“Because I’m part of this plan. You can’t leave me out of it.”
“Your part of the plan is to say yes when I propose. I’m handling everything else.”
“But I want to know!”
“Tough.”
Carter had turned on music when they came into the kitchen, and they were listening to a collection of his songs on shuffle. Ruth was always fascinated to learn his taste in music, an eclectic variety ranging from show tunes to country to indie rock. She’d thought she was starting to get a sense of his preferences, so when a new song started to play, it dragged her immediately away from their discussion.
“You really like cheesy boy band songs from twenty years ago?” she asked breathlessly as the familiar intro filled the room like a warm fragrance.
“What?” Carter frowned, clearly trying to catch up. After a few seconds, he groaned, “No, I don’t like boy bands. Damn Lincoln. He’s always putting stupid stuff in my mix.”
He stepped over to his phone to delete the song, but Ruth squealed and grabbed for his arm before he could. “No! Don’t turn it off.”
“Why not?” Carter stared at her. Her hand was still wrapped around his forearm. They were standing only inches apart.
“Because I like this song,” she replied sheepishly. “It’s part of the soundtrack to my childhood.”
Carter relaxed and stepped back to the stovetop, skillfully removing the grilled cheese from the pan, sliced it diagonally, and handed Ruth hers on a plate.
Ruth took a bite and moaned in pleasure. “This is the best grilled cheese I’ve ever had.”
“Yeah?” Carter looked as pleased as a boy as he took a big bite of his.
“Yeah.” She ate a few bites but was distracted by the music. She really couldn’t help it. She started to sing.
“Oh my God,” he groaned. “You know all the words, don’t you?”
“I sure do.” She grinned and put down her plate, keeping the sandwich half she was working on in her hand. She did a little dance as she sang the well-remembered and much-beloved words to the song.
She was a little self-conscious, but not enough to stop her. There was an innocent joyfulness to the music that she hadn’t experienced in a really long time. Plus she liked how much Carter seemed to enjoy her performance.
He watched her, his eyes very warm and soft as he leaned against the counter and ate. When he’d finished half his sandwich, about a third of the way through the song, he put down the remainder on his plate and started to sing with her.
She squealed and clapped her hands. “You know all the words too?”
“Of course I know the words. I was twelve when this song came out.”
They sang together, and she pulled him over to dance beside her. She didn’t really expect him to do much dancing. Maybe just shake his hips. But he did a twirl, some air-punches, and a series of choreographed steps that she knew. She knew. “You can do all their moves?”
Carter was laughing too much to respond, but the answer was obvious as he went through a practiced series of steps, hops, and arm motions as he sang. It was too fun to resist, so she fell into sync with him and tried to do the dance too. She wasn’t nearly as good as he was, but it didn’t matter. They both sang at the top of their lungs.
Ruth was holding her half-eaten grilled cheese the whole time.
When the song ended, she was so overwhelmed with pure delight that she launched herself at him in a hug. Carter returned the embrace. Tighter than she’d expected. He squeezed her with his strong arms as she buried her face in his shirt. He smelled so good. Like laundry and butter and the expensive soap he used. He was so much bigger than she was.
They were pulling apart when Ruth became aware of a presence in the doorway to the kitchen. She turned to see an attractive woman in her fifties, wearing a flowing skirt and top that was both elegant and bohemian.
Ruth recognized her immediately. Carter’s mother.
The smile on Mrs. Wilson’s face was tender, emotional. Near tears if Ruth wasn’t mistaken. She’d obviously just witnessed at least part of their silly performance, and it had touched her deeply.
“Hey, Mom,” Carter said, looking just a little self-conscious as he pushed a hand through his hair and returned to the second half of his sandwich. “I didn’t know you were there.”
“I know you didn’t. I wouldn’t have gotten to be an audience to that little dance if you knew I was there. And I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. It’s been so long since I’ve heard you singing.” The older woman’s eyes moved over to Ruth. She was still smiling. “You must be Ruth, dear. It’s very nice to meet you. I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’re in my son’s life.”
“Mom, please,” Carter muttered under his breath. “Don’t overdo it. You’ll scare her away.”
Ruth honestly couldn’t tell if Carter was acting as part of their plan or if he was being real. It felt real—like he was really embarrassed by his mom’s emotional response and didn’t want Ruth to be freaked out.
She wasn’t freaked out. By anything but her own feelings.
This was feeling too real. If she didn’t put this whole thing in perspective soon, she would be in danger of being hurt by her own neediness again.
And she knew better.
RUTH LEFT THE WILSONS’ house a couple of hours later. It was late, and she was tired—emotionally as well as physically—but she’d had a really good evening. She was on her way home when a text came in from Kayla, asking if she was coming over to visit anytime soon.
Ruth didn’t stop by every day, and Kayla didn’t expect her to. The texted question was brief and matter-of-fact. But Kayla wouldn’t have asked something like that unless she really wanted Ruth to come over, so Ruth turned her car away from her own apartment and headed over to her stepfamily’s place.
There weren’t any of the four normal pickup trucks in the driveway or on the grass. The porch lights weren’t on. Ruth was immediately worried as she parked and hurried up to the front door, unlocked it, and let herself in.
The house smelled like stale beer and trash. It was sickening. Ruth hated it. The living room was trashed out with cans and pizza boxes and a lot of other stuff that Ruth didn’t want to investigate. The garbage can in the kitchen was overflowing.
A surge of resentment rose inside her. What the hell was wrong with Brent and his selfish, lazy sons? “Kayla?” she called.
“I’m here.” The voice came from the closed door of Kayla’s bedroom. “Ruth? You didn’t have to come.”
Ruth opened the door and found Kayla curled up on her bed, on top of the covers, wearing earbuds and hugging an old floppy stuffed animal. “Where is everyone?”
Kayla sat up and pulled down her earbuds. “The cable went out. They were all mad that they couldn’t watch the game, so they all just left.”
“Did you have any dinner?”
“I had some crackers. Everything’s old in the fridge, and it’s just so gross in there I didn’t want to try to make anything.”
Ruth had had a really good evening. Fun and warm and comfortable and freeing. And poor Kayla had been over here in a mess, hungry and alone. The guilt burned in Ruth’s eyes and ached in her throat. “Come on, honey. You can spend the night with me. We’ll get something to eat on the way there.”