Page 84 of The Art of Being Merry
“What are you saying?” I whisper, trying to make sense of his ramblings.
“Mama, we’re done.” Whatever Dax was going to say gets cut off at Atlas’s declaration.
I hightail it away without having the decency to tell him to hold whatever’s on his mind.
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dax
Clementine leavesthe room as if her ass is on fire. Sure, the boys need her, but the way she bolted leads me to believe she needed off the runaway train the conversation was taking.
And I can’t blame her.
What am I even saying? Telling her I want “impossible things” with her. I can’t be certain of what other words spilled out of my mouth after that. My head’s a mess, and I’ve probably made things a thousand times worse.
She’s hinted I should leave, but I don’twantto fucking leave. As much as we can’t do anything besides have a friendly conversation, I want to be around her. A personal form of torture, if only to prove to myself I can be friends with her without stripping her naked.
I shouldn’t even be thinking of her naked, yet I can’t help myself. She brings out a side of me I’ve never met. I can’t say I hate him completely, but when he shows up at inopportune times, like right now, he needs to take a hike. Straight off a cliff.
Slumping against the corner of the couch, I run a hand through my hair.
I should go. Not to sneak out, but once I say goodbye to her and the kids, I should leave. Let her deal with bedtime and whatever she does after they’re asleep.
I shouldnotstay, even under the guise of seeing the progress of my sweater. It’s a flimsy excuse, but the only one I have.
Clementine’s magnetic, and being in her orbit is something I can’t seem to get enough of. Much to her chagrin, no doubt.
Yet, she’s the one who invited me for dinner. This time, it wasn’t me intruding on their schedule and routine. She asked me to come over. I can’t read into it too much. It was probably a friendly invite, nothing to get all deep and introspective about.
If only Beck could hear my inner dialogue. He’d have a field day.
“Dax, you’re still here.” Jace’s comment pulls me out of my head. I sit up. He’s wearing red and white striped pajamas. “Mama’s gonna read a book. Come read with us.” His hand hovers in the air, waiting for my response. And fuck it, but I can’t deny him this thing.
Because I barely say no to anything these two ask. Holding up my end of the whole “surrogate uncle” thing, if I’m keeping myself accountable.
I fit my hand into his and let him lead me into their bedroom. The room isn’t huge, but the space is maximized well. I wonder if there are any other visual and spatial talents Clementine has I’m not yet aware of. I’d like to find out.
The twin-over-full bunk beds are pushed against the wall without a window. Dark curtains cover the two windows on each of the exterior walls. The wall color is sage green with white trim. Colorful paintings hang on the walls, a hodgepodge of various items—animals, Marvel characters, a map of Vermont, Legos, and various sports balls.
“Did Mama paint all those?” I point to a frame.
“Yep.”
“Which one’s your favorite?” My eyes try to take in the details of all of them, but there are quite a few.
“Captain ‘Merica.”
Dropping Jace’s hand, I step closer to it, absorbing the colors, the brushstrokes, the likeness of the character. It’s amazing.
“Oh. Didn’t realize you were in here.”
I turn on my heel at Clementine’s voice, surprise etched on her face. “Jace invited me for story time.” If she asked me to leave, Iwould, but I won’t be the one to suggest it. I’ll leave it in her court.
“Um, great. We’re readingFrindle. Atlas can fill you in on what’s happening.”
For five minutes, Atlas explains the plot of the story with intricate details, and when everyone settles on Jace’s bed, I don’t feel lost when Clementine starts reading. Mostly because I’m not listening to the specific words but the cadence of her voice. How it pitches higher for different characters and the varying speeds and intonations at different parts.
When she’s done, I’m lost about the plot but deeper under her spell.
