“Yeah,” I say. “It’s your mom’s.”
His eyes open wide as Caroline stops walking and looks at him. “Mom, you have a present. Can I open it?”
“It’s not mine,” she says, but Dylan is already ripping the tape open and reaching in and pulling out the small white box.
“It’s a phone,” he says, handing it to Caroline who stares at the box.
“You bought me a phone?” She looks at me. “I have a phone.”
“Yeah, but yours is always not working,” Dylan says, and she just turns to him.
“That’s enough,” she says, and he just shrugs.
“I’m not taking this phone,” she says, handing it back to me.
“Fine,” I say, putting it down. “I’ll give it to Dylan then.”
“You will not,” she huffs out. “I don’t want the phone.”
“Okay,” I say, making her think she’s winning this, but if I have to plant it on her without her knowing every single day, then that is what I’m going to do. “I was thinking steak and some salad.”
“Oh, yeah, steak,” Dylan says, throwing his hands in the air.
“You’ve never had steak,” Caroline tells him. “Go watch television so I can talk to Justin for a minute.”
He gets off the stool and looks at me as if I’m in trouble. She waits for him to walk out of the room before turning to me.
“I don’t need you buying me stuff,” she says. “I can take care of myself.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, leaning against the counter. “When did I ever say you can’t take care of yourself?”
“This,” she says, picking up the phone. “This isn’t the first time my phone service has been cut off.”
“Well, it’s going to be the last because it’s not safe for you and Dylan to be without a phone.”
“And that …” she says, pointing at me. “You can’t keep doing that either. I’m a good mom.” She points at herself.
“No,” I say, and her hand falls as tears well in her eyes, “you aren’t a good mom.”
“What?” she whispers.
“You’re a great mom,” I say. “The best mom.” I walk to her. “But you’re also my woman, and I’m going to take care of you.”
“Your woman?” she asks.
“Yeah, I know.” I smile. “I admit that Matthew used to walk around all the time claiming Karrie as his woman, and I never understood it. I mean, my father loves my mother with everything he has. He literally won’t eat if she’s not at the table beside him.” She looks at me. “Let me help you. You have all these balls in the air, and it’s okay if you let me catch them.”
“I’ve been doing this all by myself for the past eight years,” she says. “I just …” She looks down, and I put my hand under her chin and lift her face so I can see her eyes. “I just don’t know how to let anyone in.”
“How about we start with baby steps?” I suggest. “Take the phone, and when the other one gets turned back on, you can give it back to me.”
“That won’t be for another two weeks,” she says, and I suddenly fill with rage. She was planning to go two weeks without a phone. There could be so many situations that come up, and she wouldn’t have any lifeline.
“Then it’s two weeks,” I say. “It doesn’t make you a weaker person if you accept help. You know that.”
“I do,” she says, letting out a deep sigh. “It’s just that I don’t want to depend on anyone. I want to do this on my own.”
“And you have been, but if there is a helping hand”—I lean in and kiss her lips—“accept it. I won’t bite.” I smirk now. “I mean, unless you want me to.”
Her cheeks turn a bright pink, and her eyes turn just a touch darker. “Are you guys done now?” Dylan asks, and we both laugh quietly. “I’m starving. Can I have a snack?”
“No,” Caroline says. “No snack.”
“Fine, but how long until dinner?” he asks as if he didn’t just have ice cream thirty minutes ago.
“About thirty minutes,” I say, walking to the fridge and taking out the steak that my cleaning lady bought.
“If you cook, I have to clean,” Caroline says, finally taking off her purse and placing it gently on one of the stools. “Those are the rules. It’s universal.”
“How about we both cook, and then we both clean up?” I ask, and she just looks at me. “It gives me more time to spend with you, and if your hands are in the water, I can kiss you, and you can’t push me away.”
“I’ve been letting you kiss me,” she says, laughing. “What do you want to make with the steak?”
“Normally, I would make baked potatoes,” I say, and her eyes light up. “We can pop them in the microwave for ten minutes,” I say, and she nods. “Is this you saying you want baked potatoes?”
“This is me saying that I don’t mind, and it’s totally up to you.” She smirks at me. “I’m a guest.”
I roll my eyes. “Touché,” I say. Grabbing the steaks, I open the butcher paper, then walk to the stove and open a drawer where I keep the spices.
“What can I do to help?” she asks, coming into the kitchen.
“I’m marinating the steak, and then I was going to do the potatoes,” I say. “Do you want to start the salad?”
“Yes,” she says. “Can I go in the fridge?” She looks at me.
“From this moment on, you can go in the fridge, the pantry, or the bathroom. You can go take a nap in my bedroom. Please do whatever you want to do. I want you to feel at home.” I want to shake her, but more than anything, I want her to smile more. I want her to laugh more. I want her to do all these things, and I want to be the reason she does.
“I mean, I don’t think I’m going to nap in your bedroom, but that couch in the man cave has potential,” she jokes, walking to the fridge and then opening it. She opens the drawers and takes out what she wants for the salad. “I’d ask you where the bowls are, but I’m going to guess, and you can say hot or cold.” I laugh at her and shrug, watching her open the cupboards and talking to herself. “If I was a salad bowl, where would I be?” She opens four before she finds it. “Found it.”
She walks beside me and looks at me. “What?”
“I need a knife and a cutting board,” she says, and I point at the drawer and then move my hand to under the stove. “Thank you,” she says.
“Let’s get to know each other,” I suggest, and she looks at me. “Favorite food?”
“I like mostly everything,” she says, and I just look at her.
“If there was one food you had to eat for the rest of your life, what would it be?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “I guess Italian, you?”
“That’s not a food; it’s a food group.” I laugh at her, and she rolls her eyes. “Toss up between burgers and steak,” I say. “I mean, more toward steak but …” She smiles at me. “What?”