The Two-date Rule

by Tawna Fenske

  “My mom used to plant annuals when my dad would be out on fires,” he said. “This whole area would be a sea of petunias and marigolds by the end of summer.”

  She turned and looked at him, her mossy-green eyes filled with way more interest than the situation called for. “He was gone a lot, like you are now?”

  “Way more than I am,” he said. “Smokejumper schedules were a lot crazier in the days before they started figuring out it was safer not to have us working around-the-clock the whole season.”

  “Did your mom get lonely or did she love having all that time to herself?”

  A familiar pang hit Grady right in the chest. He kept his gaze on the yard so he wouldn’t have to look at Willa. “She was lonely,” he said. “She didn’t sign up to be a single mom, but that’s what she was most of the time. I know it took a toll on her.”

  On us, he thought but didn’t say. He’d seen firsthand how his father’s career had impacted their marriage. How the stress of family life had dulled the shine in his mother’s eyes and left his father feeling frazzled and exhausted. The rare days Allen Billman had at home were devoted to kids’ soccer games and trips to the orthodontist. Every penny, every hour of free time, got snapped up by someone else, usually one of the kids. Grady’s dad had worked hard, no doubt about it, but had he ever once savored the fruits of his own labor?

  Grady didn’t want that for himself, and he sure as hell didn’t wish it on any woman he brought into his life. Definitely not Willa.

  Stop thinking about the future. That’s not in the cards for either of you.

  “I’ll bet it was beautiful.” Willa’s voice jarred him back to the present, and he looked at her, trying to find his place in the conversation.

  “What’s that?”

  “The flowers.” She swept a hand toward the yard. “The ones your mom would plant when your dad was gone. Sounds like it would have been pretty.”

  Grady nodded, surprised to realize he hadn’t thought much about those flowers. Not for a long time.

  “Come on.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “We should get inside.”

  Willa glanced at the front door, a faint hint of nervousness in her eyes. “I’m surprised they haven’t heard us out here and come to check on us.”

  Grady laughed and pulled her toward the door. “When a family this size gets together, they wouldn’t hear a dump truck being driven through the dining room.”

  He pushed the door open, knowing there was no point in knocking. No one would hear anyway. The cacophony of voices led them down the hall and into the living room, where more than a dozen Billmans were shouting over one another.

  His oldest sister, Angie, was in one corner hollering something about potato salad to Deb, his middle brother’s wife. Deb kept nodding like she was following along, but she was distracted by her five-year-old twins squealing as they ran circles around the coffee table. A pack of his brothers-in-law stood six inches from the TV, trying to watch the Seahawks game with the volume cranked high enough to drown out the sound of his youngest brother, Jamie, playing guitar in the corner.

  Grady’s mom rushed in with a plate full of deviled eggs, not noticing Grady and Willa standing at the edge of the hallway. He watched her zip from the kitchen into the living room, dodging the obstacle course of her children and their offspring like a pro race-car driver.

  “I think I got a little too much sriracha on these eggs,” she was saying, “but why don’t you try one and tell me—”

  “Hey, Mom.”

  She whipped around fast, her face breaking into a huge grin when she spotted him. “Grady! You made it.”

  She shoved the plate of eggs at Grady’s brother Abel, who stumbled backward but managed to keep all the slippery orbs on the plate somehow. “Hey—”

  But their mother was already across the room, pulling Grady into a tight hug. “It’s so good to see you,” she said as she rocked back and forth, pulling him with her in a familiar maternal rhythm. “And this must be Willa.”

  She let go of Grady and turned to Willa, whose hand was outstretched to shake. Sheryl ignored it and went for the mom hug, squeezing Willa so tightly, she gave a little squeak.

  “I’ve heard so much about you, sweetheart,” Sheryl said as she pulled back. “Aren’t you a pretty thing.”

  “Come on, Mom.” Grady’s middle sister sauntered over with a baby on her hip. “You’ll embarrass her. I’m Stacy. And this is Audrey.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Willa gently shook the baby’s outstretched hand, earning smiles from both moms as she surveyed the insanity swarming the room. “I’ve never been around such a big family.”

  Grady’s mom laughed. “Oh, honey. This is nothing. We don’t even have half the clan here tonight. When the cousins and aunts and uncles show up, it’s practically a riot.”

  “A riot made up of a lot of toddlers and pregnant women,” Grady put in.

  His mother laughed, backing away already. “Pardon me a moment. I need to go check the brisket.”

  His sisters hurried off to break up a squabble between their respective offspring while Willa stood surveying the scene like a tourist at a zoo. The twins careened past him, knocking into Grady’s knees and making him stagger.

  “Uncle Grady, look!” Clover—or was it Rose?—did a pirouette, then bounced happily in front of him. “We got our new cheer costumes, and Mommy said we could show you our makeup.”

  “Makeup, huh.” Holy Christ, they looked like five-year-old beauty pageant contestants, what with the sequined skirts and spandex tops and—good Lord, were those false eyelashes?

  “Don’t ask.” Grady’s brother Liam ambled over with a bowl full of chips and a pained look on his face. “Competitive cheerleading. It’s all the rage now in the under-five set.”

  Willa cocked her head and studied the front of Liam’s shirt. “What does that say?”

  He held up his arms and gave a resigned shrug. “Cheer Dad.” He grimaced. “In bedazzled letters, in case you’re wondering. Will someone please kill me now?”

  Grady laughed and flicked a chunk of something—yogurt, maybe?—off the sleeve of his brother’s shirt. “At some point, aliens took over the body of my hell-raising, biker-bar-owning brother and replaced all that badassery with the ultimate family man.”

  “Guilty as charged.” His brother’s eyes sparked with contentment as he stuck a hand out for Willa to shake. “Liam. Cheerfully emasculated by my two hellion daughters and the hottest wife in the world.”

  “Love you, too, baby!” called Deb from across the room. She flashed them a smile and skimmed a hand over her belly. The touch was brief, but Grady had been through this enough times to recognize what it meant.

  “Holy crap,” Grady said, lowering his voice as the twins perked up. “You—uh—spawning again?”

  Liam beamed. “Yep. Two months along. Score another one for that badass Billman baby batter.”

  “Ew.” Grady made a face as the twins kept right on dancing around his legs.

  “Crap! Crap! Crap! Uncle Grady said ‘crap.’” Clover and Rose swooped around, waving their adorable little starfish hands.

  Willa was trying very hard not to laugh, but Grady could see the dimples forming in her cheeks. Good. He wanted her to enjoy herself here.

  “Do not repeat that word,” Liam scolded, shooting a look at Grady. “Uncle Grady is a bad example, but you’re better than that, aren’t you?”

  “Nooooooo!” chorused the girls and went right on dancing.

  Their father put a hand on each of their backs and nudged them toward their mother. “You’ve shown Uncle Grady and Aunt Willa your costumes. Now go see if Mommy has something to scrub that cr—that makeup off your faces.”

  The girls gave matching whines of distress but did what they were told and went scampering off in the other direction. Grady glanced at Willa, gauging
her reaction to the “aunt” moniker. Her smile was big and genuine, and she looked completely charmed. Charmed and a little taken aback. His family could be overwhelming even to people who were used to being around that much chaos. He couldn’t imagine how they seemed to someone who’d grown up without any siblings at all.

  “Come on,” he said to Willa. “Let’s find the cooler. I’ll introduce you to everyone else once we’ve gotten some liquid refreshment.”

  “Nice meeting you,” she called to Liam over her shoulder as they headed for the dining room.

  He led her past the big table with a zillion extensions in it and out a set of french doors onto the back deck. The hulking blue cooler that had been a mainstay at all Billman functions for the better part of two decades sat at the edge of the deck, and Grady led Willa to it.

  “You’ll need this,” he said, tucking an icy can of beer into her hand. “Trust me.”

  “Looks like there’s a bountiful supply,” she said as she popped the top open.

  “This isn’t our first rodeo.”

  Three of his nephews raced past, their freckled faces striped with some sort of paint. Each little boy held a Nerf gun, and one of them whooped as they raced past. “We’re superheroes, Uncle Grady.”

  “I can see that.”

  He pulled Willa back before nephew number four could crash into her as he chased after the rest of them, firing Nerf darts left and right. The boys took off down the steep slope of the backyard, shouting about force fields and superpowers.

  Grady cracked his beer and turned to her with a smile. “Ready to go home yet?”

  Willa shook her head, more than a little dazed-looking. “This is bonkers.”

  “Told you.”

  “And wonderful.”

  He studied her face for some hint of irony, but no, she was dead serious. “Really? You’re not overwhelmed?”

  “Oh, I am.” She smiled, and Grady’s heart damn near melted. “But in a good way.”

  An unexpected warmth crept up through his chest. He’d hoped she’d enjoy it here, but this—this was more than that. She fit right in, which surprised him. “I’m sure they’ll make you an honorary member if you like.”

  “I may take you up on that.”

  She sipped her beer as Grady watched the side of her face and wondered how long he could keep pretending he wasn’t falling head over heels for her.

  And how very, very bad that would be for them both.

  …

  After dinner, Grady retreated to the kitchen with Paul and their father for one of their most time-honored Billman family traditions.

  “No one who helped make dinner has to clean up,” his father explained to Willa as he shooed her out of the kitchen. “Go grab a drink and put your feet up.”

  “But I didn’t help with dinner,” she protested. “I only set the table.”

  “That counts,” Grady said. “Out! Go on, I’m sure my mother’s dying to interrogate you.”

  Willa feigned a look of terror, but he could tell from the flash of delight in her eyes that she was loving every second of it. Who’d have thought that only-child Willa would be so embraced by his over-the-top noisy, nosy family? Or that she’d enjoy the afternoon as much as she’d seemed to.

  “Get your ass over here and start scrubbing.” Paul snapped him with a dish towel, and Grady turned back to his duties.

  “When are we going to switch to paper plates so this isn’t such a pain in the ass to clean up?” he grumbled.

  His father rolled his eyes. “When we stop giving a shit about the environment and the amount of trash this family produces.” He piled a stack of plates next to the sink. “In other words, never.”

  Grady grinned and plunged his hands into the soapy water. He didn’t mind, honestly. This was one of the things he loved about his family. In college, he’d gone to friends’ homes for the occasional holiday meal and wound up dumbfounded to discover the females of the family shouldering the burden for both meal prep and cleanup. That would never fly in the Billman home. Here, everyone pulled their weight, and even the littlest kids had jobs to do.

  “Your girlfriend seems great,” his father said. “Totally held her own at dinner.”

  Paul laughed. “She didn’t even flinch when the twins asked if you’ll get married soon so they can be flower girls.”

  Grady suppressed the big, dumb-ass grin welling up inside him. It wasn’t just the memory of Willa cheerfully telling the girls she’d have her secretary call theirs. No, it was what his father had said.

  Your girlfriend.

  He knew he should issue a correction but couldn’t seem to bring himself to do it. He’d been careful about not scaring her away, not wanting her to think this dinner meant anything other than a free meal with a fun group of people who happened to look like him and share the same DNA.

  But he’d be lying if he pretended not to like the sound of that.

  Your girlfriend.

  He liked it a helluva lot.

  That…was a first.

  “Hey, Dad,” Paul said, reaching around Grady to grab a towering stack of dessert plates. “Did you go look at that sixty-two Bronco?”

  “I did.” His father’s eyes gleamed as he toweled off the roasting pan Grady handed him. “She’s pretty sweet. Needs a new catalytic converter, and the upholstery’s a little torn up, but the body’s in great shape. She’ll be a good project.”

  A pinch of nostalgia caught Grady right between the ribs. Memories flashed up on the silver screen in his brain of his father out in the garage tinkering with his latest project car on one of his rare breaks from work.

  Grady had been eight, but remembered it like yesterday.

  “I thought we were going to spend time together this weekend, Allen,” Grady’s mom had said from where she stood on the other side of the garage, her voice soft and low.

  Grady hadn’t been able to see her face from where he’d been hunkered behind a stack of tires playing with his toy cars, but he’d noticed the quiver in her voice. Sadness, maybe, which he’d been hearing a lot lately.

  He’d scrunched himself down low, not wanting to interrupt.

  “I need time to myself, too, Sher,” his dad had replied. His voice was low, too, but there was an edge to it. Something Grady heard almost never. “Seems like all I do lately is work and—”

  “Exactly.” His mom’s voice had cracked on the words. “You’re gone the whole summer, and the rare times you’re home, we hardly see you at all. You’re out here tinkering instead of spending time with us.”

  “That’s not fair, and you know it.” Dad had sounded more tired than angry, but Grady had held his breath anyway. “I spent all day yesterday running between Angie’s soccer match and Nate’s Little League practice. I got home in time to spend the evening showing Paul how to change the oil in his car.”

  Grady’s mom had stayed quiet a long time. When she’d spoken, there’d been a faraway note in her voice. “I miss the date nights. Those years when you couldn’t wait to get home to me and we’d stay up making love all night.”

  Wincing, Grady had scrunched lower behind the tires. He shouldn’t have been listening to their conversation, he’d known that, but he hadn’t been able to find a good way to make his escape.

  “I miss that, too, Sher,” his dad had said. “But this is how it has to be now. You knew when you married me that this is what it would be like. And I love the kids, don’t get me wrong, but—”

  “I know.” His mother had sighed, and Grady could tell she wasn’t angry anymore. Just sad. “Family is sacrifice.”

  “Family is love,” his dad had countered, trying for wise certainty but sounding a little shaky. “I just sometimes wish it didn’t mean losing every little bit of autonomy, you know?”

  Autonomy.

  At the time, Grady thought it had s
omething to do with cars. With the projects his father liked to do out there in the garage but never seemed to have time for.

  Even after he looked it up in the dictionary, he didn’t get it.

  The quality or state of being self-governing. Self-directing freedom.

  It wasn’t until years later that he began to wrap his head around it. His father had given up everything—hobbies, money, the little indulgences that made all the work worthwhile—for his career and his family.

  It was then that Grady vowed never to do the same thing. He admired the hell out of his father, but he didn’t want to become him. Not ever.

  “Earth to Grady.” Paul whacked him on the back of the head with a spatula. “You just going to stand there with the water running, or are you going to actually wash something?”

  “Yeah,” Grady muttered, glancing at his dad. “I’m on it.”

  His dad was studying him now, reading his thoughts as always. “You got something on your mind, son?”

  “Just thinking about how hard it must have been,” he said. “Juggling the family stuff and the job and all us damn kids.”

  Dad laughed, a familiar, booming sound that left Grady feeling homesick even though he was standing here in his own childhood kitchen. “Well now, I can’t claim it was easy,” he said. “It’s gotten easier now.”

  “You mean for you?”

  “For me and for your mom.” Toweling off the cast-iron skillet Grady had handed him, he gave a thoughtful head tilt. “For smokejumpers in general, too. Schedules are different now. Better for family life.”

  “You thinking about that, bro?” Paul scraped a plate into the garbage disposal and stacked it on top of a towering pile.

  Grady shook his head. “I don’t think that’s something I want.” He glanced at his dad, remembering the way his shoulders had hunched that day after his mother left the garage in tears. The way Grady had watched his father for weeks afterward, wondering just how much this family had cost him.

  “I don’t think I have it in me to balance it all,” Grady added, swallowing back the lump in his throat. “I think the casual thing is all I can manage.”