Page 58 of The Life We Wanted
“Bullshit,kid,” I eyed him skeptically.
“I’mcool,” he said to my dad, and with a triumphant glare from my father, he ledGreyson to the backdoor, leaving me with a piglet and my Thumbelina.
MyThumbelina? What the fucking hell?
Iturned to her, proffering the squirming baby. “Wanna hold him?”
“Itiscute,” she conceded, holding out her arms. I handed him off to herand as she stroked his head, she commented, “So, your parents keep a pig in thehouse.”
Glancingtoward the still-sleeping Mildred, I nodded. “Yeah, they went a little crazyafter my sisters and I all moved out. Empty nest syndrome or some shit. I thinkit’s insane, but … you know …” I shrugged a shoulder and turned away from thesnoring pig.
Tabbyhummed before saying, “I don’t think they’re crazy. Actually, I think they’repretty amazing.”
“Yeah,they’re not bad,” I relented, nodding. “I got pretty lucky, I guess. What wereyours like?”
Witha halfhearted shrug, she held her gaze on the pig in her arms. “Um, they wereokay. I mean, I loved them—they were my parents, you know?—but they were olderwhen they had us. My dad was fifty-one when they had Sam, my mom was forty-two,and I’m three years younger than she was.”
“Wow.”I crossed my arms, genuinely interested. “And they both died this past year?”
Ashadow of sorrow was cast over her features as she smiled, still petting thepiglet. “Yeah. Dad was eighty-four and died a week before Thanksgiving. Mom wasseventy-five, had cancer, and basically decided to give up after Dad was gone.She died in January.”
JesusChrist. “I can’t imagine loving someone so much that I’d justgive up on life if I didn’t have them anymore,” I muttered, looking to the walland finding myself faced with a picture of my parents on their wedding day. Howconvenient. “My parents married when they were nineteen,” I divulged. “I’m theyoungest of four, and they had me when they were in their late-twenties, andI’m now thirty-six, so that gives you an idea of how long they’ve beentogether.”
Tabbynodded. “I bet your parents would be lost without each other too, then. Theyprobably don’t even remember being apart.”
Ishook my head. “No, probably not. My sisters are all the same way, too. Myoldest sister married her husband when she was twenty, and the other twoweren’t much older than that.”
“So,you’re the black sheep,” she teased, reaching out and poking my stomach,letting her hand linger there for a moment before pulling back. The woman wasobsessed with my stomach.
“Yep,”I nodded. “They actually have a black sheep out back named Bastian.”
“Oh,shut up,” she grumbled, taking the first step to head in the direction in whichmy dad had taken Greyson. “Anyway, my parents weren’t the most affectionate. Imean, they loved us and all, and they cared for Greyson, of course. But, theybelieved in a, uh … a moredistantaffection, I guess. Or maybe theywere just too old to be bothered, I don’t know. But, um …”
Witha shallow gasp, she stopped in the middle of the dining room, facing the Frenchdoors that led to the backyard. “I’m glad Greyson has this now. We never did,and I know that, even though Sam never wanted you involved for whatever reason,I know she’d be happy that he has a family.”
Ilooked through the paned doors at my three sisters, their husbands, and theirslew of children, all greeting Greyson with hugs and handshakes. Two of mynephews were somewhere around his age, about his height and clapping hisshoulders with enthusiasm, encouraging him to follow them. He went, and fuckme, I choked up.
“Iwas thinking …” Tabby began with a deep breath. “Maybe when school lets out,you’d want him to stay with you.”
Ilooked to her abruptly, remembering what Greyson had said about her not wantinghim. “Tabby, I just met him a few days ago. I don’t know if he’s ready forthat.”
Butshe shook her head adamantly. “I’m not saying definitely. We have about a monthuntil then. But, I mean, if he wants to, then what do you think? It would behelping me out a lot, now that I’m dealing with the sale of the WorthingtonhouseandRoman’s—”
Somewhereafter she mentioned Roman, I stopped listening. Why did she call it theWorthington house, as a title, and notJane’shouse? Why did she call itRoman’s house and not the Dolecki house? Why in the fucking world did I evengive a shit what she called it?
“—couldbe good for you too,” she concluded, turning to face me.
Nothaving a clue what she’d said, I only asked, “And where would you be?”
“Uh,well, I’d be at home, unless I was working at Roman’s, in which case I’d be ...”
“Withme,” I finished, not even caring about the possessive tone in my voice.
“WhileI’m not working, yeah, sure. Probably.”
Asummer. Two and a half, maybe three months of Greyson and Tabby. Months of lifeinside my house, months of having someone to come home to.
Ifound myself smiling and nodding. “Yeah, this sounds good. If Greyson wantsto.”
