“One day, boy. One day some other schmuck is gonna walk into her life and recognize her for what she is, and you’re not gonna know what to do with yourself.”
“Dad. We’re friends,” he says, but I know he’s saying it to remind himself as much as me. Meanwhile, his jaw ticks. It’s obvious the thought of her with another guy doesn’t sit well with him.
“Yeah. I’ve never heard of friends turning into more. Ever. Good luck with that.” I chuckle and tip my coffee cup in his direction.
“He’s so in love with her. She loves him too, though. Everyone at school sees it,” Maggie, my fifteen-year-old chimes in as she walks into the kitchen looking like a younger version of her mother. Beautiful.
I’m so screwed.
Grady groans and warns his sister, “Mags.”
“Just sayin’,” Maggie sing-songs. “Morning, Daddy.” She smiles sweetly and leans up to kiss me on the cheek.
Harper is shuffling behind her, but considering that she barely slept last night — I should know since she chose to let me join the party and is definitely not a morning person anyway — I don’t expect to hear her small voice for a little while yet. I give them both a kiss on the cheek and lean against the speckled tan, granite countertop and cross my legs. This is the second best part of my day. Seeing our children, hearing their relationships with each other. Harper slides onto one of the benches that flanks the kitchen table I made when we first moved into our house and lays her head down on the table, causing me to roll my eyes.
Maggie pours herself some orange juice and starts peeling a banana, but I can see the wheels turning in her head already. I smile as I watch what I know is going to be a fun exchange of the shit or get off the pot speech that Maggie is undoubtedly about to give Grady. She’s Bri’s biggest fan. Well, aside from Grady, obviously.
“Just keep quiet. You know I can’t go there,” Grady says with irritation already lacing his voice. He starts gathering the ingredients to make himself a protein smoothie and lifts his eyebrows to Harper, no doubt knowing she’ll ask him for one anyway.
She nods in her own sleepy way and gives him a small smile. “I don’t know why not. I swear, Grady, you know how the other guys at school look at her. You have to just suck it up and go for it.”
Called it.
“She likes you. Not just as a friend. You know she does,” she huffs, clearly disgusted by her older brother’s reluctance. “Besides. If you don’t go for it, you know Dawson is going to. He’s been flirting with her all school year. He’s so gross and creepy, though.”
“I don’t have time for a girlfriend,” Grady mumbles, ignoring pretty much her entire speech. He presses the button on the blender, but it doesn’t deter his sister from continuing on.
“Newsflash, you already have a girlfriend. You two just haven’t crossed the line.”
He fills his own cup and then one for Harper. He slides it across the table to her and winks. “How do you know we haven’t,” he smirks, hoping it will shut her up. Apparently he doesn’t know his sister well at all.
“Right. And she looks so satisfied because…”
“If we had crossed the line, she’d be satisfied!”
His defense makes no sense, but I let it go, though I do swallow down a laugh because he’s flustered by just a couple simple remarks from his little sister.
“Satisfied about what? What does that mean? And what line?” Harper’s innocent question cuts through their conversation. She may not be a morning person, but growing up with three much older siblings has made her know way more than she should… and a nosy little turd.
And that’s where dear old Dad has to step in. “Nope. This conversation just took a wrong turn.” I look behind me to Grady and give him a pointed look. “You’d better not be crossing any lines or satisfying anyone. Got me?” I say with my eyebrows raised. I’m not oblivious. My kids aren’t always going to be innocent, but in no way am I condoning anything.
“I got it. Dad, I was just messing with her.”
“I know that, but don’t disrespect Bri that way. You know better,” I tell him and raise my eyebrows.
Grady has the common sense to look a little ashamed but still smiles as he nods his head and replies with a quick, “Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now that we have that settled,” I say clapping my hands together and rubbing them. “Who’s making their dad breakfast?”
At that, the kids laugh and walk out the kitchen door. I’m really not sure what was so funny about that.
Chapter Three
Tess
Tweet Tweet. The sound of my phone tweeting makes me giggle. My husband, the idiot, loves to change my ringtones and my text alerts often. So often I usually have no clue that it’s even my phone alerting me to someone trying to reach me. But he finds it hilarious. Because he’s a weirdo.
I set down the fabric swatch I’m looking at for the Simpsons, the new couple I’m working with. They chose light grey, navy blue, and white for their living room — it’s going to look amazing. Classic. A large area rug covers part of the beautiful wide-plank cherrywood floor and the floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace will be the central focus of the room, but we still need to decide on furniture, accent pieces, and window treatments.
I love my job.
When I was in high school, I took a home economics class my freshman year that touched on interior decorating, and it became something I loved. I took every home ec — now family and consumer sciences — class I could, hoping to learn more. My mother was a homemaker when I was growing up, and she loved do-it-yourself stuff. Then Mom got sick. It was the summer before my junior year when she was diagnosed. Breast cancer nearly beat the life out of her, but she fought. She fought hard. And she beat cancer’s ass. But throughout her battle, the only thing that kept her happy was decorating and making the house a home.
She couldn’t get out as much as she liked, so making the house look a little more appealing was a simple thing we could all do. But me, especially. I guess that’s where my passion and love for it came from. I love taking the plain and jazzing it up. I fell in love with the entire process of going through our old stuff and reworking it to make it fresh and new.
When the chemo and drugs sank Mom to her lowest, and she couldn’t get out of bed, she and I sat together and poured through catalogues and magazines. I went to the library and picked up books. This was before the Internet. Before Pinterest. She had stacks and stacks of magazines by her bedside, some dog-eared, some with slips of paper sticking out of them. When she had a good day or two in a row, we put some of those ideas into action and created. Together.
One day Barrett saw them all stacked by her bed and all over the living room when he came to visit her, and he instantly drew up the plans to make her a shelf.
“Mom, what about this one? Isn’t it pretty? Something like that would look great on the dining table.” I say to my mother, pointing to a picture of a centerpiece arrangement.
“It is, baby. I think we could do that one easy.”
“I’ll put it in the pile.”
“The pile is getting a little out of control.”