“I’m really going to need you to remember that Holden is leaving as soon as he gets the job in Florida,” I say evenly with my back to her. “So if you could just hold on to that little factoid and consider it when talking about this whole thing, the me now and the me when he leaves will really super appreciate it.”
I wait for her to respond. To bark some witty or annoying observation back my way, but she doesn’t.
I make a meal out of rinsing my cup and setting it on the rubber mat in the sink. Drying my hands on a paper towel is stretched to take a solid twenty seconds. But no matter how long I give her to come up with a response, she bows out.
“Do you want to go with me to pick out paint today or tomorrow?” I ask.
“Sure.”
I turn around. She’s watching me carefully. Her attention is still rooted in the conversation from two minutes ago—the one where Holden is all the things. If I don’t address this now, it will become the elephant in the room.
Or the hot vet who would take care of said elephant.
Instead of sitting back down, I lean against the counter.
“I know you like Holden,” I say as clearly as I can. “I like him too. But please, Liv, for the love of all that’s holy, stop with your incessant . . .”
“Hope that the flames between you catch fire?”
My shoulders sag.
“Look, Soph. I get it. You know the rules. You operate so well under rules, and I get why you want to stick to them.” She stands up. “But you can’t stop me from wanting the best for my little sister. And Holden is the best. You just . . . come alive around him.”
“I’m about to show you how alive I feel right now,” I warn her.
She just laughs. “Fine. All right. I’ll stop being so loud about it. But I refuse to stop saying a prayer for it to happen when I go to bed at night.”
“Don’t waste God’s time.” I shove off the counter and head toward the doorway. “If you want to go paint-shopping with me and can keep your romantic opinions to yourself, send me a text.”
“Ooh, speaking of texts, did you get Haley’s message this morning?”
My step falters. I pause and look over my shoulder. “No. Why?”
Liv’s grin grows wider. “She sent pics of your wedding.”
My insides squirm. I turn away from my sister so that she doesn’t see the look I’m sure is painted on my face. It takes everything I have not to grab my phone out of my pocket and look now. But I don’t want to look as excited as I feel in front of anyone. Not even Liv.
“Fabulous. Can’t wait,” I say with my back to her.
“Bye, Sophie.”
“Bye.”
I walk around the vacuum and back out the front door.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
HOLDEN
You’re late.” Dottie grins smugly over a cup of coffee. “But I’ll cut you some slack today.”
She takes a slow, deliberate sip and waits expectantly.
I knew this would happen but failed to resolve the situation on the drive over. Every quarter mile I got closer to the clinic, the heavier the certainty felt. But as my mind raced to get a hold on the potential questions Dottie would undoubtedly ask without the crowd of the party, my brain would just as quickly skip back to Sophie.
Writing the note—deciding whether to even write it at all—was harder than marrying her. What should I say? Should I say anything? Is it out of pocket to say I’m worried she’ll feel like a wreck after all that champagne? Would it be rude if I didn’t?
Should I stay home today?
Fuck if I knew. All I did know for sure was that I was locking the door and she needed to know that.
Maybe it was an excuse, some juvenile way of equating my decision. But it worked.
Dottie pulls me back to the present with an arched brow.
I flash her a half smile.
My bag hits the counter with a thud. I make a point of taking a long, deep breath before heading to the coffeepot. My stomach curls as if to warn me that the bitter acids aren’t going to go over well.
Yeah, well, neither is Dottie’s prodding.
She can’t take the silence.
“I’ll have you know that I didn’t expect you at all today,” she says. “With that beautiful wife at home and all.”
“Yes, well, my beautiful wife is at home asleep, and my grandfather is coming in today.”
It’s a shitty explanation. I know it. And as I look up at Dottie, I can see she knows it too.
“And I wanted to see you,” I say, pouring on the sweetness. “I have an inkling that you helped Liv put that whole thing together last night, and I wanted to thank you. In person.”
She smacks her lips together as if to say, “Sure.”
It occurs to me briefly that trying to fake all this in front of Dottie is pointless. Her bullshit meter is exceptional. I’d forgo it all and just tell her the truth, but Sophie will be here long after I’m gone. That will be her ball to play however she chooses.
I take my coffee and walk over to the appointment book. My eyes scan the records, glossing over dates and times. All the while, I try to ignore Dottie’s stare on the side of my face.
The longer I go without looking at her, the more pointed her gaze gets. And the deeper she digs, trying to work out what’s really going on, the more amused I become.
I lift my mug and take a sip.
“Are you planning on having kids soon?” Dottie asks.
The coffee goes down the wrong tube. I leap back from the desk before I choke all over the notes about a cat named Scotch.
Struggling to catch my breath, I pound on my chest with the palm of my hand.
“Is that a no?” Dottie asks, tongue-in-cheek.
I clear my throat. My face heats up, and I’m not sure if it’s because of the lack of oxygen or from Dottie’s question.
I’ve always wanted kids—two, to be exact. But I’ve never considered having them. Not even with Jessica. Despite my being engaged to her, life never got that real. Never on that kind of level. It didn’t strike me as odd until now.
Because the idea of having kids with Sophie doesn’t seem that strange.
My weight shifts from one foot to the other as I conjure up images of Sophie’s belly, swollen. Of a little girl running around with her mother’s mischievous smile. Of a little boy carrying in snakes and lizards for me to inspect.
“Or maybe that’s a yes,” Dottie teases.
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “We got married yesterday. Give us some time.”
“Oh, you’ve had time.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask as I watch her spray down the counter with a cleaning agent.
She shrugs. “Nothing, really. Just that I’ve envisioned the two of you getting married since you were little kids.”
“You did not.”
“You’re damn right I did.” She takes a cloth and wipes the spray away. “And I also saw the way your eyes lit up when she walked in here and you seemingly forgot I was standing beside you.”
My skin itches as a vulnerability takes over. Her gaze is knowing as she looks at me, and it makes me feel exposed.
“You’re crazy,” I say in an attempt at covering myself again.