“Good, he likes you.” Justin sank onto the couch. “How about you carry him around for a while? Every time I put him down, he screams.”
“I’ll take him.” I actually liked holding babies. They were so tiny yet chubby at the same time, and they fit right in the crook of my arm. And they never shit-talked.
I tucked Prescott against my side and ventured into the kitchen. Bree, stirring mushrooms on the stove, looked over at me. “I thought I heard your voice. Are you here for dinner?”
“If I’m invited.”
“Of course you’re invited. I’m making Mom’s stroganoff.”
“That’s what it is.” I inhaled deeply. “Mmm. I haven’t had stroganoff in years.”
She turned the heat off under the pan and scooped the sautéed mushrooms into a big blue pot. “I don’t make it too often, but I was in the mood for it. I’ve been thinking about Mom lately.”
Prescott started to fuss, so I put him over my shoulder and patted his back. “Did you see Dad again?”
She began filling another pot with water. “Yes. I saw him last Sunday. And I’ll see him next Saturday—a week from today.”
“How is he?”
Placing the pot on the stove, she shrugged. “Sick. The visits aren’t long. But I brought Justin and the boys last time.”
“He never mentioned it.”
“I asked him not to.” She turned on the gas under the water. “It upsets you.”
I took a breath. “I’m sorry about that. I lost my temper the last time I was here.”
“You did,” she agreed, “but I shouldn’t have provoked you that way. I know it’s a sensitive subject.”
“Which subject? Dad? Or Winnie?”
“Both.” She turned to face me, one hand on her hip. “Is she gone?”
Stroking Prescott’s back, I sniffed his head—he smelled like baby shampoo. “Yes.”
“Are you guys . . .” She struggled for a word. “Friends?”
“Not exactly. I apologized for what I said, but she asked for time.”
Bree nodded. “That’s understandable. She must have been really hurt.”
“She was.” My stomach hollowed out all over again. “But I told her what I said wasn’t the truth.”
“What is the truth?”
“The truth is probably closer to what you said.”
She was caught off guard. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Which part?”
I kissed the side of Prescott’s head. “All of it, I guess. That I felt more for Winnie than I wanted to admit. That I hated Mom for taking Dad back all the time. That I don’t like being vulnerable to other people.”
My sister looked stunned. “I never thought I’d hear you say that.”
“Yeah, well . . . I’m stubborn.”
“So now what?”
“Now nothing. Now she’s gone.” I decided not to mention her upcoming visit just yet.
“She’s gone because you didn’t tell her how you felt. I bet she’d have reconsidered that job if she’d known.”
“She knows,” I said.
Bree’s eyebrows shot up. “You told her you loved her before she left?”
I hesitated. “Kind of. Yes.”
“What did she say?”
“Nothing.”
Her eyes bugged. “You told her you loved her and she said nothing?”
“I didn’t exactly give her a chance to reply,” I confessed. “I walked out right after.”
Bree put the heels of her hands to her forehead. “Why?”
“Because there’s nothing to be done about it,” I said, carefully keeping my volume in check. Holding a baby definitely helped.
“But Dex, you love her. Don’t you want to be with her?”
“If she was here, maybe. But I couldn’t ask her not to go. After knowing each other for six weeks? That’s insane.”
Bree parked both hands on her hips. “On our second date, Justin—”
“Yes, I know. He told you he was going to marry you. That’s insane too.”
“But it was true. Look at us now.”
“Winnie and I are different. I don’t want to marry anyone. And I don’t want more kids.”
“Yes, I can see how having more children would be terrible for you.” She gestured to Prescott. “You obviously hate babies.”
I frowned. “Look, I faced my fear, okay? I told her how I felt. It sucks that she’s so young and took a job somewhere else, but it was never going to work, she’s gone now, and I’ll be fine without her.”
She sighed, turning her attention to the water boiling on the stove. Grabbing a bag of egg noodles, she ripped it open and dumped them in. “Okay, Dex. If you say so.”
“I do.”
“Because you don’t look fine. You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”
“I said I’ll be fine—once I stop missing her.”
She nodded but said nothing.
“What?”
“Nothing. I don’t want to argue.”
“But . . .”
“But I still think you’re throwing away something that could be great because you don’t want to risk rejection, and that hurts me to think about. But I’m not going to say anything more, because I hate when there’s weirdness between us, and the last two weeks have been weird.” She sniffed. “You’re the only brother I’ve got, and you’re always in my corner. I hope you know I’m always in yours.”
Touched, I swallowed hard. That was something our mom used to say—if you loved someone, you were in their corner. Always. “Thanks.”
Later that night, I lay in bed staring at my phone in my hands. Three times I tried to start a message to Winnie and ended up deleting every word.
Finally, I forced myself to get it done for the girls’ sake.
Hey. I hope you’re doing well. The girls read your email to me, and it sounds like everything is going great in Newport. They would like to see you next weekend while you’re in town. Unfortunately, Naomi’s wedding is that weekend, so Friday and Saturday are out. Could we meet you Sunday before you head out? Maybe at your mom’s bakery after church? No pressure. Let me know.
After rereading it a hundred times, I thoroughly despised every word. It said nothing about how I felt, how much I missed her, how badly I wished she was coming home to see me in addition to working her event. Maybe she’d have stayed with me—we could have had the entire weekend together. Slept two nights in my bed. Woken up together—I’d never gotten to wake up with her.
Angry, I hit send and put my phone on the charger. Then I switched off the lamp, rolled over and yanked the covers to my shoulder.
Miserable. Frustrated. Alone.
Twenty-Six
Winnie
I was sitting on my couch in the new apartment working on some social media content for The Alexander when the text from Dex came in.
Holding my breath, I read it through three times.