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Mia starts, and glances at me with a panicked expression on her face.
That’s when I realized we never discussed sleeping arrangements. After our interlude on the barber’s chair—and the conversation that followed in the car—the two of us have mostly avoided each other.
“I was planning on sleeping with Bailey,” Mia says lightly. “She gets nervous when we’re away from home.”
“We put Bailey with the rest of the kids,” Wendy says, sweeping down the hallway. We turn toward the big rec room at the back left corner of the house, which has been filled with bunk beds like some kind of kid-themed army barracks. Bailey’s laughter echoes from the next room, and Wendy arches an eyebrow. “See? I’m sure she’ll be fine.”
While Mia glances at the room and I try to figure out how to salvage this sleeping situation, Bailey, Mav, General, and Hunt (Lyle and Olivia had three boys, which Lyle named) come tearing into the room.
“This is your bed!” Mav cries, jumping onto a Ninja Turtles bedspread. “We thought you would hate it because you’re a girl, but all the pink beds were already taken.”
“I have a Ninja Turtles shirt at home!” Bailey says, hopping onto the bed and bouncing. Her smile is bright and undeniable. She meets her mother’s worried gaze and spreads her hand on the comforter. “Can I get one of these for my bed at home, Mom?”
“We’ll see,” Mia replies, her smile tight and tense.
“There.” Wendy claps her hands. “Bailey is all settled. Let’s show you to your room.”
My childhood bedroom was in the basement, accessible through the garage. It was always dank and dark, but as we enter the space, I see Wendy and Eric finally got around to those improvements they’d always promised me. The walls are no longer bare concrete but insulated and covered with smooth drywall painted a soft gray color. There’s a double bed pushed against the corner, and piles of craft supplies and Tupperware boxes all along one wall.
“This is my craft room, but we set the bed up especially for you,” Wendy explains. “Des used to sleep here when he stayed with us.”
Not when I lived here, from the time I was eleven till I was eighteen. When I “stayed with” them.
“Des always loved his own personal cave,” Caitlyn says, laughing. “I snuck in here once or twice. Do you remember, Des?”
Mia frowns, eyes flicking between the two of us.
I blink. “I remember. Thanks, Wendy. We’ll get settled and meet you upstairs.”
“Okay,” Wendy singsongs. “Holler if you need anything.”
The two women sweep out of the room. Caitlyn grabs the doorknob and gives Mia a long glance before softly closing the door behind her.
We stand in silence for a few seconds while their footsteps fade, then Mia rounds on me. “You are delusional if you think we’re going to be sharing a bed, Desmond.”
21
MIA
I should have stoodmy ground and asked for six months’ free rent.
I have three nights of this. Three nights in this tiny room, where Des seems to suck out all the air. We haven’t been alone since I got out of his car a couple of weeks ago. I don’t like it. Not one bit.
“I’ll sleep on the floor,” Des says, placating.
“You’re damn right you will,” I spit, my temper whipping up a storm inside me. “If this is some ploy to get me to have sex with you, Des, you’re out of your mind.”
“It’s not,” he says, and I want to believe him. I do. But I’m also overwhelmed, I don’t remember anyone’s name, and the look on Caitlyn’s face when she left the room keeps popping up in my mind. I plant my hands on my hips, which seems to amuse Des for some reason. And that makes me angrier. “What’s up with your sister-in-law? What was with that comment about sneaking into your room? Why is she giving me all those weird looks?”
Des rubs the back of his neck, not meeting my gaze. “We kind of…dated…in high school.”
I rock back on my hips, stumbling until my butt connects with a tower of plastic Tupperware containers. “Youwhat? Isthatwhy you wanted a date? It’s not about the stupid race at all, is it?”
“No,” Des says, stepping toward me. He pauses, putting his hands up. “No, it has nothing to do with her. I promise. Other than the fact that she and Vince keep winning the trophy.”
Oh. My. God. Vince married Des’s high school sweetheart. No wonder Des is so bitter—and no wonder he didn’t want to show up here alone.
Idefinitelyshould have asked for six months. This is messed up. And this room! I peeked into some of the other bedrooms, and it looks like Wendy kept her sons’ rooms just as they were growing up but evidently wasted no time converting Des’s to her own craft room. Is that a subtle dig to let him know he never really belonged here? There are way too many undercurrents for me to understand. I feel like Indiana Jones being dropped in a pit of snakes.
