Page 52 of A Lot Like Lavender

“I want to be you when I grow up.”

“What you did today was amazing…”

“You’re a queen.”

“You’re a boss, and you inspire me every day.”

“Should we get matching tattoos?”

They’re still volleying back and forth as Jack meanders closer to me, his hands tucked in his pockets. “They do this sometimes. It’s just a reset. They’ll fill us in when it’s over.”

“So you don’t know what they’re talking about?”

He chuckles. “Doc, when it comes to those two, they’re speaking their own language ninety-eight percent of the time. And now they’ve got Molly and Lola in their club, too. It’s exclusive. Girls only.”

Almost as soon as he says it, Emory and Dinah’s clones skip up to them, joining in the fray.

“And the other two percent of the time?” I ask, probably showing Jackson more of my hand than I should—as if he weren’t clued in based on this morning alone. There’s a strange guilt associated with my feelings for Emory. They’re complicated, yet more simplistic than I’ve ever experienced.

I’m falling for her. Have fallen… Am too far gone to turn back.

He slaps me on the shoulder. “For the other two percent, Doc,weare the lucky ones who get to be a part of their world.”

I catch Emory’s gaze as she peels herself out of the girl group hug. Molly’s still chattering, Lola has wiggled her way into Emory’s arms, and Dinah’s found her way to Jack’s, but Emory… By some miracle I will probably never understand, she’s looking at me. And more than anything, I want that two percent.

“You’re jittery today, Son.” Bill’s giant hands remain steady, working delicately to extract one of King Gus’ teeth, affected by resorption. “You know, when I switched your mother and I to matcha instead of coffee, it really released us both from the edge caffeine was creating.”

“I’m good.” I have no interest in picking grass from my teeth today, thank you very much. “Only had one cup this morning.”

No, I’m just anxious to be done with my hands in Gus’ mouth, because in under one hundred and twenty minutes, I get to go home. Nothomehome, since I still haven’t found somewhere to rent while I make plans for something more permanent to settle down in. And I’m technically still crashing at my mom and Bill’s place—when I’m not having nightmares from a recent insight into how they spend free afternoons, when they think I won’t be coming by the house to pick up something from the room I rarely sleep in.

“Is this because of the other day?” he asks, glancing over the rim of the loupes resting on his nose. His kind, gray eyes seem all the more understanding when they’re magnified behind his dental glasses. “You know what you saw was only natural, but I am sorry.”

Natural is an understatement. The sight of Bill’snatural, naked backside as he scurried out of the kitchen will, unfortunately, be burned into my memory forever.

“No, Bill. It’s not that. And I don’t want you to apologize. It’s your home. I should have warned you.”

“For as long as you want it, it’s your home, too, sweetheart.”

He’s always been like this. Terms of endearment are Bill’s love language and no amount of masculinity could keep him from showering the people he loves with any and all of those monikers.

“Thank you.” The room grows quiet, us both concentrating on the task at hand, monitoring Gus’ vitals, and checking the rest of his mouth for signs of resorption in other locations. It’s a common ailment in elderly felines, and Gus is close to twenty. So, that he’s suffering from it isn’t surprising.

When we’re bringing the procedure to a close and Bill hasn’t spoken again, I know he’s waiting for me to open up. To tell him exactly why I’m having a hard time keeping my hands steady and my head on straight. Though I’m sure he could guess. Patience and support are Bill’s specialty, and have been since he became stepdad to a preteen who’d bottled up grief and escaped it with busy work, more sports than he could handle, accolades, and pursuits that left him feeling empty. In the last ten years, Bill’s been a confidante, an encourager, a prayer partner, and someone who always speaks the truth to me. Hard truth, in love, but the truth no matter what.

It’s why, when we hand Gus over to the lab tech for observation and begin to clean ourselves up, I let everything spill out.

“I have plans tonight. With Emory and Molly. It’s why I can’t focus.”

In one hundred and four minutes, to be exact. I’m spending the night with my favorite girls… and their favorite girls.

Bill nods, clearly unsurprised. “You’ve been spending a lot of time over there recently. A lot of nights.”

“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “But it isn’t what you think.”

On the nights Emory lets me make dinner and help her with farm chores or her latest home renovation project, and after Molly goes to sleep and we’ve talked late into the night, she asks me to stay.

Always on the couch. Usually alone. But no longer in the barn or hiding across the country from her and my missteps. Emory is letting me in. Into her home and her life with Molly. Slowly, sometimes painfully, though never with thatbed and bacon mac and cheese comboI will forever be dreaming about. But she is allowing me closer and closer, nonetheless.