Page 46 of A Me and You Thing
We start off. Sawyer asks, “What’s your route?”
“I usually stay here in the neighborhood and circle around a few times.”
“There’s a paved ocean-side path. Are you up for it? The views are incredible.”
“Will it be too cold for the girls?”
Sawyer glances down at them. I notice a slight curve to his lips. I admit, they look like little Eskimos. They’re probably way too hot. We usually do this first thing in the morning when the ocean breeze is biting.
“My mom always says, when mom’s hot, the kids must be hot. When mom’s cold, the kids must be cold. Feeling cold today, Bree?”
My laugh emerges all fluttery and light. My laughter stems from several things. Firstly, I suppose my tank top and leggings and his shorts and t-shirt don’t exactly speak to feeling cold. But, we’re running; we’ll easily become overheated. The girls are just sitting, all the more reason why they will feel the cold more bitterly. Secondly, he rarely jokes around anymore. Most of his innate humor died the same day as Quinn. It just doesn’t come natural to him any longer or he remains deadpan and doesn’t realize he’s being funny. Thirdly, he just referred to me as Mom. I don’t think he realizes just how happy that makes me feel or just how much that means to me.
The world. The absolute world.
At my lack of a verbal response, he says, “I think they can handle the cold air.” Then he laughs. He actually laughs. Out loud and guttural. A real laugh. Perhaps the first genuine laugh I’ve heard from him in such a long time. Then he mumbles under his breath. “I think they could be in a five-car pile-up and not sport a bruise.”
This time we both laugh together. It feels good to share a joke with him, to feel happy with him. It’s such a rare occurrence. I admit, even my personality has altered since the loss of Quinn. Sarcasm doesn’t seem to suit a mourning household. And before I moved in with them, sarcastic could’ve been my middle name.
Regardless, I defend myself. “The ocean breeze is downright cold when it’s windy.”
“Yeah, but there’s not a snowflake in sight.” This time he lets out a loud peal of laughter, as if he can’t control himself.
I stop in my tracks, and since I’m the one pushing the jogging stroller, the girls stop too. On one hand, I love the sound of his happiness; on the other, I’m slightly bent out of shape at his teasing.
“Take that back,” I tell him.
He stops and folds his arms. “Nope. Not taking it back.”
“I mean it. It’s not funny. Do you know how long it took me to get them ready to go out the door?”
“All afternoon, I’d wager.” His shoulders shake with laughter.
I give him the evil eye. “It’s not that funny.”
“It really is.”
“I don’t think I like being the butt of the joke. Knock it off.”
“So it’s true. Redheads really do have fiery tempers.”
“Huh. Never heard that one before,” I mumble under my breath. Then I tell him, “Only when crossed. And you’re in danger of being way over the line.”
“What will you do? Make me put on more layers?” He laughs at his own joke, as if he’s hilarious.
I give in. I’ll wrap them up like Eskimos every single day if it merits this kind of response in him. “Fine, it’s kind of amusing. Quit giving me a hard time. I’m doing the best I can. This whole mother thing doesn’t come naturally to me.”
He sobers immediately. “Hey, don’t say that. You’re doing a fantastic job. I haven’t thanked you enough, Breezy. I can’t begin to say how much I appreciate all you do. You’re wonderful with the girls, and they love you.”
Whoa. I wasn’t expecting that. Now he’s all serious and intense and looking at me like he really sees me. “Th-thank you.” And he called me Breezy. Heactuallycalled me Breezy. I love it when he calls me by the nickname he gave me in the first place.
“I mean it.”
He notices more than I give him credit for. Maybe it’s me that is blind. “I love them. Ireallylove them.”
And him. I do, I love him. It didn’t take much effort on my part, I already loved him as the man who made my best friend deliriously happy. Now I love him in a different way, a way that’s filled with potential.
I’ll never let on unless he does first, though. In spite of my budding feelings, I still think of him as Quinn’s husband. More importantly, he still thinks of himself as Quinn’s husband. Is it an insurmountable roadblock?
