Apples & Oranges (The This & That Series)

by Moss, Brooke

  I’d been thrust into full time motherhood in the blink of an eye, and there was no damn instruction manual for these kids. I was flying blind, and it sucked.

  But what else could I do? They needed me. And honestly… I needed them.

  Since leaving him outside his house that night, Demo called my phone eleven times, and left three notes and two bouquets of lilacs on my doorstep. He’d even left notes for me at Eats & Treats, but since Lexie and I had cancelled a week’s worth of events, and I’d been sleeping at Candace’s house, I’d managed to avoid Demo pretty well.

  Oh, I knew what he wanted. His voicemails were clear enough.

  “Listen, Marisol, I know this is bad. I’m not gonna lie, I’m freaking out, too. But we can get through this. I know we can. I love you. I don’t love her, and I never did. People co-parent without being together all the time. There’s no reason I can’t do that with Stacia. We just need to talk this out. Call me.”

  But I didn’t call back. I’m not sure why. I mean, he was right. We could co-parent with that Stacia chick. And we both wanted kids someday. Well, now we had that chance.

  So why was I ignoring Demo?

  Because watching Candace’s grief rack and shake her body, lay her out for days on end, and suck every drop of life out of her heart and soul… was an eye opening experience. She was so consumed by sadness she couldn’t even hug her children. I didn’t want that kind of agony in my life. Living alone and coming home to an empty house every day was depressing, yes, but not nearly as excruciating as burying the love of your life. And I knew this to be a fact, as I’d just watched my best friend do it.

  I didn’t need Demo to have kids. If I really wanted one, I could adopt one. Hell, that Angelina Jolie adopted like ten of them. I could do that, too. I had the money. And the space.

  Besides… if I did it alone, I would never have to worry about Demo hurting me again. Or knocking somebody up. Or keeling over on a golf course someday.

  No love—no loss. It was the perfect plan.

  “Go.” I turned Candace by the shoulders, and shooed her in the direction of the stairs. “Go lay down for a while, because I’m making you read your kids a bedtime story tonight. No exceptions.”

  “I… oh… all right,” she mumbled, starting up the stairs.

  “I’ll bring you some tea,” I called after her.

  She disappeared around the corner. “Coffee.”

  “Right.” I sighed. “I forgot you only drink black death.”

  Picking up a sponge, I started to wipe down the already spotless countertops. I’d already scrubbed Candace’s kitchen twice that day, but a third time never hurt. With all of the people coming in and out of the house, and all of the casseroles being dropped off from neighbors, the last thing I needed was for one of these kids to get sick. I was barely keeping them alive as it was, add in a bad case of influenza, and I was going to wind up killing someone.

  Okay. Bad timing on the killing joke. I told you I was bad at this.

  I dropped the sponge and covered my face. What the hell was I doing? Helping a friend? Playing house with her kids? Hiding? My shoulders started to shake as I started to cry, and I leaned forward to rest my forehead on the cool granite countertop.

  “I would give anything to go back in time one week,” I whispered to the empty kitchen. “Just one week back… before everything turned to garbage and everyone’s lives were ruined.”

  The doorbell chimed and I sat straight upright. “Great,” I muttered, tossing the sponge into the sink, and wiping my hands on my black skirt. More neighbors with more inedible casseroles. I’d eaten more chicken and Bisquick in the past six days than I ever wanted to consume again.

  “Who is it, Auntie Marisol?” Ellie asked, peeking through the family room door. The lower half of her little dress was wet. She’d peed again.

  “Probably just another neighbor.” I bent down and pressed a kiss to her head. “Go change your clothes, sweetie. But wake don’t your mama up, okay?”

  “I want my moooooomy,” she whined, leaning into me.

  “I know,” I said softly. “She’ll feel better soon. I promise.”

  Sniffling, Ellie stomped up the stairs. I sighed and walked to the door. I didn’t know if I had it in me to sit through another fifteen-minute conversation about how shocking Brian’s death was. I already knew it. We all did. Good Lord, I was pretty sure that people three counties over heard Candace screaming about it that first day.

  Pulling the door open, I plastered a fake smile on my face. “Hello…” I stopped speaking, and all of the air drained out of my lungs in a long, noisy whoosh.

  Demo stood with his hands in his pockets and a frown on his face. The warm streak had broken and now rain poured from the heavens, soaking his oil streaked coveralls, and separating his brown hair into wet clumps across his forehead.

  “Hey,” he said, his voice low and gravelly like the first time we met.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “You weren’t answering my calls.” The line between his eyebrows deepened. “Did you see the letters I left at your house and at your shop?”

  I nodded. “Yes, I saw them.”

  His mouth pulled into a line. “And you still didn’t call me?”

  “I was busy. My family needed me.”

  “I thought you said you didn’t have a family.”

  My eyes stung. “I guess I was wrong.”

  “Yiayia has been asking about you,” he said, his voice soft. “She’s angry with me right now.”

  I imagined poor Yiayia’s face when he announced that he’d impregnated the sleazy girl from a bar he’d been banging. Not exactly a pleasant conversation to share over a plate of baklava.

  “I don’t blame her,” I replied, wrapping my arms around myself.

  His face tightened. “I deserved that.”

  “Yup. You did. So Demo, I’ll ask again. Why are you here?” My voice cracked, and pressed a hand to my chest. “I mean, how did you find me?”

  He looked down at his boot, and scuffed it across the welcome mat. “I saw the obituary in the paper, and went to the church after the service. I told a woman cleaning up that I was a friend of the family, and she told me where I could find you.”

  I wasn’t sure whether to slap him and call him a stalker—or bury my face in his chest and say how desperately I’d missed him.

  I just tightened my arms around myself. “Well, that was inventive. What is it you want?”

  He lifted his chin. I could tell he was getting emotional, as his dark chocolate eyes were damp, and the end of his nose was red. “I’m so sorry you lost your friend.”

  Jutting my chin out at him, I said, “Thank you. But it isn’t me you should feel sorry for. Feel sorry for his wife and the three kids he left behind.”

  “That’s a damn shame. That’s just awful.” He dragged a hand across the back of his neck, sending droplets of rain in all directions. “Are you doing okay, Marisol?”

  Tell him the truth. Tell him that he’s all you think about when the fog of grief clears, and you can see past Candace’s pain. Tell him that you can’t go another day without him in your life.

  “I’m fine,” I lied. He nodded, and the pause stretched out into uncomfortable territory. Finally, I groaned. “Listen, is that all you came for? Because I’ve got three little kids to make dinner for, and another ten thousand loads of laundry to do, and I’m letting all the cold air—”

  “I never meant to hurt you.” He reached for me, but I ducked from his touch. “I never meant for this to happen. I never meant for Stacia to get pregnant, and I never meant to ask you to accept me and a baby with another woman. That was never the plan. And I’m not proud of what’s happened.”

  I bit the insides of my cheeks to keep from crying. Or swearing.

  He went on. “When I said that I loved you, I meant it. I still mean it. I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you. You’ve been under my skin since that day you showed up in my garage wi
th a broken shoe. When I close my eyes, you’re there. When I lay in my bed, I can smell your shampoo on the pillow. You’re everything, Marisol, and I would do anything to make it work with you.”

  My eyes filled. “She’s having your baby, Demo.”

  “Yes. She is. And I refuse to turn my back on my child.” He grimaced. “But Stacia doesn’t have me. Do you understand that? I belong to you. And only you. She knows that. I’ve told her that. Again, and again, and again. And I’ll keep telling Stacia that. Forever, if I have to. Because I only want you.”

  I wanted to tell Demo that we could make it work. That I didn’t mind co-parenting, even with someone like Stacia, if it meant being with him forever.

  At that moment, Ellie came back down the stairs, wearing a new dress. Most of her hair had escaped its bow, and was now standing in all directions. She slid her tiny hand in mine and stared up at Demo. “Who’s this?”

  “It’s a friend.” I grabbed the door handle. “I’ve got to go, I—”

  Demo’s expression softened, and the line between his eyebrows disappeared. “Well, hi,” he said gently, crouching down and holding out his hand. “My name’s Demetrious. What’s yours?”

  Ellie shook his hand. “Ellie. Are you Marisol’s boyfriend?”

  “Not anymore.” Demo shook his head. “Maybe you can help me change her mind.”

  My heart squeezed inside of my chest, and I had to swallow down the lump forming in my throat. “I have to feed the kids now. I’ll… I’ll call you later, Demo.”

  He looked up at me, his eyebrows raised. “You will?”

  “My daddy used to be my mommy’s boyfriend,” Ellie announced solemnly. When Demo turned his attention back to her, she nodded. “And then he became her husband. That’s when I came. And my brother and sister, too.”

  Demo smiled kindly, and I caught a glimpse of those wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. “I see.”

  Ellie’s eyes widened. “Now my daddy is in heaven. He went there on Sunday. Now Mommy cries all the time.”

  I put my arm around her. “Okay, kiddo. Let’s go make some macaroni, shall we?”

  Demo stood upright and took my hand. “Wait. Marisol, please. Will you call me later? There’s so much to talk about.”

  Ellie reached up at me. “I miss my daddy, Marisol.”

  “I know, hon. I know.” Scooping her up, I pressed a kiss to the side of her head and looked at Demo. He was so handsome, and so strong, but with such a kind, genuine heart underneath his rough, callused exterior. His family was huge and busy and nosey, and they all loved each other with the intensity of a speeding mac truck. He wasn’t a CEO and didn’t have an impressive bank account statement, but he was more loyal, loving, and devoted than all the men I’d been with put together. In a nutshell, Demo was perfect.

  And I couldn’t risk losing him someday. The pain would be too difficult. Too crippling. I wasn’t as strong as Candace was.

  So I would beat it to the punch.

  Straightening my shoulders, I stepped back into the foyer and started to close the door. “Sorry, Demo. But I can’t do this.”

  He stared at me, open-mouthed. “What? Why?”

  “Because I can’t!” I snapped. “Don’t you get it? It’s always been me. Just me. I get being alone. I’ve done it long enough. So why are you here? What do you want from me?”

  Demo’s adam’s apple bobbed. “I don’t know. All I know is that I love you, Marisol.”

  I swallowed hard. “I can’t do this with you. Not now, not ever. I tried, and it’s not worth this.”

  Demo’s mouth fell open. “Not worth what?”

  “This. This pain. This heartache. If loving someone causes this much pain, then I don’t want any of it. Better for me to be alone, because this, losing this, would break me. And I refuse to be broken like that.”

  “Marisol...” Demo whispered, and the pain in the pity in that single word made my heart cough and twist, and sent a shockwave of pain through my entire body. I locked my legs in the upright position so that I didn’t tip over and land face down on the tile floor—because I wasn’t sure I would ever get myself up again if I did.

  “It’s over, Demo,” I said, my voice raspy. “Go home now.”

  And then I shut the door before he could say another word.

  A few minutes later, as I was standing at the stovetop, stirring noodles into a pot of boiling water, I heard a shuffle and a scraping noise coming from the front hall. I peeked around the corner to find a yellowed note card had been shoved through the mail slot in the door. It was damp, splattered with food, and the words were written in long, curvy cursive writing.

  At the top of the card, it read: Antonopolous Family Dolmades Recipe, yields 48 dolmas.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Two weeks had passed since the funeral, and Lexie and I were back to work getting ready for the Greek wedding that was going to pay the rest of our overhead for the year. We’d avoided it for as long as we could, but both of us had mortgages to pay, and it was time to finally get back to real life. Lexie and Fletcher had taken a trip down south to see some of his relatives, and to regroup before he went back to work, and by the grace of God, Candace was up and moving again. Not happily, mind you, but she’d eventually come out of the grief fog enough to tell that her kids needed her.

  It stank to high hell to admit it, but I missed those little buggers. My neck was steadily recovering from sleeping upright for a week and a half straight, and I’d finally removed the stench of urine from my nicest pair of Adriano Goldschmeid jeans. But sleeping alone in my bed every night was depressing as hell, and Cocinero wasn’t helping. (Don’t tell him that.)

  I missed him.

  No, not my cat.

  Demo. Every day I missed him more. Every day I drove past Triple D’s on my way home from work—even though it was six miles in the opposite direction—and craned my neck for a glimpse of his grey coveralls. My heart longed for him in the same way I’d watched Lexie longing for Fletcher before they finally got together, and even though I’d considered her to be acting like a lovesick freak… I finally understood where she’d been coming from.

  Mostly because I was the lovesick freak now.

  But that didn’t mean I regretted my choice. No love = no pain. There was a reason Annalise was the bitter, botoxed-to-high-hell train wreck that she was. It was because she’d loved and lost entirely too many times. She’d not protected herself from the agony that comes with adoring someone so much that when they leave, they take half of you with them…

  And I was never going to be that woman.

  “Okay, the dolmades are finished, and believe me when I say, they are perfection.” Lexie adjusted the bandana holding her short red hair back from her face. “I made five batches, which means we’ve got two hundred forty of those bad boys to please the crowd.”

  I smiled at her. “Wonderful. Thank you.”

  She held one up. “Are you sure you won’t try one? You always say serving food you didn’t taste first is a one way ticket to bankruptcy.”

  “No. I trust you.”

  I’d made Lexie prepare the dolmades. It just hadn’t felt right to use Yiayia’s recipe, not when I’d never become a part of the Antonopolous family. Plus, Greek food tasted bad now. Maybe it was because I was slowly filling up with bitterness, like my mother. I couldn’t be sure. “I finished the cashew fingers and put them in the walk-in cooler a few minutes ago.”

  “Great.” She pulled off her apron and brushed rice off of her front. “I’ll pick up the tee shirts on the way home tonight.”

  “Ten, right?” I said. Since we weren’t going to have Candace’s help for this event, we’d hired a handful of culinary students from the local community college to fill the gap. I hadn’t seen her in a few days, and it’d been even longer for Lexie.

  “Right.” Lexie leaned against the table and released a long breath. “Are you going to go check on her tonight?”

  “I don’t know.” I took my own a
pron off and started to tug my hair loose from its bun. “I think she thinks I’m hovering.”

  “That’s because you are hovering.”

  Lexie and I both turned to the door. There was Candace, her face pale and sallow, her clothes hanging off of her like an anorexic. “Can!” Lexie squealed, charging at her cousin and pulling her into a bear hug. “I’m so glad to see you. How are you? How are the kids?”

  Candace’s face tightened and she pulled away. “My husband’s dead, Lex. How do you think I’m doing?”

  Lexie winced. “I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s okay. Sorry. That was bitchy.” Candace shook her head. “I just… I just came to see how everything was going for the wedding.”

  “It’s fine.” I showed her the list of dishes we’d prepped. “We’ve got three quarters of it prepped and ready to go. The rest we’ll do tomorrow morning.”

  “Do you have, um…” She rubbed her eyes. “Wait staff? Enough to handle a crowd that big?”

  Lexie nodded. “We hired some from the college.”

  “Oh. Right.” Candace’s mouth pulled into a tight line. “Good.”

  I touched her arm. “Listen, I know you’re sick of everyone asking how you’re doing. So I won’t say it. But I’ve been thinking about you.”

  “I know.” She nodded stiffly, her eyes flicking between Lexie and me. She seemed ice cold, like a statue. Such a far cry from the bouncy, affectionate woman she’d always been. “Thank you. Both of you.”

  “How are the kids?” Lexie asked.

  Candace shrugged her bony shoulders. “As good as can be expected. Quentin is back in pull ups at night, so that’s a new development.”