Rocket Man

by Melanie Greene

  “No, no rush.”

  But she pulled away from the arm he’d hooked around her waist, and Dillon still hadn’t gotten a kiss. He turned to look at her, and found her looking around the room. “What’s up?”

  “You could do that in the kitchen. Or the dining table.”

  “I like it here. I like the view.”

  “But the kitchen is all set up for working at the island. Those stools are really comfortable.”

  “I know they are. But I wanted to sit by the window.” Something about the conversation was screwy. “Is it not okay if I sit in the living room?”

  “No, sure, if you want. The sofa, or that chair,” Serena nodded her chin at a Victorian-style armchair she’d covered with a Pop Art inspired print. “You can see outside from that chair.”

  “Serena.” She didn’t look at him until Dillon said her name again. “Hey, Serena, as far as I can tell, you’re telling me to sit anywhere but where I am. Is that right?”

  She tried a smile that didn’t quite convince him. “I just like my furniture to stay where I put it.”

  “Well, unless it’s Beauty and the Beast furniture, or you have poltergeists, I’m guessing that’s not really a problem.” Levity didn’t even begin to lighten her mood, which in turn tightened the muscles between his shoulder blades.

  “No, but you moved it.”

  “It’s not forever. Look, let’s go to the market and when we get back, you can make me one of those infamous salads and I’ll finish this editing and then put the furniture back.” Not that he couldn’t finish it now, given half an hour and the end of this odd discussion, but her pulling back made him want to push in return.

  “Couldn’t you just move it back now? And work at the dining table later?”

  “Couldn’t I just leave it where it is for a few more hours?” he countered. Okay, it was getting inane, a battle of wills when no one had called for one, but come on. He hadn’t broken anything. It would take two minutes to put it all back where it started, and she’d never know he’d been in the room.

  Which maybe was too much the point.

  “Serena, what is the real problem here? I’m honestly trying to figure it out. This isn’t really about furniture, is it?”

  “I just like things to look the way I put them. What’s wrong with that? There are perfectly good places to set up your laptop with the layout how I had it.”

  “But I’ll put it all back this afternoon. I’m not trying to move my grandmother’s big oak desk into your living room. I just want to type for an hour or so while admiring your yard.”

  “But that’s not where things go. I’m sorry, look, Dillon, I’m not explaining it well, but it really matters to me that everything is a certain way. I know it’s idiotic, or you think it is, but I just—I need it like that. So could you please put the table and chair back and work in the kitchen?” Serena could barely look at him. Or maybe it was that she could barely look away from the offending table.

  He tried to control his tone. “I’m sure I’m not getting some deeper meaning here that I should, but the thing is, I don’t want to work in the kitchen. I want to work here. I want to leave the computer right there while we go shopping then come back and have it still be there, and put it all back when I’m done. I get that the floor plan is important to you for whatever reason, but ultimately it’s not going to change. Can’t you just leave it for now?”

  Serena looked torn, but she didn’t waver. Dillon was beginning to feel aliens writhing in his gut. The damn blueprints in her head, the physical ones and those to do with her vision of their relationship. She either didn’t know what to say or was opting to keep her words to herself.

  “Fine,” he said, and no longer worried about his tone. “I get it. The temporary accommodation of your boyfriend, his comfort for a few scant hours, that’s not as important as your floor plan. Your idea of how the house should look is more essential than what I want. Well, Serena, that’s just fine. No words necessary. Message received.”

  Dillon strode halfway to the kitchen, then turned and walked back to grab his coffee cup so he could put it in the sink. God forbid he be a rude houseguest, since guest status was clearly all he would ever be allowed to claim.

  She hadn’t budged.

  “Dillon, wait. No. Don’t...it’s not what you’re saying. I just—I’m having trouble explaining. I have rules, that’s all. About my house, about how I like it. I put a lot into making it this way, and I mean, listen, it’s not just you. I don’t like anything changed. Even Hannah knows not to move things around at Aunt Serena’s house.”

  He just stared at her. “Hannah? Hannah who is, what, one? Two? Serena, I’m not a toddler. You’re supposed to make rules like that for toddlers, they’re incapable of reason. But I have news for you, in case all the fucking hadn’t clued you in. I’m an adult. We are adults. We’re capable of having—supposed to be capable of having—a conversation. A conversation, which implies the ability to see things from each other’s point of view. To consider what each other want, and even to want to....” Dillon slumped his shoulders on a rush of breath. “To want, Serena, to accommodate each other’s point of view. At least, that’s what I think a conversation should be, especially between people who love each other.”

  Serena’s breath rushed in as fast as Dillon's had expelled. “Did we say that?”

  Dillon's frustration warred with a sad chill. He kept his gaze locked on Serena’s as he shook his head. “No. No. We did not.” Then he dropped his eyes down, the burl of the hardwoods sharp after a couple of blinks. “Okay, maybe I’m reading too much into everything. I thought we were in accord. I thought you’d seen the way it was for me, and felt the same. But maybe I’m the only one in this conversation. I’m the one following your rules, buying cruelty-free shampoo, sleeping whichever place you choose, doing it all your way.” He looked up again, met her silent eyes, took in the lean of her torso away from his. “But your way just doesn’t include falling in love, does it? It sure as hell doesn’t include opening up your house to me, much less opening your heart. If I fit in the edges, if I don’t disrupt anything and follow your lead, we’re okay.”

  He shot a quick glance at Serena’s perfectly still face. It gave him no answers, so he went on. “You said it was so easy to be with me, Serena, but did you wonder why? Did you think how I was working my ass off to make it easy for you? Did you think how I saw how skittish you were about all of this, you with your plans and rules, and maybe think how I’m working damn hard to show you that it’s not as scary as you think for us to be together, to look at a future maybe? A future when I might—God, Serena,” Dillon stopped himself. He closed his eyes, and shut up, and shut down. He knew damn well this next part wasn’t included in Serena’s vision of things, and pretty much knew how that was going to go over.

  He shook his head and said it anyway. “A future where I might want a table by your window, Serena?” he asked quietly. “Had you thought of that?”

  Deliberately, Dillon picked up the chair and returned it to the dining room, putting it perfectly in line with the others at her table. Serena hadn’t moved from her spot in the living room, so he skirted her silent form before shoving his laptop in the messenger bag he’d dropped on her sofa earlier, and walked to the door.

  He turned, looking at her for a few moments before sighing. From the beginning, she hadn’t moved. “I’ll see you at work,” Dillon said, picking his keys out of the bowl on the hall table. He walked out, leaving the little side table exactly where he’d left it next to the window.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  She was crying. Standing upright in the middle of her living room, soundless, but the tears kept escaping down her cheeks. Which was stupid, crying, that wasn’t going to fix anything.

  What kind of asshole tells her he loves her and then just walks out? It was ridiculous. He wouldn’t listen to her explanation about the furniture, which, let’s not forget, he moved without asking or apologizing or moving it
back when she asked. And then he said he loved her. And then he proved that he was just trying to manipulate her by walking out, because if he really loved her, he wouldn’t go around accusing her of not letting him into her heart or whatever, he would stick around to talk about it.

  Serena wiped the tears and forced them to stop falling. Stupid to cry when he was a jerk. Had he seriously just left? She went to the window to confirm, and yes, his car was gone. Fine, then, he could just get on with his life and she’d get on with hers. When he calmed down and apologized for walking out, for moving her stuff, then they’d talk. Probably he’d call within an hour anyway, or just show up that evening to watch the playoff game. Well, maybe she wouldn’t even be around. She had a life to get on with, too. She went to the kitchen to make her solitary breakfast, free from his teasing about her not-at-all-too-elaborate preparations, thanks very much. If she wanted to harvest some sage and mint for a batch of sun tea, that was entirely her right, and he shouldn’t have anything to say about it.

  Except she didn’t want to get near the mint bed just at the moment.

  Fine, hot tea would suit her just as well. Serena went to the stovetop and lifted the kettle, only to find that it was still hot and filled with enough water for her tea. And she knew Dillon had done it deliberately, thinking of her while she slept. Suddenly she didn’t feel like making anything, and sat slowly on the island stool. Her back was to the living room, but she’d swear she could feel the out-of-place side table like a physical ache. The table, and the man no longer sitting at it. It was all messed up. Serena gave in to her tears.

  And even after zombie-ing out for at least an hour, Dillon hadn’t called or come back over.

  The Rockets won. She was curled on her side of the sofa for the whole game, watching the Trail Blazer fans becoming more dejected by the quarter, and never before had she felt such empathy for the other side.

  Natalie had agreed to clear her schedule for a Sunday brunch in honor of her thirtieth birthday, even turning an afternoon open house over to an associate so she wouldn’t have to rush off. It was a hard-won victory, and Serena, Gillian, and Rachel had taken it in turns to ensure she didn’t reneg at the last minute.

  After a very long and not terribly restful night, Serena did her best to put her party face on. She’d kept her phone next to her all night, but Dillon never called, never texted, nothing. An email had binged into her inbox after two in the morning, and Serena had the phone in her hand pressing the email icon practically before she’d opened her eyes. Stupid spam. And no matter how many times she’d hit refresh, nothing came in from Dillon. She’d almost hurled the thing across the room at that point, but if she had, she knew she’d be getting up to retrieve it after ten minutes, and she had to try to sleep some. Even though she couldn’t get comfortable. And his pillow smelled like him.

  It wasn’t like this was the first time they’d slept apart since they’d started dating.

  It was just that she wasn’t sure when they’d sleep together again.

  Now she was going to this brunch, and she was going to pretend that the reason Dillon wasn’t with her was that she’d chosen to not bring him in deference to Natalie's still broken heart. Unless he showed up unannounced. He did know about it. But Serena figured that was as likely as Chris showing up—Natalie's mysteriously disappearing ex had known about it, too, but after a month of total radio silence, it was beyond improbable that the guy would reemerge with a birthday card, ready to party.

  “See you at work,” she muttered to herself while she fastened the necklace Natalie had given her for her own thirtieth. “Not if I see you first, buddy.” How could he have gone twenty-four hours without contacting her at all? Not exactly her definition of a man in love.

  Not that she wanted him to be in love with her.

  Fine, let him go off-radar. Knowing Dillon, he was thinking about the things he’d said and how he hadn’t been willing to listen to her and how he’d dropped that ridiculous bombshell and then walked out. By Monday he’d be embarrassed and apologetic, and Serena would make sure he knew how childish he’d been before she forgave him. That’s what she got for dating a younger man.

  And on her way out to brunch, she barely glanced at the empty space under the window and didn’t picture him sitting there for more than a second or two.

  “Hey, sweetie,” Rachel kissed her hello and let Serena lift Hannah from her hip. “Where’s Rocket Man?”

  “Halfway to the moon, I suppose,” Serena smiled as brightly as possible. “I didn’t want to bum Natalie out.”

  “Oh, she’d be fine,” Rachel said. “Is he busy with something else? Give him a call. We have twenty minutes before everyone shows up.”

  “Twenty? Crap, I’m later than I expected. Oh, sorry,” she added, belatedly trapping Hannah’s ears between her shoulder and her spare hand. “I mean, darn it. I meant to be here earlier to help you unload. Did you already get it all inside?”

  “No, I have a couple more trips. You hang in here with my little Banana Monkey and Gill and I will get the rest. Call Dillon.” He’d finally met them all when Natalie had held the ritual burning of Chris’s possessions in Serena’s back yard, to make it easier to transfer the ashes to her compost pile. “May as well feed it to the worms while we’re at it,” she’d said, which had certainly pleased Gillian's more vicious tendencies. Dillon had made himself scarce after pouring wine for everyone, so he’d passed muster, but they all still called him Rocket Man more often than not.

  Serena nodded noncommittally at Rachel and turned to the first box of decorations. “What do you say, Hannah Banana? Shall we put some of these pretties on the tables for Aunt Natalie's party? Here, you take these flowers,” she gave her a few rose petals, “and I’ll take these ones, and we can put them all around.” Together they distributed the blush and yellow petals until the first guest arrived.

  Of course it was Natalie's mother Elaine. “I wanted to be sure you girls didn’t need my help with anything. It looks very pretty. I guess you got on just fine without me,” she said, only a little stilted.

  “Lovely to see you, Elaine,” Gillian said smoothly. “Did I tell you what Natalie said when we planned this brunch? About how you always put so much work into her birthdays when she was a child, that it was so special that you got to just attend and have fun for once instead of having to be in charge? Let’s put your purse over here, at the head table next to Natalie's spot.”

  Rachel rolled her eyes at Serena under cover of turning to check on Hannah, and Serena let out a little grin. Fortunately a couple of Natalie's coworkers showed up then, allowing Serena to escape the forced pleasantries with Elaine while she greeted them and showed off the photo montages of Natalie she’d compiled. Serena had tapped Gillian to be the one to get Natalie's childhood photos from Elaine, but the half-dozen shots of Serena and Natalie at twelve that Elaine had included had likely been an olive branch of sorts. At the very least it was in line with Elaine’s determination to be scrupulously, if ostentatiously, fair at all times.

  Either way, it had been nice to see those photos. Over the years of her friendship with Natalie, Serena had reconstructed a lot of those months of stepsisterhood, thanks to Natalie's more vivid memories. Her dad wasn’t great at hanging on to photos of his kids, and it wasn’t the first time she’d turned to a former stepmother for pictures of herself at an earlier age. It was nice to anchor the specific carpets and windows and sofas of Natalie's mom’s house in her memories.

  Dillon had laughed at the pictures, especially the one of her and Natalie on the first day of school, pretending to fight over which of the matching backpacks was their own. Serena had that one in the same frame as one of the two of them in college, on either side of the cute dork of a boy that neither had admitted they’d both liked.

  Serena checked her phone again—nothing—and stashed it hastily as Natalie arrived to cheers and hugs and laughter. Rachel tried to corner her when she caught Serena looking for messages again ten minutes
later, but she hedged by cooing over Hannah, which was always enough to get Rachel off the track of whatever pessimistic thing she was thinking.

  The brunch was an unqualified success. And Natalie introduced her mollified mom to everyone as the main reason for her success and strength, which didn’t stop Elaine from speechifying: “I just have to thank you three for making such a special event for my dear daughter. It’s so nice that she has friends like you, willing to do all the work her family is used to doing.” Serena even succumbed to Elaine’s hug. It was only when she half-turned to exchange a glance with a tall dark-haired guy out of her peripheral vision and realized that, of course, he wasn’t Dillon, that she felt something akin to wishing she had her own mommy there, instead of this frequently bitter and always unbending former stepmother.

  As it was a day for ex-steps, and she still hadn’t heard from Dillon, she called Fran after brunch. They determined that yes, there was some random PG movie that Jonas would consent to seeing with his ancient half-sister. Serena had an hour or so to kill, but she didn’t give in to the impulse to go by her place to see if Dillon had shown up. Or to his place to see if he wanted to go with her to the mystical-quest-laden flick. Even though it was a fantasy adventure and bound to be a lot more fun for him than for her. She was doing it for Jonas, because the kid deserved to know his sister even if she was an old lady and probably way too boring to spend much time with. At least he should feel free to text her and maybe get a little spoiled by her. Just enough for some bragging rights with his friends. She wasn’t going to buy him booze or porn or anything, but at some point in his life as a teenage boy there had to be something cool about having an adult sister. When he figured out what that was, Serena planned to be in close enough contact with him to allow him to ask for it. Dillon's stories about Justin treating him like an adult instead of a grouchy monosyllabic newbie orphan had impressed that much on her, at least.