Page 43 of A Me and You Thing
I can hardly look away. “They had a good day. They’re in the living room watching TV. I found these silly nursery rhyme videos on YouTube, and they’ve been glued to them all afternoon. They like to imitate the hand motions.” I have found my deliverance through YouTube—even though the songs play in my head all night and won’t shut up.
“Really? Cute,” he says absentmindedly. “Okay, take a break, Bree. You deserve it. I got it from here.”
“I’m sure you do,” I mumble under my breath as I climb up the stairs and eat my sandwich in my room, feeling banished. I hear Sawyer’s laughter from downstairs. It’s a sweet, seldom-heard sound. I’d say he’s enjoying Josie and Jordyn’s antics. From the sound of it, they’re having a good time.
And I’m in my little guest room with the four walls closing in on me. I plop down onto my bed and bury myself in a bestselling psychological thriller I picked up on a kiosk at the grocery store.
It doesn’t hold my attention because my thoughts are demanding tonight. I’ve lived with Sawyer for about five months now. Truth be told, he’s a mess. I mean, he’s functioning. He goes to work, his personal hygiene is up to par, and he even smiles every once in a while.
Those smiles don’t reach his eyes. Never his eyes. Even when he smiles at his girls. He loves and adores them, but I see pain when he looks at them. They look so much like Quinn, I think he just sees her.
I do too. I think we all do.
He pines for her, but he tries desperately not to show just how much. He has no idea how obvious it is and that there’s no need to hide it. I think everyone expects it.
Talking isn’t really his thing right now. The silence is a living, breathing entity in this house. He goes to work every day and does what he needs to do. He takes no pleasure in it, though, not like he used to. He was one of the few men I knew who truly loved his job. Or, in his case, jobs. Now it seems like they’re just something to do to fill the never-ending days, hours, minutes, and seconds, until he withers away, dies, and joins Quinn.
I shift on the bed in an attempt to achieve the perfect reading position. A glance at the clock shows exactly five minutes have passed. It’s going to be a long night.
Time passes slowly in this house. Sluggishly. At times, it’s unbearable. Except I’m here to relieve the unbearable and make it bearable. I try my best to keep life in the happy, happy, joy, joy zone (I’ve seen far too many cartoons), but it isn’t easy.
Here’s the deal. When Sawyer comes home in the evening, he takes over watching the girls and gives me a break, even though I don’t want one. He insists upon it because that’s the kind of man he is. He’s being thoughtful and considerate, making sure I have time to myself. I should feel eternally grateful.
In truth, it makes me feel left out, as though I’m not part of their family unit.
Which, of course, I’m not. But I want to storm in and invade, assert myself and make him include me in his evenings. But I don’t. I want him to want me to join them. And I think he needs alone time with his girls. So, I back off and leave them to it. It’s a delicate situation.
I’ve become such a softie. Losing my best friend knocked the steam right out of my engine.
I give up trying to read while in a comfortable position on the bed and switch to the cushy bedside chair. Maybe now I’ll be able to concentrate.
No such luck. I can’t seem to focus on anything other than the awkward situation I find myself in. I never know what to do with myself in the evenings. Sometimes I take a long walk on the beach or browse around a few trendy seaside shops. Most of the time, I lock myself in my room and listen as Sawyer plays with the girls, feeds them dinner, bathes them, reads them a story, and puts them to bed. I love listening to him as he talks with his girls. He comes to life in a way that he doesn’t for anyone else.
I’d rather do the nightly routine together, to be a part of it all, but his mind isn’t there yet. He doesn’t see the possibilities—the potential between us—that I do.
I wonder if he ever will.
He aches for Quinn. It will be a long time before he notices me. Maybe even never.
I’m willing to wait, to give it a chance. I didn’t come here with the intention of capturing his heart and making him mine, but now that I’ve lived in his home for five months, the thought has crept its way into my mind and heart.
Of course, I don’t expect him to notice someone else so soon. It wouldn’t be right and he’s not ready. He loved Quinn with all of his heart. Those feelings don’t disappear overnight.
But I’ve started to notice him in ways a best-friend-of-his-wife should never notice. I mean, I’ve always liked Sawyer and the husband he was to Quinn. I’ve always loved him because he loved Quinn—and was so good to her.
I’d be lying if I said I never noticed him as a man. Of course, I did. All women notice Sawyer. I felt very attracted to him the first time I met him. Then I went and introduced him to Quinn. What was I thinking? But even I could see how perfect they were for each other—and even though we joked about it often, I have never felt bitter about it. I knew they belonged together.
They still do.
I never would’ve done anything to jeopardize his marriage or the friendship between Quinn and me.Never ever. He belonged to Quinn and was off limits. That’s rule #1 in the best friend’s handbook, a line that must never be crossed.
Except those rules don’t apply anymore, something I’m very aware of.
The thing is, Sawyer and Quinn were so perfect for each other. He isn’t the same without Quinn, and I now realize that part of his allure was the way he was so besotted with Quinn. I observed it and I fell in love with the idea of it. I longed to be a part of it, to have what they had. I loved the way he was always touching her, running his hands through her hair, or massaging her shoulders. I loved the look in his eyes when he looked upon her. I swear, they glittered. Plus, there was this certain expression on his face that was only reserved for her. I haven’t seen it since we lost her. I doubt I’ll ever see it again. I loved the way he spoke to her so kindly, so sweetly. I loved the way he not only listened to her, but hung on every word she had to say. I wouldn’t be exaggerating if I said he worshipped her.
I shake my head to clear it. Supposedly I’m on page ten, but I can’t tell you what my book is about. My brain refuses to turn off and relax. Restless, I pace the room a few times, then stretch out on the carpeted floor, stomach down, my chin resting in my hands, my book splayed out in front of me. But my thoughts continue to plague me.
Sawyer’s a different man now. I miss the vicarious romance I was living through him and Quinn. Nothing is the same anymore. I’m not sure that kind of love can be rekindled with someone else. I was in love with their dream-come-true. It was never mine, though, and it never will be.
