This was crazy. This was terrifying, because there was no way that worked without hurting.
Then do the thing that hurts least.
“So,” she went on, “I’ll take your offer. Because I almost have to, if I’m honest, but also because I’d be helping you, too. That’s what’s going to let me do it. I’ll live in the guest quarters, and Dyma and I will be like … like caring neighbors. I can do that. But I have to guard my heart, and I have to guard my pride. So you and I are not having sex. I’m not kissing you anymore. You’re not touching me anymore. We need to be friends.”
42
Doing It All Wrong
When they finally emerged from Jennifer’s bedroom, Blake and Dakota were on the couch watching baseball with Oscar, who was in an easy chair and looked like he missed his recliner. Jennifer said, “I should have invited your dad, Dakota, especially if I’d known you guys were going to end up watching sports. Except that I don’t have a big enough table.” Trying to be breezy, like she was embarrassed to imagine the others thinking she and Harlan had spent the last half hour all tangled up in each other, making slow, sweet, passionate love while her grandfather and her daughter and his sister and his ex-quarterback, who was also her boss, sat outside the door pretending not to hear. Which was, actually, exactly what he’d wanted to do. Minus the other-people-hearing part.
Although, since all of her makeup was washed off, her eyes were still puffy, and her skin was still blotchy, he doubted anybody was actually thinking it. Some women could cry and not look messed up. Those women weren’t redheads.
He asked, “Where are Annabelle and Dyma?”
“Finishing the dishes,” Oscar said. He still didn’t look all that friendly. Well, Harlan guessed he could understand that. He hadn’t exactly covered himself with glory at any point here.
Jennifer said, “I’ll go get them,” and did it.
Blake looked him over. “Got to say, you look like hell.”
“Well, yeah,” Harlan said. “Figures.”
“Oh, nice,” Dakota said. “Give him a break, Blake.”
“Nope,” Blake said. “I don’t think so.”
Jennifer came out of the kitchen with the girls, and Harlan told her, “You should sit down.” Since there was exactly one spot left to do it—on the couch with Blake and Dakota. This was a pretty tiny place.
It wasn’t terrible. She had pictures on the wall, curtains at the windows, a blanket on the couch, and a tablecloth printed with tulips covering the kitchen table, but he’d bet every piece of furniture had been on sale. Possibly garage sale.
He’d also bet that she’d felt excited to have a place of her own.
Dyma said, “Is this another big announcement? Or are we all sitting around making awkward small talk? Because if it’s that, I could take Annabelle to the movies or something. Oh, wait. It’s Harlan’s theater, right? I just realized that. Kristiansen Theater. That’s you. It’s great,” she told Annabelle. “Like, totally restored Art Deco. It has a pipe organ. Nobody in Wild Horse knows how to play it, but it has it.”
Harlan said, “It’s not going to be awkward small talk. At least …” He ran a hand over his hair and tried to get his thoughts together. “It could be awkward, but it’s an important talk.”
“Uh-oh,” Dyma said. “What?”
Jennifer said, “We’re moving in with Harlan.”
That went over like a lead balloon. Blake said, “That’s a lousy idea.” Dakota said, “Wow.” Dyma said, “What?” Oscar glowered, and Annabelle said, “Great.”
Well, at least one person was happy.
Jennifer had her hand up. “It’s not like that. He has maid’s quarters over the garage. We’re living there.”
Blake said, “And here I thought I couldn’t like this idea any worse.”
“It’s not maid’s quarters,” Harlan said. “It’s a two-bedroom apartment. It’s nice. Totally separate from the main house.”
“She not good enough to live in the main house?” Oscar asked, like the definition of can’t-win.
“No,” Harlan said, then realized what he’d said when Oscar sat up straighter and deepened the glower. This guy hated him. He wasn’t used to it, but he got it. “Let me put it another way. Let me say that I wanted to move her right in with me, the whole deal, and she said no. This was the most I could get her to do. I want her to be safe. I want her to be able to take care of the baby and not have to worry about how she’s paying the rent. I want Dyma to go to college.”
“Why wouldn’t I go to college?” Dyma asked.
“I notice you’re not talking about putting a ring on her finger,” Oscar said.
Jennifer spoke up, because Jennifer always would. Jumping in to help him. “If he offered,” she told her grandfather, “I’d say no. We don’t know each other well enough. Besides, I’ve done fine so far as a single mom.”
“Not that fine,” Oscar said. “And you call that security? Living in his garage until he gets tired of having you there? Happy for the crumbs?”
Harlan said, “You want me to propose? Fine. I’ll do that.”
He didn’t lose control. Not ever. He didn’t rage. He didn’t cry sad tears. He didn’t weep with joy, either. But these last few weeks, losing control felt like all he’d done, and it was happening again. A buzzing in his brain, recklessness in his heart, and no control at all over what would come out of his mouth next.
Everybody was sitting frozen. Even Dyma didn’t have anything to say. As for Jennifer, she looked dumbstruck.
He said, “Jennifer. Will you marry me?”
Oh. You were supposed to kneel down. Did people really do that? Well, yeah. He’d seen it on enough athlete social-media statuses to know.
He did it. Got on a knee, took her hand in his, and said, “I want to do the right thing. If this is it, I’m ready to do it. Will you marry me?”
She was crying. Not in the right way, though. These were angry tears. She snatched her hand away and said, “Don’t … mock me. Don’t … just because I told you I was … how I felt about you, that doesn’t mean you can make fun of me! It doesn’t mean you can hurt me.”
“Jennifer. Baby.” He was up, grabbing hold of her. “I’m not.”
She shook her head and kept crying, and Harlan wanted to tell Oscar, “See? See what you did? Asking her to move into my bedroom was wrong, and this is even more wrong. I don’t have a mom to ask. I don’t have a dad to ask. I’m going to do this wrong, and now I’ve hurt her worse.” He didn’t say it, because that wasn’t what was important.
“Well,” Blake said, “that was epic. Epically wrong, of course, but …”
“Yeah,” Harlan said. “I get it. Jennifer. I’m sorry.”
“Maybe you should go back in the bedroom and try again,” Oscar said.
“No.” Jennifer had moved away. “I’m fine. It’s fine. I’m just ..” She was tearing up again, then heading off down the hall. In the direction of the bathroom, probably.