Stay Awhile

by Gia Riley

  At first glance, every bit of this room is decorated for an adult. But after closer inspection, my eyes zone in on the bedding. It screams Laney’s name and has her personality written all over it.

  She’s quiet as we walk in, her eyes checking out all the pictures on the wall, then the lamp on the table, and finally, she spots her treasure. Her hands clap with so much excitement, I have to hold onto her a little tighter so she doesn’t wiggle her way out of my arms.

  “It’s her, Mommy! Cinderella.”

  Sprawled out on the double bed is a pale blue and white comforter with Cinderella’s face in the center—Laney’s favorite Disney princess. Without a doubt, this room is for her.

  “Looks like we found your room,” I tell her as I shuffle across the carpet. It’s so plush beneath my feet, I could sleep on the floor for the next month and be completely content. Anything would be a million times better compared to the stiff mattress I’ve been sleeping on at the hospital.

  Setting Laney on the bed, careful not to jostle her legs around, she lays her head on the pillows and tucks her hands behind her head like a queen in her castle. After another little giggle, she sits up and runs her hand over Cinderella’s glittery crown.

  With wide eyes, she tells me, “I asked Santa for this. Garrett helped me spell Cinderella on my wish list after I mixed up a couple of the letters.”

  I’ve been so preoccupied I didn’t even realize it was on her wish list. Garrett knows every single thing she wrote down and is already well on his way to making her Christmas wishes come true.

  “He must have talked to Santa,” I reassure her, wanting her to hold onto the magic of the holiday for as long as she can.

  She cuddles against the pillows, holding her doll close to her chest. It’s become her best friend since she’s been away from home. “It’s a good thing we sent the letter to the North Pole. The elves work really fast, Mommy.”

  The elves do work fast. I can’t figure out how Garrett had time to find the bedding and get it in the room before she was discharged. He’s been so busy at work on top of spending extra time with us when he’s off the clock. To say I’m impressed would be an understatement.

  “Rest here while I look around, okay? I’m going to put my purse in my room and then I’ll be back.”

  “Okay,” she says, as she plays with her doll’s hair. She’s still determined to learn how to braid all by herself. It’s been one of the many activities we’ve focused on that keeps her still enough to keep the pain away.

  The bathroom attached to Laney’s room connects the two guest rooms together. Half of the vanity is decorated in a Cinderella theme with enough bubble bath lining the counter to last a year, maybe more considering she can’t get half of her body wet as long as the casts are on her legs.

  There’s even a tiny bathrobe for Laney hanging on the back of the door. She has a toothbrush, soap, and a pair of fuzzy slippers to keep her toes warm. She has everything a little girl could want, and more than she’ll ever need.

  Garrett thought of everything.

  When I open the door leading into my room, it’s bigger than I was expecting. It’s been recently updated, and the carpet is even softer than Laney’s room. But it’s the gigantic king-size bed lining the far wall that really gets my attention.

  The stark white bedding is so luxurious it looks like a bed of clouds waiting to wrap me in warmth on a cold winter’s night. Compared to the sofa bed I’ve been on, my body is already sighing in relief. I don’t think I could have slept many more nights with that hard metal bar jabbing me in the ribs.

  When I turn toward the windows, I stop dead in my tracks. Back in high school, I took a design class with Garrett. Our final project was to create our dream bedroom on paper, drawn to scale.

  My design had a window seat with bookshelves on both sides to hold all the books I spent hours getting lost in. The top of the bench seat was lined with glittery gold pillows and comfortable black-and-white striped cushions.

  During my presentation, I told the class that someday I’d have that exact spot to read and relax after a long day at work.

  Even at eighteen, I envisioned a life where Connor worked at the desk in his office, and I’d be a couple feet away by the window, content that we could do our own thing, yet still be so close. I never wanted to be away from him longer than I had to.

  The upholstery on Garrett’s bench may not be glittery, and the stripes are missing, but the gun metal gray and black fabrics are still masculine with a hint of feminine charm left behind in the details. Just like the outside of the house, this space was created with a woman in mind.

  The paint is still fresh, and the fabric isn’t the least bit faded. The cushions on the bench don’t dip in the center from wear and tear, and the shelves are still too bare to have been here for too long.

  Other than a couple of Garrett’s medical journals and a notebook, all the novels from my design are missing—and for some reason, I feel like he’s waiting for me to fill these shelves. I feel like he built this for me.

  When I see the letter ‘M’ in gold on the front of the notebook, I take it from the shelf and sit on the bench next to the window.

  Curious, I open the front cover to a world inside I didn’t know existed—at least not on this level.

  In Garrett’s barely legible handwriting, four little sentences are scrawled across the lined piece of paper. To him they make perfect sense. To me, they’re full of promises I can’t give him, and full of a heart I want to show him. His words are everything, and one thing is clear. They’re definitely meant for me.

  If you stay . . .

  You won’t regret.

  If you stay . . .

  I’ll make you mine.

  Reading them makes me feel like I just got caught with his biggest secret. My body temperature instantly rises a few degrees, and as I repeat his words in my mind, I move to the bed to think about them.

  Just like I expected, the blankets and duvet suck me into the center of the mattress like a cocoon. My fingers shake as I turn the page, wondering what else is hidden inside.

  On the next page I read, Relax and breathe. You’re right where you belong.

  Am I? Because right now, I think I’m intruding, even though I think he wanted me to find this. I’m happy yet my stomach is twisted in a knot. I’m guilty, yet excited by the possibilities. And I’m about to hyperventilate.

  How can Garrett have never shared a single intimate moment with me, yet remember me so well? How can one man have paid so much attention to what I want when the man I thought I married, couldn’t bother to commit?

  It’s not fair, and it makes no sense, but I turn the page again, hoping more of Garrett’s secrets will be uncovered.

  A tiny piece of paper in the shape of a stethoscope flutters across the duvet like it was dropped from the sky.

  “Stay Awhile,” I whisper, as I read it to myself.

  Like he knew I’d be drawn to this place the second I saw it, I smile when I realize he left these clues for me on purpose.

  Garrett knew I would have so much on my mind once I got here, and that I’d be worried about overstaying my welcome. Regardless of my baggage, he still took a chance on me and opened his home and his heart.

  As much as I want to forget about Connor and enjoy what Garrett’s offering me, there’s so much to figure out. And I’m clueless how to transition from hell to heaven without looking like I’m taking advantage of the first person to show me some sympathy and kindness.

  There are going to be changes. Ones Laney’s going to need help understanding. But it won’t be easy because she doesn’t understand what alcohol is or what it does to your brain and body. She doesn’t get that the beer inside the refrigerator can make you do stupid things and ruin your life.

  And that’s what makes this ten times harder—no matter what Connor has done, I’m still going to be partially responsible for my daughter’s first heartbreak. Because, like Vanessa did with me, I’m the one who
’s going to have to tell her the truth.

  Until that time comes, I take one last look at Garrett’s words before closing the notebook, making sure to memorize them so I can keep his thoughts with me when I’m drowning.

  I set it back on the shelf, exactly where I found it, lining up the spine with the medical journals the way Garrett did.

  By the time I get back to Laney’s room, she’s cuddled in the middle of the bed almost sound asleep. When she feels me kiss her warm cheek, she groggily says, “I want to make cookies.”

  She’s still so exhausted from the surgery, only able to stay awake for short periods of time before she needs another nap.

  “Sleep, sweet girl,” I tell her. “I’ll start the batter now and you can help me bake them when you wake up.”

  Never one to argue about sleep when she isn’t feeling her best, her eyes close without hesitation. As I brush the back of my hand across her sweet face, I realize this could be the last year she still believes in Santa Claus and his reindeer. I want her to hold onto it for as long as she can, especially since she may not see Connor at all this Christmas.

  She won’t wake up at the crack of dawn, pulling her mommy and daddy out of bed after swearing she didn’t sneak a peek at the Christmas tree during the night. She won’t sass me when I beg her for a couple minutes to make some coffee before we start tearing through the presents. And she won’t get to hug her daddy to thank him for putting her toys together after he moans and groans about having to wrestle them out of the complicated packaging.

  From the moment Connor’s car veered off the road, tradition crashed and burned. This year, Laney will remember her father’s absence instead of his laughter. She’ll remember baking cookies with me and Garrett instead, and while that’s a great memory to have, it doesn’t makeup for all that’s been lost.

  Once I’m positive Laney’s completely asleep, I close her door and head straight to the kitchen. I’m not sure what to expect when I look inside Garrett’s pantry, but I’m pleasantly surprised to find a box of microwave popcorn. If I make each pack in the box, I’ll have more than enough kernels to make Laney’s favorite popcorn balls before I start on the cookie dough.

  It takes me a minute to figure out the microwave, but shortly after, the first bag is popping. I’ve always wanted a chef’s kitchen with all the bells and whistles, and Garrett’s kitchen doesn’t disappoint.

  Of course I have to laugh at the irony because the last time I saw Garrett cook, he didn’t have a lot of success.

  Our home economics teacher turned her nose up at his runny pudding pie that he couldn’t even cut into slices. She gagged when she sampled his chicken noodle soup with enough salt in it to be declared an ocean. He failed the assignment miserably.

  And now look at him, he’s knocking it out of the park in everything he does. Including making Laney and me feel special.

  Garrett

  TONIGHT, AS I UNLOCK THE front door, I realize how excited I am to have Megan and Laney under my roof. I’m so used to walking into darkness every night after work, the rooms all collecting dust with no signs of life, that sometimes these walls feel more like a museum than a home.

  I couldn’t care less about the popcorn kernels all over the kitchen floor, or the stack of dirty dishes in the sink. This is what I’ve been missing—a place that’s lived in. A place where memories are created and a family is started.

  “It smells amazing in here,” I tell Megan, wishing I could wrap my arms around her the way I want to.

  She gives me a smile as she brushes a piece of hair out of her eyes with the back of her hand, leaving a little splotch of flour on her cheek.

  “What?” she questions when I can’t stop staring at her.

  “Nothing, you just look different today.”

  Unsure of what to make of my comment, she looks away and says, “It wouldn’t be Christmas without some cookies, would it?”

  “Definitely not.” It wouldn’t be Christmas without her, either, but I keep that to myself. “How’s Laney feeling?”

  “She’s tired—fell asleep almost an hour ago,” she says, sadly, like she wishes her daughter was standing next to her, trying to eat the cookie dough even though she told her it’d make her sick. At least that’s what I always did.

  Placing one of the dirty bowls next to the sink, I wash my hands, trying not to flood the counter as the water ricochets everywhere. “What about you?”

  Megan’s quiet for a second, and I glance over my shoulder, wondering why she isn’t answering me.

  I catch the slightest shake of her head, like she’s trying to wake herself up or forget about something. “Sorry about the mess, I’ll clean it all up,” she finally says.

  “It’s okay, Megs. I don’t mind.”

  The chocolate chips she pours in the mixing bowl pile high on the dough. Before she mixes it up, she plucks a couple out and pops them in her mouth. “I was surprised you had everything I needed for cookies.”

  Before Laney was discharged, I went to the grocery store, loading my cart with everything I could think of for the holidays. For all I knew, Megan hated to bake. But I took a chance anyway, just in case. Come hell or high water, every Christmas tradition, whether new or old, was going to happen this year.

  Now I can barely believe Megan’s in my house let alone baking cookies for Laney in my kitchen.

  “Garrett?”

  “Sorry, what were you saying?”

  “Just asked how the rest of your day was,” she tells me as she steps back from the counter.

  “I see you found my apron.”

  My family gave me the Grill Master apron last Christmas because I still can’t grill or cook for shit no matter how hard I try. It took me a while to accept the fact I was meant to fix people and not dinner.

  “You’ll have to cook for me some time,” Megan says with a hint of sarcasm. Clearly, she remembers home economics class.

  I grab a white napkin off the stack, waving it in the air in surrender. “Nobody deserves that kind of torture. The last time I grilled, I melted the siding on the back of my parents’ house. I lost grill privileges after that.”

  Her shoulders shake as she tries not to laugh, but fails miserably. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  If she was mine, I’d grab her by the waist and sit her on the edge of the island. First, I’d brush the splotch of flour off her face, and then I’d devour her lips, stripping her bare right here in the kitchen like we’ve been doing this dance for years.

  Since I can’t take it any further than the flour, that’s all I try. At first, Megan doesn’t realize what I’m doing, but as soon I touch her, she leans into me like she’s wanted my hands on her since I got home. The way her body responds is a complete and total surprise.

  “Thank you. I’m a mess,” she says as soon as the spot’s gone.

  I’d be a fool if I didn’t try to kiss her, but she just got here, and I’m afraid to risk ruining this. “I like you in my kitchen,” I tell her, not at all meaning it how it sounds.

  “Spoken like a true man.”

  “That came out wrong. What I meant was I like you being here—with me.”

  Biting her lip, either to keep from smiling or from saying something she doesn’t want to, she picks up the wooden spoon and stirs the batter. When it gets too thick for her to continue, she flexes her hand and winces at the red marks on her skin.

  Without thinking, I move behind her and run my nose against the back of her neck. I swear she still wears the same perfume she did in high school—the sweet smell still makes me crave her.

  The front of my body brushes against her back, sending shockwaves of pleasure through my system. If it feels this good to be near her, I can’t even imagine what it would be like to be inside her.

  Placing my hands on top of hers, I help her guide the spoon around the bowl. But no matter how many times my brain encourages my body to take it slow, I still fail. Whether Megan’s ready for more or not, I crave being close too
much to stop.

  Without thinking, my hands apply more pressure until her muscles relax and the awkwardness vanishes.

  Her comfort is a sign that she might be okay with the idea of ‘more’. As soon as I press my lips against the soft skin by her ear, everything changes. Suddenly, her knees lock and her entire body stiffens.

  “Relax,” I tell her after she drops the spoon.

  Without having to tell her twice, she tilts her head to give me better access. She gasps and latches her hands onto the edge of the countertop as soon as my lips find the sweet spot on her neck.

  “Do you have any idea how long I’ve imagined holding you like this, Megan? How many times I’ve wanted to touch you and kiss you?”

  “Garrett,” she whispers as she turns around in my arms. Her stormy eyes find mine the first chance they get. “Tell me how many.”

  I need to say the words as much as I want to show her, because I’ve spent decades of my life keeping my feelings to myself, a mistake I’ll always regret. If I hadn’t, maybe she wouldn’t be hurting so bad inside.

  “Megan, I’ve wanted you for as long as I can remember. Middle school, high school, and every year after.”

  She stares at the buttons on my dress shirt like she’s trying to wrap her mind around just how long I’ve craved her. I don’t expect her to understand why I never told her the truth, but I can tell she already gets it. She knows I never made a move because I didn’t want to interfere with what she already had. She was happy, and who was I to mess that up for her?

  Her chest rises and falls faster, and I believe in our friendship and in our connection so much, I don’t think letting go of her would be the right move. Instead, I hold on tighter—to protect her and show her how she’s right where she belongs.

  But what I want and what she wants might be two totally different things. My biggest fear comes true when she says, “It’s too soon for this, Garrett. We can’t.”

  “Too soon for who?” I ask her, because as far as I’m concerned, she’s free to move on without hesitation. But I know that’s not how she sees it. To her, it would look bad, and I hate she’s more worried about what everyone else would think than about putting herself first. “You have nothing to prove.”