Owen, to his credit, has taken my request for space to heart. While I am thankful that he listened to me, that he understands where I was coming from, there is a part of me that wishes I had been clearer in exactly how many steps back I wanted to take.
He has been very careful to be present in both mine and Stella’s life, without pressing me for any sort of intimacy. It’s sweet, and reminds me of a budding high school relationship. It’s exactly what I asked for.
I hate every second of it.
But even hating the way things are limping along between us, I’m not quite ready to jump on board with this happily-ever-after, love of my life, pulse of my heart, or any-other-way-it-can-be-said story. I want to believe in it, in him, and the more I think about it, the more I wonder if it’s him I don’t trust, or myself.
I have lain awake the last several nights thinking about what I told him. How no one has stayed, and yeah, Trevor died and that wasn’t his fault, but my mother and father? All those foster families who have so easily moved on to the next? I was the common denominator there, wasn’t I? Was there something wrong with me that made people want to leave?
I’m sure a shrink would have a field day with the ninety-million different directions my thoughts are going.
All I want to do is sit down with a nice bottle of wine, the sappiest, saddest romance movie I can find, and bawl like a baby. Immediately following that thought is the one that says I need to show Stella how to be a strong, independent woman, and then the one that says I need to teach her that it’s okay to need someone else to help you. That it’s okay to love and be loved.
What a fucking mess it all is.
Did I do the right thing by asking him to step back? Have I done the wrong thing? How will I know? When will I know? What will I do if I have done the right thing, or what would happen if I haven’t?
The uncertainty of it all is going to drive me out of my fucking mind.
So, since Dylan wants to avoid what’s bothering her, and since I want to completely evade what’s weighing on me, I’ve planned a day for the two of us in Savannah. Stella is going to hang with Mama G and Liam, getting even more spoiled in the process, and Dylan and I are going to play tourist.
Maybe it will do both of us some good to just put everything aside and be just the two of us for a little while.
But before we can get on the road, I need to finish packing stuff up for Stella to take with her to the farm. Past experience tells me I need to pack her at least two extra outfits outside of the one she is currently wearing, along with a pair of pajamas, because the odds of Mama G extending this into an overnight adventure are pretty high.
I tuck everything into her new pink overnight bag, courtesy of Mama G, then run a hand across my forehead as I review my mental packing list to ensure I haven’t forgotten anything. I heard Stella refer to Mama G as Gram again the other day, and though she corrected herself pretty quickly, I haven’t been able to get the sound of her basically claiming Owen’s mother as her grandmother out of my head.
Gloria would straight up lose her shit if she heard Stella call the other woman something so familial. The small, petty part of my brain roots for it to happen. The more logical side of my brain says letting that happen would cause a lot of issues for me in the grand scheme of things.
I tuck her favorite blanket in the bag before sliding it over my shoulder and heading out of the room. Dylan is keeping Stella company in the living room, listening to my little girl list all the fun things she is planning to do with Mama G and Liam today.
“I get to help feed the cows.” Her sweet voice greets me several seconds before I step into the living room. She’s spinning in a circle, arms stretched out wide and hair flying as she moves. Huck is sitting on the couch with Phant tucked up next to him and Dylan sitting on the love seat.
“How cool.” Dylan doesn’t sound like she thinks it’s cool, but Stella doesn’t recognize the sarcasm dripping in the two words.
“So cool,” Stella agrees. “It’s too cold for water guns or the sprinkler.” Disappointment colors her tone.
“That is a bummer,” Dylan agrees. “Here, baby, let me show you how to hold your arms.”
“Like a dancer?”
Dylan smiles. “Yes, just like a dancer.” I lean my shoulder against the wall, watching as Dylan lifts Stella’s arms, settling them into position. “Your arms, and your fingers, are like an extension of your body. When you’re dancing, the movement of your arms is part of the dance, as well.”
Dylan drops her own arms by her side, and Stella keeps her arms in the correct position for the most part. They droop a little, and her little mouth pulls in a frown as she concentrates on trying to get them back where Dylan had placed them. When she feels like she’s close enough, she spins again, with very little grace, but her laughter echoes in the room. “Ima dancer!”
“You sure are, baby. A beautiful dancer.”
Stella catches sight of me on one of her spins. “Mama! I dance!”
“I see that. Are you ready to head out to the farm?”
“Yes!” She jumps and down in excitement. “We go now! Now, now, now!”
“Dylan, can you run Huck over to Owen’s place while I get little miss situated in the car? We can drop her off at the farm on the way to Savannah.”
“Sounds good.” Dylan snaps her fingers for Huck to follow her. The dog stares at her for a few minutes, clearly unimpressed with the move. He looks to Stella, then to me, before finally turning his head back to Dylan. With a heavy dog sigh, he slowly stretches his legs out, and then practically falls off the couch. “This dog is a drama queen,” Dylan mutters, heading out of the room with Huck slowly following behind her.
In just over an hour we’re finally on our way. On the way to the farm, Stella had kept up a steady stream of chatter, once again listing all the things she was going to do at the farm. As I had predicted, Mama G indicated that she would more than happily keep Stella overnight so we could extend our girls’ day.
“That woman is madly in love with your daughter.”
“The feeling is mutual.” I reach over to fiddle with the stereo, trying to find a station that isn’t full of static. “Meeting the Gallahangers has completely changed our lives. I don’t think our experience in Broward would have been nearly as good if it hadn’t been for them.”
“I can see that.” Dylan smacks at my hand when I continue to fiddle with the stereo. I put my hands back on the steering wheel, leaving the music up to her. “Which begs the question, again, why in the fuck are you pushing Owen Gallahanger away? Because I’m totally confused.”
“Me too,” I answer softly, but hesitate before saying anything further.
Dylan settles on a country station, mostly because it’s the only station she can find that doesn’t cut in and out as we drive down the sparcely populated road leading out of Broward. We pass the mostly hidden road that Owen and I had…stopped on only a few weeks ago. I feel the heat slide into my cheeks, and other less visible places, as the memories of that night play like a movie through my brain.
“Whatcha thinking about there, Tristan?” Dylan questions with a knowing smirk.
“Nothing.”
She snorts. “Yeah, that’s a lie.”