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42
Owen
It takes an hour to convince Annie those are the only things I’ve been overly agreeable on. And then another hour to convince her that my idea—to ask her advice and follow it—would be completely different than disagreeing while saying I agree.
“But,” she says, “if I give you advice and you don’t feel like it’s for you—then you can’t follow it. Here’s the thing with advice: sometimes we need an idea or some clarity, but we shouldn’t follow it unless it sits well with us. Do you understand, Owen?” She pokes me in the stomach.
“Yes, Annie. I understand. I will be true to my feelings from here on out. I promise you that.”
“Because I’d like to know who my best friend actually is!” She huffs and paces back and forth with each word.
“You do. I’m still me. I’m just an Owen who isn’t a Cowboys fan.”
She shuts her eyes and breathes out a tired sigh. We’ve been at this a while, we’re both tired. “Fine. What now?”
“Now, I’ll send in a letter.”
Another sigh. “Okay.”
I gather my things and start for the door. It’s late, and we both have to work tomorrow. I’ve given her a lot to process.
“Owen,” she says, following me to the exit. “Is this why Levi never liked me?”
My eyes narrow, thinking. I’ve never known why Levi doesn’t like Annie—not specifically. How could anyone not like Annie? But then—
“Maybe. I think it might be. I know he felt like I changed for you.” I swallow. I want her to hear the whole truth, though, not just that tiny part. That one part of the story will shatter an hour’s worth of discussion and work. “But I never did. Who I am is a person who finds great happiness in making the ones he loves happy. That’s all I was trying to do. I’m still me.”
“Yeah,” she says, tugging on the front of my button-up shirt. “I can see that. Still, I can see why he was always a little hostile with me now. I think I would have been too.” She blinks, her long lashes fanning outward. “Don’t change for me, okay, Owen? You’re exactly who you need to be. That’s why you’re my best friend. Don’t change for anyone.”
I nod. “I won’t.”
“Anything else—before you go? Anything you need to get off your chest?”
My lip turns up in half a grin, and my eyes drop for only a second to her pretty pink lips. “I’d like to try that kiss again.”
With both hands on my chest, Annie shoves me out the door. “Kissing is a second date event. You haven’t taken me on one.”
Ihold six-month-old Lulabelle while Coco and Meredith stand at the kitchen counter picking over my newest letter to Annie.
“I don’t like that line,” Coco says, pointing it out for Meredith.
“I think if you just changed the word ‘my’ to ‘this,’ it would sound better. ‘My’ sounds like it’s a done deal.”
Coco points at Meredith. “Right—and we’re still trying to woo her.”
We’re?? As in we?
Meredith giggles. “Woo. I’ve never heard anyone use that word in the real world before.”
I bounce Lula on my knees, holding her little body firmly so as not to let her jostle too much. But if you give her even the smallest of bounces—
A bubbly giggle sounds from my little niece, her chubby cheeks swelling with the sound.
Coco and Meredith lift their heads to peer at us. Meredith grins and Coco beams.
“I heard that!” calls a commanding seven-year-old voice down the hall. Alice comes skipping out, only to halt right in front of where I sit with her little sister. “Did somebody make you laugh?” she says to Lula, her already youthful tone in full baby-talk mode. “Somebody made you laugh!” she bellows at her sister. And while I’d like to plug one ear, Lula screeches out with a joyful glee.
Alice sets a hand on my shoulder and gives me a consoling pat. She tilts her head, her lips pursed in a half frown. “Don’t feel bad, Uncle Owen. I am her favorite person in the whole wide world. Feel free to keep trying.”
