by Rae, Kelsie
My thumb slides across the front to answer it, then I pin my phone between my ear and shoulder and get back to work scrubbing the plates clean.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Hey, Tony. How are you?”
“I’m good, just…” I pause and consider telling her the truth for a split second before deciding against it. I’m a coward. “Busy working. How are you and Dad?”
“We’re good. I’ve been waiting for you to call me back after our last conversation. I know it came as a bit of a shock, and I wanted to make sure you were doing alright with the news.”
The news being my ex getting married within a few months of dumping my ass. Yeah, that’s not a bitter memory at all.
“As good as can be expected,” I mutter into the speaker. In all honesty, I should probably be more pissed than I am, but as I look around Sway’s brightly colored kitchen, I can’t help but feel like I ended up where I’m meant to be. Indie and I were on a train to nowhere, and I’m starting to understand––and maybe even appreciate––that Indie could see our lack of destination and stopped the train before it was too late.
“That’s good, Tony. I’m sorry I had to be the bearer of bad news,” my mom continues.
“Don’t be sorry, Mom. It’s fine. I’m fine. It was a little rough to hear, but I’m glad you told me. It was the final push I needed to move on with my life.”
Scrubbing the soapy sponge against a plate in a swirling motion, I then rinse it in the water running from the faucet before setting it on a towel to dry.
“Are you moving on?” my mom probes, curiosity seeping into her tone.
I give a quick glance toward the basement, where I assume Sway is still cleaning litter boxes, and clear my throat. “Yeah. I think I am.”
When my mom gasps in response, I nearly cringe, knowing I’m about to get an onslaught of invasive questions that could make a colonoscopy look like a walk in the park.
“Really? Who is she? Are you guys together? Have I met her? Well, I guess that’s not possible since I’ve only ever seen you with Indie, but you know what I mean! Can I meet her? Is it serious?”
“Mom,” I say, sharply. “Stop.”
“Honey, I’m just curious––”
“I know you’re curious, Mom,” I cut her off, “But it’s not like that. I’m figuring out what it means to be single. That’s all I meant.”
There are a few beats of silence before I hear her choke on her breath. “Anthony Matthew Wright, if you mean what I think you mean t-then––”
“Then you don’t want to hear any more about it, and I completely agree,” I offer, rolling my eyes.
With a huff, my mom squeals in an authoritative voice that borders hysteria, “When are you gonna give me some grandbabies, Tony?”
Squeezing my eyes shut, I pray for patience then take a deep breath.
“Mom. I know you want grandbabies, and I promise I’ll give them to you one day, but the girl I had my money on didn’t work out, okay? I’m enjoying being single. I’m enjoying having my life not mapped out for once in my life. And I’m enjoying living in the moment. One day, I’ll give you those grandbabies. But it won’t be today, and it probably won’t be for another few years. However, if that changes, I’ll keep you updated, okay?”
“Fine.” The one word answer confirms my suspicion that she’s pouting like a little kid, and the thought brings a smile to my face.
“I love you, Mom. I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Alright, Tony. Love you too. Talk soon.”
Hanging up the phone, I hear a meow that I assume belongs to Tobias and turn to see him brushing his little body against a stunned Sway as she hovers in the doorway.
“Umm…sorry I interrupted,” she mumbles, her cheeks flushed from being caught eavesdropping.
“No worries. Just talking to my mom.”
“Oh.” She rocks back and forth on her heels before tucking a piece of her pink hair behind her ear. “So, grandkids, huh?”
I laugh. “Yeah. My mom was only able to have one kid, so she made me promise to have at least half a dozen to make up for it.”
Her eyes pop. “Half a dozen?”
“Yeah. I told her she might get three if she’s lucky, but obviously, that depends on what the future wife says.”
“Obviously.” Her head bobs up and down over and over again, her entire body oozing with discomfort.
“Just to clarify, that wasn’t me insinuating you’d be the wife, so stop freaking yourself out, Miss Anti-Relationship.”
Covering her face, Sway gives an awkward laugh into the palm of her hands. “No, I know. I’ve just never met a guy with his whole life mapped out, that’s all.”
If only she knew I was trying to curb the whole mapped out part a little. Not entirely, but just…a bit. I open my mouth to defend myself, or discount her allegation, but I stop at the last second as the realization hits me that it’s okay to still have goals in life even if they’re in the far distance. It’s okay to strive for something more. I wish she would recognize that too.
“Ya know,” I start. “I can admit spontaneity is pretty badass, but I don’t think it’s wrong to have a dream you want to obtain at some point, either.”
She concedes by giving me another nod that seems more genuine and less awkward. “That’s a good point.”
“It is,” I agree. “Do you have any dreams? Any hopes of having kids or something like that?”
Giving me the side-eye, she chooses to stare at her bare feet instead of me as Tobias continues rubbing back and forth along her calves. With her focus glued to her ugly cat, she admits, “Just like how you suck at spontaneity, I guess I kind of suck at dreams and lifelong plans.”
“And why’s that? If you don’t know what you’re working toward, how do you know which direction to take?”
She peeks up at me. “I dunno. I guess I’ve always figured I’d end up where I was supposed to. Despite what you’ve seen, I used to be a major planner. Until one day, life threw me a curveball, and I had to learn that no matter how hard we try, sometimes our plans blow up before they’re ever given a chance to grow. There’s no use crying over what ifs when we can’t change the facts, ya know?”
“So you stopped dreaming all together?” I press, trying to hide my confusion. That sounds like a pretty shitty way to live, but who am I to judge? I guess I just want to understand where she’s coming from.
The silence is tense as she stares into the distance and considers my question. Part of me feels bad that I asked it in the first place.
“I guess I did.” With a shrug, she lifts her thumb over her shoulder. “I’m going to go feed the kittens. If you feel like helping, you’re welcome to. If not, there are a few more perches that still need to be drilled into the walls downstairs. You can start on those whenever.”
Sway takes a step away to escape, but I stop her by lunging and grasping her petite bicep as memories of her skin from earlier today wash over me. “Hey.”
She swallows, but her stare stays on my hand as it wraps around her arm. It’s as if she doesn’t dare to look me in the eye. The realization stings.
“What is it, Anthony?” Her voice is quiet, yet I can still hear the razor-sharp edge that proves I’m pushing my luck.
“Just…don’t stop dreaming, okay? Because you deserve each and every one of them.”
Twisting out of my grasp, she mutters, “Debatable. I better get to work. Thanks again for doing the dishes.”
And with that, she disappears, leaving me to dissect our conversation a dozen times in the empty kitchen before giving up and heading downstairs to screw in the perches and spend some time with Jasper. I think she needs the space, and to be honest?
I think I do, too.
Chapter Twenty
Sway
Gah! I’m shaking. Why am I shaking? What is wrong with me? Calm down, Sway.
After giving myself a mental lecture, I release a deep breath through my mouth and start preparing the formula.
They'll be more playful and interactive in a few weeks, but right now, their little bodies are exhausted by the effort it takes to swallow their nutrients. They need rest until it's time for the next feeding.
Stalling, I wipe down the exam table an extra time before tossing the disposable disinfectant cloth in the trash and rubbing my sweaty palms against my joggers. My ears strain to hear if Anthony’s on the main floor or in the cattery, but I’m greeted with silence, which tells me nothing.
Bouncing on the balls of my feet a few times, I roll my shoulders before grabbing the door handle and pulling it open to see him on the other side. He's wide-eyed and in shock as I nearly barrel over him, so he leaps back to give me some space.
“Sorry!” we say at the same time, making us both laugh.
Grabbing the back of his neck, an apologetic Anthony looks over at me, his sincerity shining in his gaze.
“Look…I want to apologize for making things weird earlier. I don’t really know what happened, or when the wrong turn was taken, but I’ve been analyzing it for the past forty-five minutes, and the only thing I could think to do was to come up here and break the ice.”
“Well, consider it broken, then.” I give him a warm smile in hopes of putting him at ease, but he presses on.
“Will you do something spontaneous with me sometime?”
Laughing, I argue, “Are you asking me to plan something spontaneous with you in the future? Because I’m pretty sure that defeats the purpose altogether and turns it into a plan, and we both know how much I hate those.”
Although, when it involves the guy in front of me, I might be willing to give it a try, I think to myself.
“I didn’t say I was going to plan what we were doing, or even that I had something particular in mind. I just know that when I’m around you, I have fun, and I don’t want that to change just because I put my foot in my mouth.”
“Technically, I started it by accidentally eavesdropping on a conversation, so you’re definitely forgiven. And I was the one that made things weird. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I did, though. I made you feel bad––”
“By voicing one of my flaws out loud. That’s not a crime, and honestly, I kind of needed to hear it. My mom would be cheering from the sidelines if she had witnessed our conversation, and I’ll definitely take it into consideration even though you didn’t ask me to.”
Quirking his brow, he takes a step closer. Once again, I catch his sneakers brushing against the tip of my toes, and it gives me a strange sense of déjà vu from this morning when we got to the benefits portion of our friendship. The memory makes my stomach tighten as I peek up at him through my lashes.
“Am I sensing an itch that needs to be scratched, Miss Swenson?” he probes with a cocky smirk.
Playing coy, I slowly slide my hand up his T-shirt covered pecs before letting my fingertips graze the back of his neck, and a plethora of goosebumps erupt in my wake. “Why, Mr. Wright, I thought you’d never ask.”
With a deep chuckle that reverberates through his chest, he tilts his head down and plants his lips on mine. The action is confident, yet teasing, as if he’s luring me into giving him another chance when he knows he could jump in with both feet, and I wouldn’t complain. He’s already proven to me that he knows exactly how to scratch that itch, and I can’t wait for another demonstration.
In fact, I’m craving it more than my next breath.
Hooking my fingers into his belt loops, I drag him into the exam room and enjoy the benefits to our friendship for a fourth time today.
And man, is it good.
No wonder he’s Mr. Wright.
Because being with him? How could it be wrong?
Chapter Twenty-One
Anthony
“Ya know, I like this arrangement we have going for us,” Sway mentions as we drive to her parents’ house for dinner. We’ve been fooling around for a few weeks now, and it’s been pretty much effortless. No drama. No bullshit. No expectations. Just great sex and great company. In all honesty, I wasn’t expecting things to be so easy, and I assumed the proposition would’ve blown up in my face by now, but it hasn’t. And it’s so damn refreshing.
“Yeah,” I agree. “I do too. You sure your parents are going to be okay with me coming to dinner?”
She rolls her eyes. “They specifically asked me to invite you too. And don’t worry, they know about me and my phobia, so you don’t need to worry about them hassling you to propose or anything.” I laugh as she continues. “You get to enjoy a normal home-cooked meal with a bunch of crazy people who have no boundaries. Sounds like a treat, right?”
“Mmhmm,” I hum, my eyes crinkling. “Sounds like a disaster, but what do I know?”
“Exactly,” she teases as we pull onto her parents’ street then turn down the long, winding driveway.
I put the car in park next to a white Jeep Cherokee and a silver Honda Pilot that belong to Sway’s sisters.
Turning toward Sway, my brows pinch. “So, just to be clear, your parents know we’re sleeping together?”
She shrugs. “They don’t know know, but they’re also not stupid.”
“And they’re okay with that? Casual sex? Because my mom would have an aneurysm if she knew.”
Hell, she almost had one over the phone the last time we spoke, and that was without me stating it in black and white.
“They know me,” she replies, simply. “Now, stop stressing. They’ve already met you, and they obviously liked you because they invited you to come over again. Get out of your head, and let’s go get some food. M’kay, Mr. Wright?”
“Yeah, yeah,” I grumble while getting out of the car. We walk side by side, and my hand itches in the front pocket of my coat, begging to reach out and lace our fingers together. But I restrain myself. This isn’t a “meet the parents” moment. Even though a tiny part of me feels like it is. It’s just a casual dinner.
No expectations. No bullshit. Remember?
I give myself a mental pep talk and try to ignore the tiny voice buried deep inside that wonders what it would be like to introduce myself to someone as Sway’s other half.
Why is she so adamant? Why is it so normal for her to have flings but not relationships? How is it such a common occurrence for her that her parents don’t even bother to ask if her flings are the real deal or not? The questions come at me one after another before we reach the front door. She steps inside without knocking, just like the first time when we came to ride snowmobiles.
I shake my head to scatter the questions then follow her inside.
“Hey, people! We’re here!” she calls as she takes off her coat and hangs it on the rack near the front door. Doing the same, I hook the collar of mine next to hers as an array of voices echoes throughout the house.
“We’re in the kitchen! Get in here!” a feminine voice calls. I assume it’s one of Sway’s sisters.
“Coming!” Sway grabs my hand and pulls me down the hall while I try to not make anything out of her familiar touch.
“Oo…what’s for dinner?” she asks. “It smells so good.”
“Pot roast with mashed potatoes and gravy, homemade rolls, salad, and carrots,” Sway’s mom answers while opening a drawer and pulling out a whisk.
My stomach grumbles.
“Can I help with anything?” I offer to anyone who’s listening in the room of chaos. Everyone is doing something whether it’s setting the table, filling the glasses with water, or mashing the potatoes. It’s like a well-oiled machine, and I watch in fascination as Sway jumps right in, stirring the carrots on the stove before walking over to the oven built into the wall and checking on the rolls.
“Anthony, will you grab a stick of butter from the fridge? The rolls are just about done.”
Dodging Skye, who’s busy draining the carrots into the sink, I open the refrigerator door and search for the butter. When I finally spot it sitting near a carton of eggs, I pull it out and hand it to Sway after sh
e sets a cookie sheet full of freshly-baked rolls onto the counter.
“Thanks.” She gives me a warm smile then starts rubbing the butter over the piping hot rolls, and it melts almost instantly. My mouth waters.
“So how’s life, Swayze Girl?” her dad asks as he steps into the busy room that feels more like a beehive than a kitchen.
“It’s going good. Busy, but good. How are you guys?”
“We’re great. We just booked our flights for Florida this morning. Can’t wait to get a little one-on-one time with your mom,” he explains before wrapping his arms around his wife and kissing her cheek.
I envy their open affection, my gaze wandering to Sway who’s still busy buttering the rolls.
“I’m so jealous! I need a vacation one of these days. Hey, will you finish this while I go search for a basket?” She sets the partially wrapped cube of butter onto the counter without waiting for my reply and disappears from the room. Blowing out a deep breath, I step forward and mimic Sway’s earlier actions by rubbing the unwrapped side of the butter against the rolls while her comment sparks an onslaught of possibilities in the blink of an eye.
Vacation? I could use one of those too. Would she care if I planned something? If I surprised her? I mean, I did ask if she’d do something spontaneous with me a few weeks ago, and she agreed, but would a trip be too much?
“Not too shabby, Anthony. Have you cooked before?” Marney asks as she stirs something into the gravy.
I clear my throat. “Not really.” The guilt that accompanies my response hits like a wrecking ball. My ex, Indie, was a great cook. She owns a bakery in the heart of New York and asked me to cook with her constantly, but I always brushed her off. I would justify it by saying I was busy with work, but the truth is, I didn’t make her a priority. I didn’t care enough.
