“Yeah, it’s one I don’t mind watching on repeat,” Scarlett says as she shifts to face me, making sure not to disturb a sleeping Grant, who has his head on her lap and his legs on mine.
“How many times have you watched it?”
“Counting now? I’d say roughly 546 times.”
I laugh, realizing she’s probably not exaggerating that much.
“Damn. That’s a lot. Then, I have to ask: you said you don’t mind this movie. What’s one that has you contemplating shoving a fork through your eye when you have to watch it? And if you say there isn’t one, I’m calling bullshit.”
“Easy. Trolls. I never want to hear that damn song again. Don’t get me wrong, I love Justin Timberlake, and Anna Kendrick is a girl crush, but I can only take so much of that movie before I want to burn it.”
“Wow. That’s good to know. No Trolls. Got it.”
“I mean, I don’t have it so bad. I’m sure the stuff we made our parents watch when we were kids was way worse. I’m pretty sure my mom was ready to ruin my copy of The Little Mermaid after the 800th time I watched it.”
“Is it annoying? I’ve never watched it.”
She’s staring at me like she’s trying to decipher the language I just spoke. “You’ve never watched The Little Mermaid? I mean, I know you’re a boy and all, but it’s a Disney classic!”
“I also haven’t been called a boy in about 10 years.”
“Don’t try to change the subject,” she says as Grant starts to stir on her lap. We go quiet for a second, seeing if he’s going to stay asleep or wake up.
“I can’t believe you’ve never seen it,” she whispers.
“Well, I’m sorry, Fancy-Miss-I-Owned-a-DVD-Player-as-a-Kid. Some of us were lucky there was a TV, so we watched whatever was on the three channels we got.”
She falls silent, and I instantly feel bad.
“I’m sorry, Maverick. I didn’t—”
“It’s fine. Honestly. I was teasing. But yeah, my mom worked a lot to make sure Kalum and I were clothed and fed, but that didn’t usually include luxuries like TV and movies. Especially when Dad was alive and he was taking money from her for drugs, or at least, so I’ve been told. I was only four when he died. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to admit I haven’t seen something every kid our age did.”
“Was it hard? Growing up like that?”
Though I know she could mean “poor and from the South Side,” I can tell by the way she’s looking at me that she means something much bigger.
“I didn’t know another way, so I can’t compare it.”
“But after a while . . . did you . . . was there . . . was there ever a time your mom wasn’t enough?”
Her words are breaking my heart, and the way she’s looking at Grant now, stroking his hair as he sleeps, is tearing me up inside.
“You’re a great mom, Scarlett. I hope you know that. What you’re doing right now? How much you’re sacrificing for him, so you can give him a better life? It’s amazing. You’re amazing. I hope you know that.”
She nods, wiping an errant tear away. “Thank you. And I do. I mean, I don’t think I’m amazing, but I know I’m trying to be. He’s clothed and fed and is a happy kid. But one day, when he realizes he doesn’t have what other kids do, I’m worried he’ll hate me. That he’ll blame me for not having a dad. Or he’ll want to meet Ryan, and I won’t be able to find him. I just—”
“Stop. Stop it right now,” I say while reaching across her shoulders to rub her neck. I don’t know why I’m doing it; I just feel like this is the right thing to do. “You’ll never have to worry about it. The way Grant looks at you? You’re his hero. His everything. And as for having males around? You’ll always have Kalum, Jaxson, and me. We’ll teach him to fix cars, and Jaxson will teach him how to box, and we’ll teach him to play football and to cheer for the Bears. I won’t let your kid grow up a Packers fan.”
“Maybe I need to find new male influences,” she jokes between tears. “Those don’t sound like very safe hobbies, and there’s nothing wrong with the Packers. Maybe you can teach him how to make model cars instead?”
“I can do that too,” I say, still rubbing her neck, which she seems to like—she’s leaning into my touch. That should be freaking me out, but for some reason, it’s not.
“My point is, you’ll never have to worry about it, because you’re stuck with us, and there won’t be a day that goes by that your boy won’t know how much he’s loved.”
She leans her head back against my wrist, taking in what I said. I meant every word. In just the few weeks they’ve been here, that kid has made his way straight to my heart.
And as I sit here on my couch on a Friday night, with a stomach full of Chinese food and a Disney movie intro screen playing on repeat, I’m beginning to realize that Grant’s mom might be making her way in too.
9
Scarlett
“I can’t believe after all this time, we’ve never been to Maverick’s house,” Annabelle says, pouring herself a glass of wine.
“Kalum barely comes over here, and it isn’t like Maverick is the entertaining type,” Tori adds, grabbing plates for the pizza. “He says it’s too much of a pain in the ass to drive here.”
“Well, I appreciate you two coming out here. I know I’m not as close as I used to be.”
“Oh hush,” Tori says. “It wasn’t a big deal. And if we accidentally drink too much wine, stumble upstairs, and go through Maverick’s stuff, then so be it.”
And there it is. The real reason Tori didn’t say boo about driving to the ‘burbs for pizza and wine night.
Even when I was living in a dump of an apartment, we did most girls’ nights at my place so I didn’t have to get a sitter for Grant. But I had a feeling there was an underlying motive as to why she was so eager to come out here on the same night the guys went to a car show downtown.
“Tori, we are not going upstairs,” I say as we take a seat around the sectional, which might be my favorite piece of furniture in this place. “I told you, I don’t feel comfortable being upstairs when he isn’t home. Plus, we have everything we need right here.”
Tori lets out an overdramatic sigh. “Fine. But you can’t control what may happen when it’s time for us to leave.”
Our conversation moves on, touching on Tori and Kalum’s new living arrangement and wedding plans, Jaxson’s gym, Annabelle’s art classes, and my school. I’ve been so busy lately that I must admit it’s just nice to unwind.
Even though unwinding the other night with Maverick on the couch wasn’t horrible. In fact, it was pretty great.
I know he was just being nice—probably taking pity on me when he saw me with, like, 20 Chinese food options. But spending the night watching a movie with Grant, talking a little about our lives . . . it had been a while since I’d had that kind of interaction with a man.
I take that back. I’ve never had that.
Looking back, Ryan and I were completely superficial. I might have thought at the time that I loved him, but it turns out I barely knew him. In the five months we were together, he and I never talked the way Maverick and I have.
“Pad, Mama! Pad!” Grant comes bursting into the room, apparently tired of whatever he was playing with in his room.
“What’s that, buddy?” I ask, hoping he will realize he didn’t ask nicely.
“Pad, pwease, Mama,” he says, using his sweet face, hoping I’ll say yes.
“What does he want?” Tori asks.
“Maverick has introduced him to the iPad, which he is now obsessed with,” I explain, before turning to my son. “It’s upstairs, sweetie, and Maverick isn’t home, so you can’t use it now.”
His little bottom lip starts quivering, which I’m used to, but his aunt is having none of it.
“If my nephew wants the iPad, then I guess we will have to go get him the iPad,” Tori says as she swoops Grant up in her arms, which turns his sobs to giggles. I sigh, knowing that this is a lost cause
and all I can do is follow her up, making sure she doesn’t get into too much trouble.
Like a pro, Grant directs Tori to the kitchen, where Maverick leaves it charged. I’m right behind them and Annabelle is behind me, carrying the wine glasses and the bottle.
“This is Maverick’s kitchen? Holy shit, this is amazing. I didn’t even know he knew how to cook,” Annabelle says.
“Apparently, he doesn’t. And don’t ask him about it. He gets real touchy when you bring it up.”
“What do you mean?”
“When I came here to ask him about moving in, I complimented him on the kitchen, and he snapped at me. It was very clear the kitchen is a sore subject, so I don’t talk about it.”
“That’s weird. He doesn’t seem like he gets angry about much; I wonder why he snapped at you?”
“Probably because he hates this house,” Tori says under her breath, just loud enough for us to hear.
“He hates the house?” I ask, needing more details.
“Shit, did I say that out loud?” Tori says.
“Yes. Now spill.”
We take a seat around the kitchen island, with Grant now blissfully playing with Maverick’s iPad.
“So you can’t tell him I told you, because Kalum wasn’t even supposed to tell me,” Tori begins. “Did you know he was engaged at one point?”
The silence, combined with our jaws hanging open, is the only answer we need to give.
“Okay, but bear with me, because Kalum was a little fuzzy on some of the details.” Tori takes a gulp of wine since it will be a while before she gets to have another.
“About four years ago, he was engaged. I don’t remember her name, though I’m pretty sure it was Cuntface. Anyway, they were engaged, and from what I understand, they were pretty darn close to the wedding. So much so that Maverick bought her this house as a wedding present.”
“He bought her a house? Hell, Jaxson bought me a necklace and I told him it was too much.”
“Holy shit indeed, Annabelle. But apparently, this was her dream house. They both lived in the city but wanted to move to the suburbs because they wanted a family one day. He found this house, had it fixed up, and customized it to cater to her every wish down to the fucking white picket fence. But this kitchen was what she wanted most. According to Kalum, Cuntface loved to cook, or said she wanted to learn, or something like that. So Maverick gave her the kitchen of her HGTV dreams.”
I look around the space, and it is indeed a dream kitchen. The appliances are state-of-the-art. The lighting is perfect. And don’t get me started on the marble island.
“So what happened?” I have a feeling I know, but I need to hear it out loud.
“The fucking bitch cheated on him.”
“She did not!” Annabelle gasps.
“Yes, she fucking did. Kalum said it came out of nowhere, and the worst part is how he found out.”
“Did he walk in on her?” I ask.
“No. Worse. She accidentally sent him a sext video meant for the other guy. He thought it was for him, so he watched it all, thinking his girlfriend had sent him a hot video, only to hear her say another man’s name and how he fucked her better than Maverick did.”
“Poor Maverick. No one deserves that—especially him.”
“Exactly. He confronted her about it that night. But she wouldn’t even give him an explanation. She just said she was seeing someone else, and that the wedding was off. She gave him back the ring, packed her bags, and left.”
My heart is breaking for Maverick. No wonder he gets so defensive when I talk about the kitchen. I feel horrible now.
“So why does he have the house?” I ask, wondering why he would still live here when he bought this for the woman he was supposed to spend the rest of his life with.
“That’s the bitch of it all. Illinois has a first-time home buyer assistance program that he used. He got a grant for the down payment. But you have to keep the house for five years or you have to pay it back.”
Poor guy. It’s like he’s serving a five-year sentence in this beautifully decorated prison with a self-cleaning double oven.
“Scarlett, you can’t tell him I told you.”
“What secrets are you spilling now, gorgeous?” Kalum says, followed by Maverick and Jaxson.
Somehow we didn’t hear the guys come in. Hopefully they didn’t hear anything before that.
“You think I’m talking about you?” she says, leaning in for a kiss. “I was telling Scarlett that our dad wants to come to down and surprise Grant and her in a few weeks. But considering her living situation, I figured she would want to know about the visit.”
Damn, my sister is good.
And I need to tell my parents to come and visit in a few weeks.
10
Maverick
I really don’t know how Scarlett does it. I’m pretty sure she has superpowers. It’s the only explanation for how she handles everything in her life.
We’ve been living with each other for about two months, and every day I’m waiting for her to crash from exhaustion. Sometimes I’m exhausted just from running the garage, and that’s like a well-oiled machine. She’s somehow balancing work, school, and Grant, and she doesn’t look a bit phased. Plus she’s kept her promise of baking me cookies.
Like I said. Superpowers.
But one thing I have noticed about Scarlett is that she takes care of everyone else, yet when I ask her if she needs any help, she always refuses. She’s even volunteered to get my groceries for me because, in her words, “I’m going. I don’t mind.”
It’s about time someone did something for her. She’ll probably hate it, or say she doesn’t want to be fussed over, but I don’t care. Someone needs to give this woman a break.
So, for the first time in four years, I actually use my kitchen. This was the one thing that Jenna, my ex-fiancée, wanted in the house. We always watched those fixer-upper shows, and without fail, she’d gush about the kitchens. She’d say that if she had one like that, all she would want to do is cook. I wanted to give her everything she wanted, so when I bought the house, that was the first thing I brought up to the contractor.
After she left me heartbroken and a homeowner, I could barely look at the kitchen. I half-debated putting the refrigerator in the living room just so I didn’t have to walk in there.
I think I ate takeout for the first six months I lived here. Slowly, I was able to start using the appliances. I don’t avoid it anymore, but it’s far from my favorite place in the house.
Which is why I don’t want to pull my hair out tonight as I make Scarlett and Grant dinner. He’s easy: chicken nuggets and mac and cheese. A kid after my own heart. But for his mom, I want something a little more thoughtful. Knowing how much Scarlett loves all things ranch and bacon —I swear she would eat them for every meal—I’ve decided to whip up a tossed salad, then go with a chicken bacon ranch casserole for the main course.
I know it’s not exactly a five-star meal, but at least she won’t have to make anything, and I’ll get the chance to do something nice for her.
I’m putting the last of the plates on the table when I hear the garage door open, which was another thing she’d tried to turn down—saying she didn’t need to park in the garage. I moved my second car to the shop to give her room to park her car. I rarely use it, and winter is coming soon. I don’t want her to have to shovel her car out of the snow each morning. It was a 20-minute fight that ended with her agreeing, but in return, she insisted on cooking one meal a week for me.
I’ve learned to pick my battles with her.
“Mavwick! Picture!” Grant yells before he runs over to me, showing me his work of art. I don’t know who has more energy: this kid or his mom.
“Buddy! This is great! I love it!”
I have no idea what it is. Maybe a dog? Maybe a dinosaur? Maybe a fish? Who knows? But it’s immediately going on the refrigerator.
“What smells so good?” Scarlett asks, taking off her sho
es by the door. She didn’t used to do this—insisting on keeping her personal items downstairs. But since I made her move her car into the garage, more of her stuff is starting to migrate upstairs.
I should hate it. I didn’t even want her here in the first place. But now I love seeing her ugly white nursing shoes every morning before I go to work.
“I cooked dinner for you and Grant.”
She does a double take at my words. She walks over to the oven, opens it, and gives me another confused look before checking the oven again. She probably thinks she’s in the wrong house.
“You? Cooked? For us? Maverick, I didn’t think you liked to cook. Why? You didn’t have to, I could have . . .”
I lightly put my finger to her lips, effectively silencing her. Which might have been a bad idea, because being this close to her is giving me ideas I have no business having.
“I wanted to. When was the last time you had a meal you didn’t have to make? And takeout doesn’t count.”
I remove my finger from her lips and miss the feeling immediately.
“Tori made dinner one time when she was watching Grant.”
“When was that?”
“Last year.”
I guide her over to the dining room table and pull out her chair. “So, you’re meaning to tell me you’ve gone a whole year and not one person has cooked you a meal? Given you a break?”
“No, but it’s not like that. I don’t like putting other people out,” she says as she takes a seat. “I feel bad.”
“I know you don’t, and you absolutely should not feel bad. You worry about everyone but yourself. So tonight, I’ve decided it’s your turn to take a seat and let someone else take care of you.”
I call Grant to come upstairs for dinner, then head to the kitchen to pour Scarlett a glass of iced tea and get Grant his milk. Just a few minutes later, I have dinner for three on the table.
“This looks amazing. What is it?”
“Chicken bacon ranch casserole. The recipe was easy enough. And I knew you liked everything in it.”
Say You're Mine Page 39
