Page 21 of My Sweet Dollie, You Have to Love Me
As expected, the rest of dinner is back to our usual interactions, meaning blanket silence until it’s over and we travel our separate ways.
Anxiety washes over me as soon as I slump into the passenger side of Shane’s car.
The bumpy ride home is quiet for half of the journey, and I wait for him to lose his patience.
I break that silence. “You in a bad mood?”
“I’m fine. Are you?”
“No, but don’t ever ask me to do that again.”
“I’m sorry. I guess you’re still stressed about that lump?”
“I’m stressed because today has been awful. Dinner was awful.”
“Yeah. I am sorry dinner was uncomfortable for you.”
Wanting to keep the conversation away from my past and an argument from brewing, I make light of the situation and say, “I kinda knew it was off to a bad start when your mom was trying to set you up with the woman she’s clearly attracted to.”
A side glance hits me, staying on my face for so long that I shrink in my seat with discomfort. “She wasn’t trying to do that.”
Because she never does anything wrong, right?I don’t ask that. We both know she does a lot wrong.
All I say is, “Eyes on the road.”
Shane pulls my hand from the center of my lap and squeezes. My fingers don’t close around his hand in return, and he says nothing about the glove he’s so familiar with.
“Come on, let’s not fight again. Tomorrow is the start of the rest of our lives. We fix up that big house, buy another somewhere in the suburbs, and have the wedding of our dreams.”
“Right now, I’d kinda rather elope. No guests and no reason to go home.”Or maybe just not get married.
“You don’t want a big event with all our family and friends.”
“I don’t have either of those things. I have one friend in the whole world, and I never see her. Let’s elope.”
“Tempting, but…” he trails off without ever finishing the sentence. “You’ll be fine, and you’ll have a family once we tie the knot.”
Another reassuring squeeze, and everything is all better. Except it isn’t…and a clawing feeling in my chest—anxiety or something else—tells me things will only get worse once I arrive home.
Shane pulls over on the quiet road, and I wonder if this is it, the moment he finally shows some compassion, finally notices me and my struggles, or if it’s because his phone is constantly buzzing beyond the radio.
Pulling it out of his pocket, he checks his messages. His eyes stay on them, scrolling, as he says, “Look, I’m sorry for what happened at the apartment, too. Sometimes, I just feel like you hate my parents.”
Figuring the message is from them, I don’t ask.
“Sometimes, you hate your parents,” I remind him. “And you hate my brother, too. We’re even,” I tease. “And I don’t actually hate them. It’s definitely the other way around. I can feel it.”
“Is that with your witchy ways?” Shane finally tucks the phone away.
“Don’t be an ass.”
Shane thinks my love of Wicca is a phase, but it’s one I haven’t grown out of for fifteen years.
“I’m sorry,” he says, eyes on me, and if I could look right into them, I’m sure they’d be as lust-filled as his voice.
“You’re not forgiven just yet.”
“Oh, no? What do I have to do to be forgiven? This?” He wraps his arms around me and pulls me into his lap.
