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But seeing him like this is like seeing a man reborn. He doesn’t look rushed or intently focused on the next big task like he normally does.
He looks happy. Content. Like the girl lying in his arms has filled some sort of void he’s been living with forever.
I don’t know the story between the two of them, and frankly, I don’t need to. Anything that makes Ryan’s face look like that is the kind of thing I’ve got to see to nurturing.
But Lord knows he won’t take kindly to any kind of direct advice from me.
He’s going to need to figure this one out on his own. I just have to do everything in my power to facilitate it.
Slowly, quietly, I back out of the bedroom on light feet and pull the door shut behind me.
Stella’s over at her house whipping up breakfast, so I shuffle toward the dining room, grab my phone off the table and type out a text.
Me: We’ve gotta talk about the kids, Stell.
Stella: Why? What’s wrong?
Me: We’ll talk about it fully when I get back, but I’m pretty sure they’re in love with each other.
Stella: What? My Carly and your Ryan?
Me: Yeah, darlin’.
Stella: Carly hasn’t said anything, though. Why wouldn’t she tell me?
Me: Probably because I’m guessin’ she doesn’t know. Remember how dumb you and I were at first? How much we fought the spark?
Stella: Oh dear…
Me: I’ll be over soon, doll. We’ll come up with a plan to make them realize the truth. You and I both know, there’s no time to waste on happiness.
Stella: You’re right. There’s no time to waste. Breakfast is ready, my love. You’ll be back soon?
Me: You bet, baby. Nothing could keep me away.
I mean it. A herd of wild horses wouldn’t stand in the way of me being with Stella, and neither would a bomb. Nothing should keep anyone away from the person they love.
October 13th, Tuesday
Carly
“Carly, I am so excited I can hardly stand it,” my mom says, her voice giddy and bubbly and all of the things I’m not currently feeling.
I follow her into Dr. Samson’s office and try like hell to plaster a smile on my face.
Today is the official date on the calendar when Dr. Samson will go over my mother’s PT evaluation results and decide what she needs to do about her injury moving forward.
Her sex injury, mind you.
Finding out my seventy-year-old mother lied to me about the reason for her fall—instead of it occurring while taking down holiday decorations with Sal, she broke her damn tailbone while getting boned by Sal—has me seriously considering seeking out therapy when I get home.
I never thought I’d live a life interesting enough to warrant a reality show, but lately, I’m thinking maybe I am. Pretty sure not many people can say their mother’s sex injury is what made it possible for them to fall for their future stepbrother.
“Stella Page for Dr. Samson,” my mom announces to the young, brunette receptionist sitting behind the front desk. Her face is familiar and I’m pretty sure her name is Allison, but I can’t be sure. It’s apparent, though, my mom knows her pretty well. “And, also, Sal Miller for Dr. Samson,” Stella adds and glances over her shoulder to wink at her fiancé where he stands behind us with Ryan at his side.
Gah. I hate how weird and awkward things have grown between us. The news of our parents’ impending nuptials served as an explosive device of confusion.
It’s like we don’t know where to go from here. Our feelings for each other haven’t just disappeared, but our parents’ big wedding-bell news has created quite the mental mindfuck.
Now that fact is apparent in every situation we’re in together.
Including the car ride here. Ryan drove the four of us here in his rental Land Rover, and the only people who provided a soundtrack of chatter were my mother and Sal.
“Okay, Ms. Page. It looks like Dr. Samson is ready for you,” the receptionist updates. “Mr. Miller, if you want to take a seat in the waiting room, and when the doctor is done with Ms. Page, he’ll see you next.”
“Actually, Allison,” my mom chimes in. “Since we’re engaged now, I’d prefer it if the doctor saw us together.”
“You and Mr. Miller are engaged?” the receptionist asks, her eyes going big with surprise.
“We sure are,” Sal says and walks up past me to wrap his arm around my mom’s waist and squeeze her butt. “This beautiful lady right here agreed to be my wife.”
Oh, here we fucking go…
Internally, I sigh. It’s not that I’m not happy for my mom and Sal, but their whole “We’re getting married” announcement two days ago has really put a damper on something that felt pretty damn amazing in my life. It’s also provided me with enough evidence that I can give to my primary care physician to prove Xanax is an appropriate treatment for my mental health.
