew a .15. That’s almost twice the legal limit. She was arrested, but that wasn’t even the worse part.” Another pause, this one tinged with anger. “Mason was in the car.”

I gasped. “Oh my God.”

“She was speeding, legally intoxicated, with our sixteen-month-old baby in the backseat. It was the last straw for me. I filed for divorce and requested full custody. She didn’t fight it. She moved out of the house we were renting and went to stay with her parents, who’d always enabled her. Mason and I stayed in Hyde Creek, mainly because I had a good job and needed to save money. Chelsea was allowed supervised visits with him but they became less and less frequent. She was still drinking, but I didn’t feel right moving him away from her. She always promised she would get sober for him, be a good mom…”

I felt sick. No wonder he was so reluctant to talk about her. No wonder he acted so edgy and solemn sometimes. No wonder his mother looked so pleased every time I refused wine at dinner.

“Anyway,” Ryan said, sounding drained. Reliving the trauma of his short-lived marriage had clearly taken it out of him. “She kept getting worse. The visits stopped altogether. Her parents refused to speak to me because they thought I was interfering in her relationship with her son. Total bullshit.” He shook his head, scowling at the memory. “When Mason and I came home for a visit last Christmas and Dad told me that Uncle Kenny was sick and needed someone to take over the bookstore, I was more than ready for a change of scenery. I gave my two weeks’ notice, packed up everything we owned, and here we are. I haven’t heard a word from Chelsea since we moved back, and that’s fine by me. Mason’s better off without her.”

“And you?”

His jaw muscles twitched. “I was finished with her the day she endangered Mason’s life. I’ll never forgive her for that.”

“I don’t blame you,” I said softly.

When he looked at me again, his face was flushed, his eyes hard and icy. I’d seen him irritated before, even been on the receiving end of it once or twice, but I’d never seen him mad. Reliving the day his son was put in harm’s way obviously enraged him, even a year and a half later.

“So that’s the story,” he said brusquely. “And now we should probably talk about something else.”

I was happy to change subjects, and for the rest of our walk we stuck to light topics such as the weather and how amazing the food was at Masino. By the time we circled back to Ryan’s car, there was nothing safe left to discuss.

“Guess I should go pick up my son,” he said with a slight trace of regret. “He’s not used to me leaving for somewhere that isn’t work. He was full of questions earlier.”

I looked up at him as I leaned against the car, re-fastening my shoes. “What did you tell him?”

“That I was going out with you.” He opened my door for me, smiling. “He was okay with it. He likes you.”

“I like him too,” I said.

“He asked me if I was going to kiss you good night.” He turned away, brow furrowed. “Oh, wait. That was Nicole.”

I laughed and climbed into the car. The short drive back to the Brogans’ house was comfortable and quiet. No awkwardness between us now. He knew some of the worst things about my life, my struggles and soft spots and burdens, and now I knew some of his too. Each revelation made us closer. At some point, we’d evolved from two strangers bickering in a bookstore into two people connected by happenstance and mutual respect.

Respect I didn’t want to lose.

“I should probably do it, then,” Ryan said once we were parked in the driveway.

“You should probably do what?”

“Kiss you good night on the front porch like a proper date would do.”

My pulse skipped and then settled into a steady, thumping rhythm. Simply holding his hand felt amazing; what would his lips feel like on me? Suddenly, I wanted to know.
Needed
to know.

“You probably should,” I said slowly. “You know, for legitimization purposes.”

He agreed and I got out of the car, circling around to meet him on the driver’s side so we could walk up to the porch together. But we didn’t quite make it to the porch. As soon as I reached him, he grabbed my waist and backed me up against the side of the car.

Holy crap
was my only coherent thought as our bodies met, followed quickly by our lips. I’d half-expected him to be careful and reserved and maybe even a little boring when it came to kissing. But no. He did it like he’d taken a class in it. A class taught by someone who knew all the techniques involved in making a woman’s knees buckle. Dry and soft at first, warming up, then harder, no longer dry but not sloppy either. Just enough tongue and teeth and pressure. If it weren’t for the solid weight of his body against mine, pinning me to the car, I likely would’ve sunk to the ground.

“Well,” I said when he pulled back a few minutes later. “You’re totally dedicated to making this date as authentic as possible, aren’t you? Your mother would be proud.”

He swept a loose curl off my face. “You know, this is the worst possible moment to mention my mother.”

Before I could apologize he was kissing me again, his fingers tangling in my hair. My own hands were free to explore, and I let them skim over his shoulders and down to his chest, which felt warm and taut under his thin shirt. His mouth became even more demanding, tongue stroking mine in a slow, teasing way that made me wonder what talents it had in other places. Imagining this in Taylor’s father’s driveway, with the porch light glaring and the neighbors probably eating popcorn as they watched us through their windows, sort of dampened my mood a bit. I pulled away, gasping.

“You’d better go,” I murmured, dropping my hands from his chest. “Before the neighbors start taking pictures and posting them on Twitter.”

“Wouldn’t want that.” He reluctantly peeled himself away from me and took my hand, leading me up to the porch. This time, we made it all the way there. “So,” he said, coming to a stop by the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow? Dinner at my parents’ house?”

“Of course,” I replied, straightening his collar. “I hear it’s Mexican night.”

He smiled and leaned in to kiss my cheek. “Good night,” he said, then turned away and walked down the steps to the driveway and his car. I stood there, dazed, watching him go.

Up in my room, the pink roses sat on the dresser in a glass vase, filling the room with their faint sweet scent. By the time I fell asleep, I’d memorized every petal.

Sunday dinner was a lot less crowded this week. Garrett, Maggie, and Isaac still weren’t back from their weekend getaway, Alicia and Kenji were both home with baby Ellie, who’d caught her first virus, and Graham was visiting his brother Kenny, who’d recently been admitted to the hospital with some kind of breathing complication. This time around, he wasn’t expected to make it out.

This last piece of news put a definite pall over dinner, but Jane tried to keep things light and cheerful for her grandson’s sake. Mason, I’d learned, was remarkably observant.

“So tell me,” Jane said as what was left of her family—and me—settled around the dining room table. “What did you think of the food at Masino Ristorante?”

Ryan, who’d sat next to me without prompting for once, glanced at me and said, “It was good. Really tasty.”

Suppressing a smile, I reached over and dug my fingers into his leg just above the knee. This was a mistake, because one of the qualities I hadn’t discovered about him yet was that he was extremely ticklish. He jumped, bumping against the table leg beside him and rattling all the dishes. Jane, Nicole, and Mason all stared at him.

“What is
wrong
with you?” Nicole asked, shaking her head.

“Sorry,” Ryan said, moving his leg out of my reach. “Cramp.”

To keep from laughing, I focused on the delicious-looking spread in front of me. As promised, this Sunday’s dinner had a Mexican theme, complete with fajita fixings, spicy rice, tortilla chips, and bowls of homemade salsa and guac. My mouth watered.

Due to all the extra room, Mason was sitting with us at the big table this time. When he was through eating, he ducked under the table and resurfaced on my left side. Wordlessly, and to my surprise, he attempted to climb onto my lap. I reached down to help, hefting him up and positioning him so his back rested against my chest and his curly head came to just below my chin.

“How’s she supposed to eat with you in her way, buddy?” Ryan asked him.

“He’s fine,” I said, because he was. The warm weight and scent of him set off something inside me, tiny slivers knitting back together like a once-fractured bone. He seemed to sense it too, how therapeutic his presence was for me, because he took my free arm and draped it across his small chest, letting me know he didn’t mind.

Finishing dinner proved to be tricky with a forty-pound child between me and my plate, so I gave up and leaned back, content just to sit. At one point I looked up and caught the expression on Jane’s face, which was a mixture of satisfaction and hope. Even acerbic Nicole looked a little touched by the scene. After all, it had been a long time since Mason had anything resembling a mom.

My body suddenly went cold. Was that what they thought? Was that what
Ryan
thought? That I was on board to become Mason’s stand-in mother, Ryan’s new girlfriend? Had I unwittingly planted this idea in their heads? If so, it was time to uproot it, and soon.

I’d wreck you
, I thought as Ryan’s hand grazed mine under the table.
Probably even worse than your ex-wife wrecked you.

I liked this family too much to let myself be that woman.

“Let’s go upstairs for a minute,” Ryan said to me after the dinner mess was cleaned up. “I want to show you my old room.”

“Yeah, I bet that’s what you want to show her,” Nicole said, poking him in the shoulder as she passed by on her way to the living room. Ryan gave her his
If you were a boy I’d punch you in the throat
glare that he seemed to keep in reserve just for her.

“Okay,” I replied, smiling in spite of myself. His ulterior motives
were
kind of obvious. He was impatient to kiss me again, and possible relationship misconceptions aside, I desperately wanted to kiss him again too. But that didn’t mean I was going to, at least not until I said my piece.

In the month or so since I’d started coming here, I’d never been on the second floor of the house. Ryan headed to the first door on the right and swung it open, motioning for me to go inside first. The room was spacious and painted a neutral beige, drawing my eye to the dark blue comforter spread over the double bed. Trophies lined the dresser, most of them having to do with swimming.

“I used to share this room with Garrett when I was little,” Ryan said, leaning against the wall by the door. “He hated it. There’s a nine-year age difference between us, so I was always annoying him and getting into his stuff. I always thought he was mean back then, so I was glad when he went away to college and I got the room all to myself.”

I wandered around, touching things. A stack of out-of-date video games. A shelf filled with books. The trophies. “You were a jock?” I said, turning back to Ryan.

“Not really. I did competitive swimming in high school and a little in college. I was never very passionate about it, but I still do it sometimes, for fun.”

Moving to the closet, I opened it and peeked inside. Old clothes. Boxes. “I’m not going to find a box of porn in here, am I?” I asked.

He laughed. “No, I think I got rid of it.”

I backed out of the closet and gave him a reproving look. “How many girls have you entertained in this room, young man?”

“A couple,” he said, pushing himself off the wall and moving toward me. “But none since high school.”

I swallowed as he reached for me, pulling me against his body. As he lowered his face to mine, I placed my hands on his chest and whispered, “Ryan.”

“What?” he breathed against my lips.

“I’m not—”

The door swung open then, causing us to spring apart. “Daddy?” said a little voice.

Ryan backed up away from me, leaving at least three feet between us. “Yeah, Mase? What is it?”

“I’m ready to play Chutes and Ladders now,” Mason said, hopping up and down in the doorway, seemingly unfazed by what he’d almost walked into.

“How about you go and set it up on the kitchen table for us? We’ll be right down.”

“Okay!” he said, and disappeared from the doorway. Seconds later, I heard his footsteps plodding down the stairs. Once we were safely in the clear again, Ryan turned back to me.

“You were saying?” He pulled me close again, his lips brushing against my ear.

Oh God, I thought. What
was
I saying? “Um,” I said, forcing myself to step back. “Before we go any further, I just wanted to make sure you knew that I…well, I’m not really looking for a serious relationship right now.”

He stared down at me, his pupils slightly dilated with desire. Surprisingly, my words hadn’t done much to douse it. “Good,” he said, “because neither am I.”

“Really?”

He chuckled at my obvious surprise. “You’re beautiful, you make me laugh, and I like kissing you. And unless I’m totally misreading the signals here, you like kissing me too. Let’s just leave it at that for now, okay?”

Relieved, I looped my arms around his neck and touched my lips to his. “Well, in that case…”

* * *

Two days later, I woke up to a text on my phone from my stepfather.

Meet me at the Starbucks on Gerard at noon. Have something for you.

I stared at the text, dumbfounded and still half-asleep. My first thought was of Drake and Lila, that he’d brought them home and for some weird reason chose to hold our reunion at Starbucks. Then I woke up fully and remembered that this was
Alan
, the man who rarely brought me good news.

OK
, I texted back as I checked the time. Ten-fifteen. I was on evening shift all week, three to nine, and I’d hoped to sleep in a bit longer since I didn’t have to get up for work. But Alan never texted me, so I knew it had to be something important.

I arrived at Starbucks first and ordered a coffee and a cinnamon brioche. Then I claimed one of the few empty tables and sat down to wait. For some reason, I felt nervous. What was with all the nervous energy lately? Usually, I took things in stride. Maybe I needed to smoke more pot.

Alan strode in a few minutes late, dressed in a dark gray suit that was tailored to hide the flabby stomach underneath. Heads turned as he walked toward me, but not because he was particularly handsome. His clothes and posture exuded power.

“I’m going to grab an Americano,” he said after greeting me with a small nod.

While he was in line, I forced myself to finish my brioche, even though my stomach was quaking. Maybe one of them is hurt, I thought. Or maybe something happened to Mom. But would he tell me something like that in Starbucks, surrounded by a dozen people? Would he be ordering an Americano and tapping away on his phone while he waited?

Yes, I decided. This was Alan, after all.

“Okay,” he said, coming back with his drink and sitting across from me at the table. “I only have a few minutes here. First things first, I have these for you.” He reached into the front pocket of his suit and pulled out a pair of diamond stud earrings, the exact pair I’d gone to the Redwood Hills house to look for a couple of weeks ago, when I found him instead.

“Where did you find them?” I asked as he dropped the studs onto my palm. These earrings were one of the only gifts I’d ever received from my mother. They’d belonged to her grandmother, and were very valuable. I’d hated myself for misplacing them.

“They were in that glass dish on top of the hutch in the dining room. I figured they were yours since I’d never seen them on your mother.”

As if you’d notice
. “Well, thanks,” I said, stowing the earrings in the small zippered pocket inside my purse.

“You’re welcome.”

We sat in silence for a few moments, sipping our drinks and looking anywhere but at each other. It had always been like this with my stepfather—formal, tense, hostile—and I wondered if the animosity between us would ever fade. Probably not. Technically, we were nothing to each other now, and there was no point in trying to mend a relationship we’d never had.

“So is that all?” I asked, gathering my purse and coffee like I was about to get up and leave. Which I was, if he didn’t speak up soon.

“One more thing,” he said, and I froze in my seat, waiting. “I’m going to Lowry to visit the twins on Saturday. As you know, it’s their birthday next week…”

I felt a fresh stab in my gut. Of course I knew it was their birthday next week. How could I not when it would be the first one I missed? I was even there on the day they were born. Not in the delivery room, as they’d arrived five weeks early via C-section, but in the waiting room nearby. I’d heard them crying. Lila first, lusty and strong, then Drake four minutes later, weaker but still reassuringly distinct. That was the moment I fell in love with them, the moment I realized how strongly I wanted to be a good big sister, someone they could idolize. And now, without them, all the work and strength and willpower it had taken to stay on the right track felt like it no longer mattered.

I forced myself to focus on Alan, who was still talking. “…having a birthday party for them on Sunday, and I wanted to let you know that if you have birthday presents for them, I can take them with me.”

“Would you tell them the gifts were from me?” I said, probably louder and harsher than I’d meant to. The woman at the next table glanced over at us.

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked, frowning.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I said, flapping my hand airily. “Maybe because your parents don’t want me contacting the twins? Tell me, what would they do if I showed up there, on their doorstep, and asked to see Drake and Lila?” Before he could answer, I pressed on. “They’d slam the fucking door in my face, that’s what. That’s why I haven’t driven up there—because I know exactly what would happen. They’d refuse to let me in, I’d make a scene, and the twins would get upset.” My voice trembled, and I took a sip of coffee as an excuse to pause. “They won’t even let me talk to them on the phone,” I continued, calmer now. “Why would they let me give them birthday gifts, even if they’re delivered by you?”

Alan opened his mouth and then closed it again, likely realizing he had no argument for once. I was right and he knew it. Until now, I thought that maybe Alan was truly clueless when it came to his parents and how shitty they were acting. That maybe he wasn’t quite as bad as they were. After all, he
did
have some good qualities. He’d always been generous with money. He’d paid my tuition and let me live in his house rent-free. He rarely saw the twins, but when he was with them, he never mistreated them. He’d never made a pass at me or even looked at me inappropriately. Sure, he was a lying, cheating bastard, but he wasn’t like those men I read about in true crime books, the charming, manipulative sociopaths who destroyed lives and people without a second thought. He had at least
some
evidence of a heart.

Or maybe that was my own naïve assumption.

“Fine.” Alan stood up, shrugging like he couldn’t have cared less. “Suit yourself.”

And then, for the first time ever, he walked away with the last word.