I pushed my plate to the side. "And you, Shannon, you vanish for random weekends and can't manage to tell me where the fuck you've been?" I shook my head and gazed out the window. "You can hide your shit from a lot of people, but you can't hide it from me."
We stared at each other, waiting for the other to speak first. The waiter circled back to our table three times during this impasse, and Shannon finally snapped at him to take her plate and bring another mimosa.
"All right. Fine," she said. "I started something over the summer. It was…" She turned her eyes to the ceiling, pausing as she selected her words. "To put it mildly, a very bad idea, but there were some extenuating circumstances."
I accepted another glass of juice from the waiter, wiped the rim with my napkin, and sipped. "It's fascinating how you're very obviously talking about sex, and you've never before felt the need to censor yourself with me."
"Yes, well, shit happens," she murmured. "Anyway. It ended, and that was for the best, and that's all I'm going to say. I'd like to hear about Tiel."
"Right," I said. "You actually deserve the credit for this one." She shot me a confused frown and I smiled. "I was stuck in that elevator—the one at Comm Ave.—with her when you bailed on me."
"You're very welcome," she said. "So what's her story?"
"She's incredible, Shannon. Like, really fucking incredible." I told her about Tiel's YouTube following and her conservatory background, and I mentioned the loopy family issues because that was one thing Shannon could commiserate with, and how Tiel was reasonably cautious in family settings.
Somewhere in the middle of dumping all these details on Shannon, her skeptical expression softened. She started smiling, her eyes crinkling as I told stories about our adventures in Boston's music scene and lazy movie nights.
"When she's not around, it's like I'm missing an organ," I said. "She was in New Jersey for two and a half days, and I didn't know what the hell to do with myself."
"Okay, so you're not going to clubs or the cool parties anymore? You're not screwing lots of random chicks and drinking your weight every night?" I shook my head. "Don't you miss it? Those are your nuts and bolts."
"We go out a lot," I said. "It's different from my old scene, but I have a lot more fun with Tiel."
"You're all going to get married," Shannon sighed. "And I will be that crazy cat lady."
"I don't think she's interested in talking about marriage," I said. "Her first was absolute shit, and the guy was a douche, and I don't see that in the near future."
Though it was rather antiquated of me, I didn't like the idea of bringing a child into the world without marrying his mother first, but I didn't see Tiel going for that anytime soon. I could be fine with it so long as we lived together.
"Oh so you've thought about it," she said.
I lifted a shoulder and tried to wipe away all hint of my true desires. Shannon was an effective negotiator because she could read people as well as I read bluelines, but I wasn't in a spot to be fully transparent with her yet.
"I've thought about a lot of things," I said.
"Sure," she said. "Of course." She glanced to her phone and then back at me. "I'm meeting Lauren soon, but…promise you'll talk to me. I have to do a better job, you have to do a better job, and we have to stick together."
Nodding, I stood to hug her. "I'll work on it, but promise me you'll love her. No matter what, I need you to love her."
"Always," she said.
The drive back to the firehouse was quick, and I'd never been so excited to get home as I was knowing Tiel was there. I also felt better about things with Shannon, and that eased an entire lump of tension in my neck. We were in a better place—not great, but getting there—and we'd figure this out. We always did.
Arriving home, I watched from the doorway as Tiel and Riley laughed together at the kitchen table. He was telling stories that probably shouldn't see the light of day, and she was giggling, her whole body rocking with the force. She looked damned adorable in those little running shorts and one of my long-sleeved t-shirts, and the baby anxiety wasn't weighing on her like it did yesterday.
"Would it kill you to put on some clothes?" I asked, gesturing to Riley's boxers. If history was any predictor, we'd be seeing his junk very soon.
They turned toward me, and Riley mumbled something about his bits and bobs needing room to breathe while he lumbered up the stairs.
"Don't believe anything he told you," I said, leaning down to kiss Tiel. She shifted, wrapping her arms around my neck. I heard Riley coming back down the stairs, still muttering, but I ignored him.
"It is no fun getting up without you," she said. "You spoiled me this week. Your wake-up calls are the best."
"It's interesting that you mention that now," I said. Grabbing her around the waist, I set her on the table and stepped between her legs. "What do you say we fix up the showers and get you a decent practice space? Or build a real bedroom for us?"
"Mmmhmm." She fisted my sweater and brought me closer until I was lowering her to the table. "As long as you don't put Riley on the street. He's kind of growing on me."
"Yeah, he's got a lot in common with foot fungus." I pinned her, squeezing both hands around the globes of her ass. "You're not wearing any underwear."
"Nope," she said, grinning.
"Hey," Riley called. He refilled his cereal bowl and threw an annoyed glance at us. "Could you not make any babies while I eat breakfast?"
"It might be too late for that," I said, gathering Tiel in my arms and hauling her off the table.
"What?" he yelled, his bowl clattering to the countertop and sending milk sloshing out the sides.
"Nothing, Riley. Nothing at all," Tiel said.
"Wow," I murmured, craning my neck to study the new floor joists. I hadn't been to the Turlan property in the ten days since returning from Arizona, and it was obvious Riley had taken my instructions to heart. "You were busy."
"The subtext," Riley said, gesturing to Magnolia, "is that I'm a slacker, and Sam's impressed we accomplished anything without his beautiful mind to guide us."
They tossed quips back and forth while I studied the completed work, noting the rapid progress on resolving the plumbing issues without ruining that unique penny drop tile, tearing off the roof and building the framework for a highly efficient exterior, and fixing the missing hardwood planks in the dining room. The bones of the home were being shored up with new beams—some wood, some steel—and every window was new.
"We haven't mentioned the electrical issue, though," she whispered. Her hands were shoved deep in the pockets of her fleece jacket, and she was standing closer to Riley than me, and I was content with that scenario.
"Fuuuuuck," Riley groaned. "You tell him."
"There was some latent water damage in here. It had been painted over, but when we busted into the ceiling to fix the hot and cold water returns, we found some rot. We followed it down, and then we found this." Magnolia led the way to the front parlor and pointed to the bare studs. "It's all black."
Confused, I knelt down, expecting to find mold or fire damage, but I was faced with electrical wires. "Shit," I murmured. No white, no red. Just black. "Everywhere?"
"Yeah," Riley said.
This system dated back to the earliest days of electricity in homes, before codes were fully standardized, regulated, and delineated with color. "We need to trace it all back," I said, sighing. "Replace it all."
"Yep," Riley said. "Let me add that to my list of fun conversations to have with my trades."
I paged through the plans while touching base with the general contractor about his timeline for the roof. We were battling the weather, and though January was no treat in terms of building in Boston, Magnolia's timeline was already tight. If she wasn't able to dive in, we'd be looking at several months of delays.
"So it looks good?" Riley asked. "Aside from the major fire hazard?"
"Excellent," I said. "You handled this well, and I should have paid cl
oser attention to the electrical from the start."
He mumbled something under his breath and went off in search of the electrician. I still didn't understand his inability to acknowledge that he was competent. Riley preferred being the family failure who barely graduated high school, but he was secretly smart in plenty of areas. Somewhere along the line, it'd become easier for him to fuck up than succeed, and he'd claimed that as his niche.
Matt knew that Riley was capable of far more than he let on, but he also provided Riley with the cover necessary to learn, practice, screw up, and then grow from his mistakes. I didn't know how to bring out the best in others the way Matt did, but I was determined to edge Riley out of the nest soon. He needed to find his footing and grow on his own, and as soon as I found the right project for him, he'd be going at it solo.
"Do you guys want to get a drink?" Magnolia asked. "There's no football on tonight, and I don't know what to do with myself."
"That really depends on where you'd like to go," Riley said. "Your preferences might be a little down-market for the boss."
He nodded toward me but I ignored it. Magnolia was still casually affectionate—there was no dodging her hugs—but she wasn't overtly flirting with me. If anything, she was flirting with Riley and if I wasn't mistaken, he was reciprocating.
Interception completed.
"The Salty Pig," she suggested. "They have some insane drinks. You have to try their Bear Skin Rug."
"That sounds pleasantly homoerotic," he said. "Seems like something I'd enjoy."
"Obviously," she said. "That's why I mentioned it."
Maybe this didn't have to be difficult or tentative, at least not for me. I stepped away to text Tiel, knowing she'd love seeing these two going back and forth with each other.
Sam: Hey my sunshine. What's on the agenda tonight?
Life was good. Really good, but not without its own set of challenges. We were talking about her living at the firehouse, and she admitted it was difficult to give up her space and independence, but was warming up to the idea. We had a hearty debate about the right way to load a dishwasher last weekend, and though it didn't meet the strict definition of a fight, we enjoyed an evening of make-up sex nonetheless.
We stayed together most nights, and though I wanted to spend every moment of every day by her side, I was also working on giving her the space she craved.
The (potential) baby situation lingered on the back burner and I couldn't find the appropriate forum to open that discussion. It was her body and I respected her privacy and choices, but I also wanted to know what was going on. I didn't think it was a good idea to show up at her apartment with a pregnancy test and an awkward smile, and I didn't know whether it was acceptable for me to request status updates on her menstrual cycle. We were together enough for me to have a general idea, but coming out and asking seemed rather forward.
She'd tell me one way or another, I didn't doubt that, but I was inwardly quivering for more information. I was trying to find a smooth way to suggest she start taking prenatal vitamins or swapping out some coffee for juice, but as of yet, I hadn't located one. Every time we held each other in bed or snuggled on the sofa to watch a movie, my hand went straight to her belly. I could barely contain the excitement I experienced at the prospect of our child growing inside her, and it was completely overwhelming, too.
I didn't hear Angus's voice as much these days—Tiel babbled too much for me to hear much else—but part of me worried about replicating my DNA. I was born with a full slate of issues, and I didn't want to see my kid suffering through any of that.
By all accounts, I hadn't been an easy baby. The diabetes came first and then it was breathing problems and food allergies, and by the time I was two, I was a bundle of nerves and neuroses. I spent my entire childhood with my stress hormones on blast, and I was afraid of my own damn shadow.
It was horribly ironic to reflect on the full panic I worked myself into a few nights ago as I wondered whether our baby would inherit my allergies, my anxieties, my chronic diseases.
The one thing I didn't worry about was being a father, and that was shocking, considering I didn't have a decent role model. If anything, I was looking forward to it with more enthusiasm than I'd conjured in years. I wanted to do it well, and I wanted to give our kid something I'd never had, and I instantly saw our little family coming together.
Tiel: Haven't even thought that far ahead yet.
Tiel: But I am hungry and I might start eating these papers instead of grading them
Sam: Don't do that.
Sam: Meet me at the salty pig on Dartmouth.
Sam: Or I could pick you up. It's really cold with the wind chill.
Sam: Actually, yeah, I'm going to pick you up. I'll be wrapping up in here in about 15 minutes
I wasn't interested in the mother of my baby—possibly—trekking through the Back Bay in near zero temperatures. Someone would probably slap me upside the head for that and remind me women have been bearing children for thousands of years, and there was no need for me to hover, but that wasn't changing my perspective.
Tiel needed someone taking care of her. She'd been doing it all on her own since forever, and it was fucking admirable, but it didn't have to be that way. That, and I derived a foreign—although very fantastic—pleasure from spoiling her.
Tiel: Oh please. This is mild compared to last winter.
Sam: It's still cold
Sam: I don't mind, really. I'll swing by
Tiel: No. I need to finish a few more essays
Tiel: I want to get this done and I'll just meet you at your place when I'm done. I probably have 2 hrs more anyway
Sam: Are you sure?
Tiel: YES!
Sam: Ok but call me if you change your mind.
Magnolia, Riley, and I headed to the restaurant, and settled in with drinks and industry gossip. I used to think I was well-connected, but it was becoming obvious to me that Magnolia had me beat with at least one population. She could trace the family tree for damned near every contractor in town, knew who he dated in high school, and how he took his coffee. And she wasn't just a know-it-all; people liked her, myself included.
"I have some news, if this is a good time," she said when Riley went to the bar for details on the making of a Bear Skin Rug. "Coastal reached out to me this week. They're featuring a roof garden that I did in Marblehead. Full spread, at least four pages. It's in the June edition. Other than the magazine and Riley, you are the first to know."
That was huge for her. Huge. She'd been struggling to get her business off the ground for years, and as I knew all too well, the right publicity changed everything.
Not long after I finished grad school and started working at the firm, I was trolling the club scene and found myself talking with the head of a venture capital firm. I drew some rough sketches on cocktail napkins, mentioned some sexy sustainability buzzwords, and had myself a multi-million dollar project by the end of the night. He loved the work we did on his brownstone, but more than that, he loved finding an unknown talent and telling everyone about it. That renovation put me—and the firm—in the spotlight in a substantial way, and that was exactly what Magnolia needed.
"That's incredible. How did you not tell me the minute it happened?" I moved to her side of the table and folded her into a tight hug. "So proud of you."
She leaned away from me, gripping my forearms, and said, "You've been awesome for me. All the introductions you've made with some of your clients, talking through proposals and projects with me, bringing me in on Turlan, all of it. Thank you."
I squeezed my arms around her shoulders, laughing. "Anytime."
"But really," she said, her voice becoming soft. "Thank you." Magnolia tilted her head and before I understood what she was doing, her lips were pressed against mine. I knew it was wrong, so wrong, but I held her there while the wrongness of it all registered. Panic flooded my system, and it took a full five seconds of alarms blaring in my head and her tongue spearing p
ast my tightly closed lips before my brain was able to react.
I leaned away, gasping, and ran the back of my hand over my mouth. A streak of rosy lipstick stained my skin. "What the fuck was that, Magnolia?"
Turning around, still panting and overwrought, I found myself staring at Tiel. Her expression was fully murderous, and I had the distinct impression I'd be choking on my own intestines right now if she had her way.
She crossed her arms over her chest and pointed her chin at Magnolia. "And who is this?"
26
Tiel
"Oh. Hi. I'm Magnolia Santillian," she said, extending her hand with a bright smile.
I glared at her, ignoring her hand. The woman had her mouth on Sam a second ago and had the balls to smile at me, and all he could do was scrub the lipstick from his palm like he was Lady fucking Macbeth.
Ugly silence settled over us as I glanced between them, but I wasn't running away. Not yet.
"This is my girlfriend, Tiel," Sam finally said, stammering as he attempted to pretend this situation was really fucking innocent, and God, I wanted to believe there was an explanation. I'd always wondered whether Sam could handle monogamy, and even though the answer was staring me in the face at this moment, I wanted it to be a mistake. I wanted to believe the past three months weren't a figment of my imagination, but the way they looked at each other was too familiar to ignore. "It's not what you think."
Right. Sam—with all his personal space issues and unwillingness to touch a fucking salt shaker without first dipping it in bleach—was kissing a random chick and it wasn't what I thought.
"I had no idea you were seeing someone!" She made a show of looking horrified, maybe a little embarrassed, and it would have helped if she didn't then whack Sam on the elbow. She needed to keep her fucking hands to herself. "Why didn't you tell me?"
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