Page 41 of If You Were Mine (After We Fall 3)
A girl like me.
Fifteen
Theo
* * *
After a shitty night’s sleep during which I swear I kept smelling Claire next to me, I woke up in a bad mood. Why, I had no idea. I’d had a great time, a bunch of great sex, and even enjoyed a little trip down memory lane to one of the happier times in my life. Then I’d gotten out without disappointing her. What the hell did I have to be grouchy about?
I went to the gym and worked out, hoping a good, punishing sweat would make me feel better. It didn’t.
I decided it must be concern for my brother’s family making me feel down. So after cleaning up, I thought I’d go get a little Christmas tree for Josie and the girls. Seeing their happy faces and watching them decorate it would cheer me up. Maybe I could try to figure out what each of them wanted from Santa, and if Josie hadn’t gotten it all taken care of—which I doubted—I’d go shopping for them.
Before I left, I checked my email and calendar, where I noticed a reminder to invoice Claire for the balance of her date. Frowning, I deleted it. Somehow I’d give her hundred bucks back too—now I felt bad that I’d even taken it.
On the way to the tree farm, I stopped to grab a cup of coffee and a donut, and as I sipped the scalding hot dark roast, I remembered watching Claire rush into Great Lakes Coffee, nervous and flustered and much, much prettier than I’d expected. If I were the kind of guy who said things like, She took my breath away, that’s what I’d say about Claire. Probably I should have introduced myself right away, but in those situations I liked taking a few minutes to size people up, see what my intuition told me about them. It gave me the upper hand.
The donut was OK, but it didn’t taste half as good as those magic things she and I’d made last night. Funny how some things from childhood—your favorite movie, that song you loved, the fucking beanie you thought made you look cool but only made you look like a dipshit—don’t have the same appeal later in life. But that sweet taste had been just as good as I’d remembered, if not better. I wondered if Aaron had ever taught the girls to make those. Probably not, since he hadn’t really been around when our grandma and I were making them. Maybe I’ll pick up some groceries too. Do a little baking with the girls. They’ll love that.
My spirits lifted.
At the tree farm, I chose one I thought would fit in their living room, helped the guy tie it to the top of my car, and then hit Meijer for a tree stand and some strands of lights in case theirs didn’t work. I also grabbed crescent rolls, marshmallows, butter, sugar, and cinnamon, my excitement building. On the way to my brother’s house, I briefly wondered what Claire was doing today. Was she working on her house? Painting? Had she slept late? Or had she, like me, been restless all night and woken up early?
“Enough,” I muttered as I pulled into the driveway. “Put her out of your fucking mind already.”
That was easier to do once the kids spotted the tree. I heard them shouting and banging on the window as I untied it from the car, and a minute later all three came racing out the front door with their boots on but no winter coats. They all talked at once, and I couldn’t keep the grin off my face.
“Is that for us?”
“Is that a real tree?”
“Did you chop it down?”
“Can we help decorate it?”
“We never had a real tree before!”
“Does Mommy know?”
“Daddy’s home!”
At that one, I stopped what I was doing and looked behind me. “What did you say?”
“We never had a real tree before,” said Ava, her blue eyes wide.
“No, after that.” I scanned their faces, thinking I must have heard wrong. I’d just been here two days ago. No sign of Aaron. “Did someone say your dad is home?”
“Yes!” Hailey jumped up and down, smiling proudly that her voice had been heard. “He’s back!”
“Girls!” Josie’s voice carried from the front door. “Get in here without your coats on! It’s freezing!”
I looked at her, the question on my face. She nodded and smiled.
I turned away.
The girls scurried back into the house, and I returned to the task of freeing the tree, my hands moving a little slower now. I always felt this weird mix of things when my brother came home. Relief that he was home safe. Happiness that his wife and kids had him back. Anger that he’d left them again in the first place. Frustration that he couldn’t seem to overcome his problems. Guilt because so much of his pain stemmed from the abuse he’d suffered at the hands of our father, abuse he’d taken to protect me while I hid upstairs or in the basement or in the yard, covering my ears and wishing I could fly.
And underneath it all, so shameful I didn’t even want to acknowledge it, was resentment that my role in his family would now be reduced. It was so stupid, and I hated myself for feeling it, but some secret part of me enjoyed being the man his family depended on. Enjoyed the responsibility of taking care of people. Enjoyed the way they looked at me, trusting and grateful. When my brother was gone, I got to feel that for a while. When he was home, all that was gone.
