Page 93 of Pretty Please Me
Drew punches me on the shoulder, then hugs me. “Good to see you, bro.”
I groan as I climb into the passenger seat and fasten my seat belt.
“What? Are you tired or something?” Dad teases and smiles, studying me for a minute. “Hard work looks good on you, son.” He finally says as he drives off.
“What’s with the shaggy hair? Are you trying to grow a mullet, too? Jamie’s going to be pissed.” Drew says as he rubs his hand over my hair.
“I didn’t exactly have time to get a haircut while I was out there. But now that I know it’ll annoy Jamie, maybe I’ll keep it like this for a little while longer.” I pull out my phone and stare at it, afraid to see what lies inside my inbox.
Would she have written me?
The thought’s barely left my mind when Drew clears his throat. “Ahem, whatcha doing?”
“Nothing.” I shake my head. “I just can’t make myself check my emails. I’m probably going to be drowning in work for the next two years…”
“So, you haven’t heard from her?” Drew asks.
My chest constricts at the mention of her, and I whip my gaze to Drew. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, so we’re all supposed to just pretend like we didn’t watch you fall in love right before our eyes and completely fuck it up and run away?” He lets out an annoyed laugh. “Cool, I wasn’t sure which way we were going to play it, but now I know delusional is what you had in mind…”
“Drew,” my dad warns as he tightens his grip on the steering wheel. “Can we at least get home before you start your shit? You promised not to antagonize him if I let you come.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t point out when my brother’s being an idiot even though we’re all thinking it.”
I grit my teeth and sink into my seat, my eyes trained on the road as I simmer with annoyance.
When my dad finally pulls up to the house, I can’t get out of the car fast enough. I don’t need this from him right now. He has no idea how much I’ve already tortured myself. I don’t need the entire family to dog pile on top of me, too.
The smell of apples and cinnamon drifts around me as I step through the door. Charlotte’s in the kitchen baking, her apron covered in flour or powdered sugar, and she squeals when she sees me. “Oh, Sam! I’m so happy you made it!”
I kiss her on the cheek as I hug her. Then I jump in surprise when I’m stabbed in the ass by Denver’s long nose. “Jesus, Simon, control your dog!” I yelp, petting his floppy ears. His long tail stings as he wacks it against my legs with excitement.
“Ouch, now, you shoo. You know you’re not supposed to be in the kitchen when I’m cooking,” Charlotte scolds as she pops him with a hand towel.
I watch him run off, his nails slipping on the tile floor as he tries to hurry, and see Simon cradling a pink bundle to his chest. Wren’s curled into the sofa beside him with a computer on her lap typing.
“Oh, wow. Congratulations.” I rush to him as all my irritation melts away when I see my brother holding his baby.
“Sam, I’d like you to meet your niece.” He pushes the blanket away from her face to give me a better view. “This is Annie. She was born on November first.”
My eyes well with tears, and I trace her little hand covering one of her eyes. She’s a wrinkly little thing and so freaking tiny. I can’t really tell who she looks like, but my brother is beaming with pride as he looks down at her. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so happy, and it almost feels like staring too long into the sun.
Wren scoots over, and I take the seat next to him as he passes me the tiny bundle. She smells like lavender and baby powder and feels so small, like she could slip through my hands. I bounce her a little, and she coos, then sucks one of her fingers in her mouth.
It’s incredible coming home to a new life and a new family member I already love so much even though I’ve only just met her. At that moment, I’m so jealous of Simon that I almost can’t stand it. But I’m so happy for him, too. I wish I could feel a sliver of his obvious joy.
My chest aches as I realize why it hurts so badly. I had that and I sent her away. I shake my head as I stare at baby Annie as if she holds all the answers like she’s some kind of baby Yoda.
What if it really is that simple? What if by trying to control the situation and protect us both from pain, I caused it to hurt so much worse? What if the resistance I have to falling in love is really just the feeling of getting hurt? And hurting her? Didn’t I cause all of that anyway?
I look up at Simon, who’s studying me.
“What’s wrong? Did you poop again? I just changed her like five minutes ago–” He tries to take her back to check her diaper, but I shake my head.
“I think I fucked up. I think I monumentally fucked everything up.”
Simon rolls his eyes and laughs. “No shit, dumbass. So, what are you going to do about it?”
