Deidre studies me for a minute. I’ve convinced myself she’s about to kick me out of the kitchen, when she rounds the island, grabbing a hidden handle on the cabinet closest to me and pulling downward. “There’s one on the other side too.” She takes one of the plates I’ve rinsed, racking it up. “With five growing boys eating all the time, I needed both of them to keep up when they were kids.”
“I have a hard enough time keeping up with Birdie's appetite. I can’t imagine what it was like to deal with that many starving teenage boys.”
I try to envision Tucker as a teenager, but it’s not easy. I just end up with the same guy in a scrawnier body. Maybe that’s because Tucker’s laid-back and kind of goofy, always going with the flow, making him a lot like a teenager right now.
I like that about him. My life is so serious and difficult and stressful. Having him around to lighten things up has been nice. It’s kept me from feeling like I’m drowning in a sea of worries. They’re still there of course, but I at least now I can swim.
“They aren’t much better now.” Deidre smiles softly. “And I don’t think that’s a bad thing. I like feeding them.” She collects the rest of the plates, lining them in with the first. “Thursdays are my favorite days. I get to see all my boys and take care of them like I used to.”
My throat gets tight, and I try to swallow, hoping to relax the clog of emotion collecting there. My mother would’ve loved having me over for dinner once a week. Spending time with Birdie and me. Taking care of us. Loving us.
But she never got the opportunity, and it really, really sucks.
Clearing my throat, I manage to croak out, “I can imagine.”
And I can. I can imagine what it will be like someday when Birdie is all grown up and living her own life. How much I’ll value the time I still get with her. The way I’ll always want to take care of her.
The way I wish my mom could have taken care of me.
19
Tucker
Iknew tonight was probably going to be tricky for Ruth. My family is a lot, and as an only child, I figured the dynamics were probably pretty fucking foreign to her. I expected her to be like a deer in headlights—which she was—but I didn’t expect the oppressive sort of silence that dominated the drive back to my house.
Maybe this is all too much for her. Maybe she’s decided to bow out early. Honestly, after the food fight, I'm not sure I’d blame her.
But I also wouldn’t like it.
Not because of our deal, but because if Ruth isn’t staying with me, I can’t make sure she and Birdie are safe. I can’t protect them. Especially since I still don’t quite know what I need to protect them from.
Or—more accurately—whoI need to protect them from.
That’s why, after unloading everyone from the UTV and helping Ruth get Birdie all tucked into the toddler bed we retrieved on our way home from Ruth’s first day at my office, I ask her to join me downstairs. The conversation we’re about to have issomething I want to keep just between us. I know Birdie doesn’t understand everything, but she’s big enough to grasp tone and emotion, and I don’t want her to be upset.
Ruth silently nods her head in agreement, following me down the stairs. The heaviness surrounding her weighs on my shoulders as we take our seats on the sofa in the great room. I don’t really know how to start this discussion, so I just dive in.
“I can tell something happened tonight that upset you. Do you feel comfortable telling me what it is?”
Ruth doesn’t owe me anything, and I don’t want her to feel like she does. That includes access to her emotions and thoughts. But while I know I don’t have any right to the answers I’m seeking, I can’t stop myself from wanting them. From wanting to help her. Make her happy. Ease a little of the burden she’s carried all on her own.
Ruth’s eyes come to my face, studying me for a second before dropping to where her hands are clasped in her lap. “It just made me a little sad.” She swallows hard, scratching one fingernail against the seam of her flowing, leopard print pants. “I was still in college when my mom died. She would have loved getting to host a weekly dinner with me and Birdie.” Her full lips pull into a sad smile. “I wish she’d gotten the chance to do it.”
Her words are like a kick to the gut. Not only because I’m sad for Ruth and the loss of her mother, but also because it’s a reminder I was a shitty son. For years, my mother wanted us to get together regularly, and I was always too busy. Working. Socializing. Going to her house once a week felt like a huge ask.
And here Ruth is, devastated over not having the same opportunity I avoided.
It’s a kick to the gut that leaves the burn of guilt simmering in its wake. Guilt only exacerbated by the lie I’ve worked so hard to craft in an effort to fool my mother.
A necessary lie. Because I’m not like Titus. I won’t survive a loss like he had. I’m not strong enough.
But Titus isn’t the only strong person I know. The only one who’s suffered an unimaginable loss.
And Ruth faced her loss alone.
She blows out a shaky breath. “It’s so hard thinking about her sometimes.” She slowly inhales, the act of pulling air into her lungs slow and careful. “It hurts so much, there are days I try not to think of her at all.” Her blue eyes come to mine. “And I hate it.”
I swallow hard, because what she’s describing is exactly what I’ve done. Avoided pain. Ignored the ache of loss. But now, the only way to keep avoiding it is to avoid Ruth, and that’s not gonna happen. I’m all she’s got. So I’m gonna have to suck it up and find a way to power through.
