Page 37 of Make Me Yours
Crap. Even I knew the double beep was a bad sign.
He jumped up from where he sat, full of the excited energy that infused him whenever a call came, and shrugged into his jacket. “You’ll be okay?” He leaned down and kissed the top of my head, the same treatment he’d given to his mom and Grace earlier. And of course, it didn’t escape his mother’s notice.
I nodded my head weakly. “Of course. Be safe.” For the first time I felt a pang of worry uncoil in my belly. Cohen regularly put himself in harm’s way. It wasn’t something I wanted to dwell on, so I said a silent prayer, pushed the worry away, and fixed a smile on my face. The realization struck me that him leaving meant I was staying. With his mother. And sister. And Boo Boo. Lord help me.
I helped his mom clear the table and load the dishwasher. We worked side by side in relative silence, but I could tell something was on her mind—more than just Cohen’s well-being on his call.
She clutched the casserole dish in her hands, looking down at it thoughtfully. I braced myself for what she might say. “Cohen’s a special young man.”
“I completely agree.” I offered a smile, trying to show her that we were on the same team, and despite what she thought my intention was not to hurt him.
“He’s been through a lot in his life. I’m not sure what he’s told you, but Grace and I really rely on him, and we…can’t have anything changing that.”
Oh-kay.I was basically being told to back off from her son, and that he was going to remain a Mama’s boy. “We’re not dating, Denise. We’re just friends.” I stood my ground, my voice never wavering.
She nodded, drawing her lips together tightly. “I know. I can just see that there’s something between you. Be careful with him, he’s important to us.”
“I understand.” I nodded, taking the dish from her hands and relaxing a little.
Grace came in and tugged on my shirt. “Can you come play with me? Cohen never plays Barbies.”
Denise smiled at her daughter, her eyes crinkling in the corners, and I noticed that her eyes were the exact same shade of blue as her son. “Go ahead. I’ve got this.”
I trailed behind Grace, following her through the tiny house and into her bedroom. The walls were painted cotton-candy pink and an equally cheerful hot-pink bedspread screamed little girl. But the worn carpeting and drafty window warned of a single mother struggling to make ends meet. Toys were scattered haphazardly across the floor, apparently having exploded from a toy chest shoved into the corner. She seemed to know where everything was, though, and led me to the spot where she kept her Barbies. I joined her on the carpet beneath the window and she handed me a deranged looking Barbie that had recently suffered the unfortunate accident of having all her hair cut off at the scalp. We weren’t going to be playing Beauty Salon Barbie, it seemed.
I spotted a plastic bag full of doll clothing and pulled it closer.
“All right, Grace. How about we play Shopping Mall and take Barbie to try on some different outfits?”
Grace nodded enthusiastically and I dumped the bag on the floor with a sigh, sorting shirts, pants and dresses into piles. While being with Grace was certainly less stressful than hanging out with Denise, I still prayed that Cohen wouldn’t be gone long.
A couple of hours later, a sweaty and worn out Cohen returned to his mother’s house to pick me up. His excitement to go on the call had drained away, and had been replaced by somberness at what he’d just seen and experienced. I’d learned not to ask questions, but instead knew that if he wanted to share the details, he would. During the lake house weekend, I’d heard him telling some of the more difficult stories to Aiden. Like the time a car went over the bridge into the Chicago river, and Cohen, being a certified rescue diver, went in after the woman trapped in the vehicle. He’d delivered babies and fought fires and arrived on the scene of fatal accidents more times than he could count in the last few years.
I gave him a reassuring hug, and his expression lifted just a bit, then I went to the kitchen to retrieve my casserole dish. In Cohen’s presence, Denise was nothing but polite and friendly, her earlier demeanor gone but not forgotten.
We said our goodbyes and left, since it was past Grace’s bedtime already.
I said nothing about his mother attempt to warn me off on the drive home. It was dark outside and the hum of the highway kept Cohen lost in his thoughts, a slight smile playing on his lips.
He had everything he needed in his mother and sister—well, almost everything. I knew he was waiting for the right girl to come into his life. I don’t think he realized that the bar was raised too high, that his mother was overbearing and that he just seemed too…perfect.
Regardless, I knew the right girl would be lucky to have him, and acknowledged the fact that in a tiny, unused corner of my heart, I held out hope that girl might be me.
***
I headed up to my bedroom alone, needing some space from Cohen and the dinner that had stirred up strange sentiments about family and life that I hadn’t felt in a while.
I glanced around at what used to be my favorite spot in my beautiful townhome, the window seat in my bedroom that overlooked the back yard. Now that I knew Cohen’s bed sat above me in exactly the same spot, I couldn’t quite look at it the same way. I trailed my fingers along the champagne-colored fabric I custom-ordered for the seat covering, and the stack of coffee table books I’d neatly arranged there. My fingers skimmed over the spines of the books. I didn’t give a crap about Patisseries of Paris, or Dog Breeds of Westminster, or Buildings of the New York Skyline, I just thought the stack of books looked interesting, intriguing. But instead—much like my life—they were dull and lifeless and without meaning.
I sat on the seat and stared out into the darkness. The past several years of my life tumbled through my brain and I realized that I’d been afraid to graduate from college. To actually begin living my life. I’d hidden in the shelter and routine of student life, like I could pretend his death never happened, knowing I could never again open myself up to that kind of pain. But all I’d succeeded in doing was stunting myself from living. It was no wonder Ashlyn thought Cohen and I were a good match. And we probably were, when you looked at our emotional levels, our maturity. I’d done everything in my power to stop myself from experiencing anything even remotely real. When all I’d succeeded in doing was accumulating a collection of worthless things, and worked my way through more than enough men to fill several little black books. All I felt was empty and hollow.
I moved from the seat to my bed and pulled a throw pillow into my lap. I picked up my cell phone and dialed my mom, deciding that it’d been too long since we’d spoken.
She could tell something was wrong, even though the only words I’d uttered were “Hi Mom.”
“What’s got you all tangled up? How’s school?”
“School’s fine, Mom.” I let out a slow sigh. “It’s just…I’ve been thinking lately…about Paul.”
