I chalked it up to the fact we felt so much. We wanted so much. But we could never figure out how to make it happen.
“Tonight? Shit.” He scrubbed his face and groaned. “I wasn’t prepared to see your dad.”
“He’s not mad at you.”
“You said that, but it’s one thing for him to say it and then it’s another for him to look the man who knocked up his daughter face-to-face and not feel the urge to punch him.”
“Pacifist, remember?” I mumbled around another chip doused with cheese.
If we were somewhere else, if we were anything, I’d reach my hand across the table, grab his from his face and hold it, brush my thumb along his palm and inner wrist because I knew it would make him calm down.
But we weren’t there. We weren’t anything. He loved me, and I’d never had the guts to say it back to him. No wonder why he wanted to take this slow.
He didn’t want me to run again or avoid the hard conversations I always had before.
He didn’t trust me not to hurt him again, and I couldn’t fault him for that. It would be me that would have to step up.
Later. I’d give him that later.
“When will they be here?”
I shrugged. “They said later. It’s only what, four?” I glanced at the clock. “Probably not until seven.”
“All right.” He shoved away from the table and stood, gathering his emptied plates.
“Where are you going?”
“Store. If your dad is coming for dinner, I’m going to butter both him and your mom up with my lasagna.”
This man. A soft laugh fell from me as I twisted, another soaking chip dipped in queso frozen halfway to my mouth. The cheese dripped to the palm of my hand beneath it. “You are such a dork.”
He winked a wink that did funny things to my insides. “You love me.”
I did. He was teasing. But I did.
He dumped the trash and slid his plates to the counter and left the room, his keys jingling in his hands before I could tell him the truth.
Later.
Before we reached Las Vegas, there’d be no more miscommunications, no more hidden secrets between us. We’d step off the plane with a fresh, clean slate… and our baby growing inside me.
My mom’s hugs were epic. I swore she had to practice them by hugging a tackling dummy or something in secret.
She squeezed me tight as soon as they walked into my apartment and the familiar scent of her floral perfume wafted into the air.
“Hey Mom.”
“How are you?” She pulled back and cupped my cheeks with her palms. “Things good?”
She said it quietly, but Garrett was close enough to hear, mostly because as soon as we got the call from security they were here, he’d settled a hand at my lower back and stayed close. Whether or not it was for me or for his own protection, I didn’t know.
“We’re good, Amy,” he said and my mom’s gaze narrowed on me, waiting for my nod before she let me go and gave Garrett the same bone-crushing hug. “Good to see you.”
“Always great to see you, Garrett. I’m glad you’re here.” She grinned up at him. “Not so glad you’re taking our girl away, but it’s a good thing. For all of you.”
As she said it, she glanced down at my stomach and back to Garrett, whose expression had softened. “I’ll take care of her.”
“I know you will. Now…” She stepped back and finally dropped her purse on a sideboard table and clasped her hands together. “It smells incredible in here. What can I help with?”
Mom hurried off to the kitchen, where everything was done and ready to serve, which would leave her feeling helpless in about thirty seconds. Mom loved to be needed, to care for everyone around her.
“My turn,” my dad said, and gave me the same warm and strong hug Mom had. “Good to see you, Lizzie. Thanks for having us tonight.”
“Of course.” I stepped back as he clasped Garrett’s hand. “Garrett. Always good to see you, son.”
My dad had called Garrett son since the first time they met. It was the kind of man he was, welcomed everyone he met into the family fold without hesitation.
“You too, sir,” Garrett said, tripping over the sir.
I covered my mouth, choking down a laugh.
Sir hadn’t been used by Garrett since that first meeting. That he used it now told me how nervous he was.
My dad laughed and clasped him on the shoulder. “No better man I’d want as a father to Lizzie’s kids. You know that. None of the sir crap. We’ve been over this.”
“Right. Dan.” Garrett slid me a look that said he wasn’t so certain. I, for one, was having too much fun trying not to laugh at his unease.
“Dad, Garrett’s worried you’re going to punch him.”
Garrett’s blue eyes narrowed. “This isn’t funny.”
“It’s hilarious.” I shoved past both of them. “I’m going to help my mom in the kitchen. Let you men sort yourselves out.”
“Everything’s done,” Garrett called out to my back.
“I know.”
I was pretty certain I heard him mumble something to my dad that sounded an awful like she’s a pain in my ass to which my dad returned all the good ones are, son.
As suspected, Mom looked lost as she stood at my kitchen island. The garlic bread was sliced and in a bowl, covered with a cloth napkin. The salad was prepared with a variety of salad dressings on the table. The lasagna was on the stove, cooling. Garrett had even set the table with placemats and picked up a couple bottles of red wine like we were preparing for a Thanksgiving meal instead of time with my family.
“He’s nervous,” I told my mom as an explanation.
“Looks like it,” she muttered. Her hip bumped into mine and we both laughed.
Garrett didn’t cook a lot, but there were a hand full of meals he did really well. Lasagna was one of them.
“Can I get you something to drink?” I asked, already reaching for one of the bottles of wine.
“That’d be great. Thanks, honey.”
Garrett and Dad entered the kitchen, Garrett looking no less nervous, but resigned and my dad went immediately to the fridge where he grabbed a beer Garrett must have told him he bought.
Of course, Dad’s favorite, too.
“Want a beer, son?” he asked, and Garrett’s shoulders finally unclenched from being up to his ears. Dad was treating him like he always did. I figured eventually Garrett would relax. Apparently all it took was an offering of alcohol.
“Yeah, Dan. That’d be great. Thanks.”
The men popped the tops on their bottles, I poured Mom a glass of wine, and filled a glass with water and lemon for myself. Once drinks were filled and settled at the table, we grabbed plates, filled our food, and it took absolutely no time at all for the friendly and familiar chatter to make things like they always were.
“You like the new team?” Dad asked once we were seated. “They look good.”
Garrett’s eyes widened and I swore a color brightened his cheeks. “You’re watching?”
Dad was more of a football fan, but he watched the occasional game. What I didn’t think Garrett ever knew is that Dad always watched him play.