Page 98 of The Relationship Clause

No one else seems surprised at this turn of events, and the people in the front help stretch the ribbon out.

“Who cares?” Pete says, shrugging, a twinkle in his eye. “I’ve been looking for an excuse to use these ever since the opening of my own place. Now’s as good a time as any.”

“Yeah, and you and Owen put a lot of work into this house,” Summer comments, holding the end of the ribbon in her hand. “It deserves the grandest opening it can get.”

I shake my head, trying to ignore my own embarrassment, but she’s right, we did put a lot of work into this place. At first, Owen wanted to hire a crew to come in and do everything for me, saying it would be easier and more time efficient.

But once I realized how much hiring someone would cost, I put a definitive foot down on the matter. I wasn’t hurting for money the way I’d been when I’d first started at Em3rge, but I’m still a frugal gal. Once he realized he couldn’t convince me, Owen said he’d help however he could. That’s why, for the last three months, he’s spent every weekend over here helping me with the renovation. We finally finished the kitchen, redid all the flooring, painted, put up tile, and even, at Owen’s insistence, replaced all the windows with ones that actually lock.

Through all this, I was still living in the apartment across from Owen’s above Em3rge, and to be honest, I’m a little sad to be moving out of that situation. It was kind of nice knowing I could literally walk across the hall to kiss my boyfriend any time I wanted to.

Last night, Owen even asked if I’d move in with him. I almost said yes. A big part of me wanted to.

But this… This will be good. It was always the plan, after all. And I don’t know if I’m ready for that level of commitment yet. I hope someday I will be though.

I set the timer on my phone. “Get ready, everyone. Here it goes!”

I press the button and run for the group, hopping over one particularly large puddle. Pete shoves the giant scissors into my hands. I set the phone up to take a series of ten pictures, so I’m not too worried if the first shot isn’t perfect.

“Smile!” I yell as my phone beeps.

Then I hear the little clicks, signifying the pictures are being taken. With one big and satisfying cut of those giant scissors, I slice through the red ribbon. The ends fall to the ground around my feet, and everyone cheers as my heart bursts with happiness.

Owen’s hand wraps around my waist, and the other pulls the scissors gently out of my grasp. With a slow dip, he kisses me to the chorus of more cheers. My lips tingle and buzz at the contact, and I’m once again imagining being alone with him.

“Alright, that’s enough. Move along, people,” Kiera cries, and Owen and I smile against each other. Sometimes, I think that’s half the reason he kisses me when she’s around, to get on his sister’s nerves. Doesn’t matter to me. I’ll take any excuse to kiss the guy I can get.

As he starts to pull me upright, the sound of a car pulling up to the curb registers. I glance over as the unfamiliar vehicle stops, and the door opens. My dad steps out of it.

Apparently, the shock of seeing my dad here combined with the recent, knee-melting kiss is too much for my brain to handle.

When Owen lets me go, I’m still not completely vertical, and I lose my balance. It wouldn’t be bad, except somehow, the ribbon has gotten tangled up in my feet, and when I try to right myself, I’m thrown off-balance even more. I cry out. Owen reaches for me, but he doesn’t make it in time.

Instead, I go careening forward, straight into the giant puddle.

From my new position on the squishy, dirty ground, I glance up at my dad, who’s now staring down at me, looking equal parts confused and concerned.

“Um, hi, Dad. Welcome to my housewarming party!”

Then I shoot off the ground and into my house, leaving a trail of dirty water across my beautiful, new flooring, all the way to my newly tiled shower.

One hot shower later, I’m in fresh clothes, pulling a brush through my hair as I try to steady my still-racing heart.

“You sure you don’t want me to ask him to leave?” Owen asks. He’s leaning on the bathroom door frame, his eyebrows bunched together in concern.

“I’m sure. I mean, I did invite him after all.” I was extending an olive branch. An olive branch I never thought he’d be able to receive since I knew for a fact he was out of the country.

We still hadn’t talked since our big fight. At least, not really. He kept calling and texting regularly, and at one point, I did message him back, thanking him for reaching out, but that I still needed space. After that, he resorted to texting me a couple of times a week and calling every Sunday, not that I ever picked up.

“But I thought you said he wasn’t coming. He was in Finland or something like that.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought too.”

To be honest, I’m still mad at him. Those things he said to me still feel unforgivable. And, in a way, I think I’m experiencing all the pent-up anger I’ve been holding against him for years. After all this time, I’m actually letting myself feel it. That is what my new therapist has been encouraging me to do, after all.

Now that he’s here, I want to keep being mad at him. I want to yell and throw a fit like a child and maybe rub it in his face that I’m still with Owen and we’re perfectly happy, thank you very much, and none of those awful things he said have happened or ever will happen.

But…that might make things worse.

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