As soon as we got through the door, Max kissed Grace on the cheek and then handed the baby to Harper before shaking my hand.
“Let’s have a beer. I need to celebrate doubling the number of men in the house,” Max said as he dove into the fridge, bringing out a bottle of wine and two beers.
“I’ve been expressing milk all week so I can have a drink tonight,” Harper said. “Then we’re all happy, right?” she said, cooing to Lizzie. “You’re fed and I’m drunk. Perfect.”
I wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to laugh about breast milk, so I tried to keep my face neutral.
“Can I have a drink, Dad?” Amanda asked. “In France, kids my age have wine with dinner, you know.”
“Well, we’re not in France,” Max replied.
Amanda rolled her eyes and handed Amber to Grace, who puckered her lips. Amber kissed her. They were clearly comfortable with each other. This was a side of Grace I’d not seen before.
“Down,” Amber said, wriggling in Grace’s arms. Grace bent and put her on the floor.
She glanced up at me. “What are you thinking?” she asked, slipping her arm around my waist.
“He’s thinking this seems a lot like a zoo,” Harper said.
Not exactly, but it was noisy and chaotic and the relaxed, family atmosphere stirred something hidden deep within me.
“Why don’t you start on dinner?” Max suggested. “Amanda’s making lasagna.”
“But you’re going to help, right?” Amanda asked, turning back to her dad.
“I’m going to be here, but you can do this. You’ve watched me make it a thousand times. You’re going to college in a couple of years. You need to learn how to cook. I spoil you.”
I remembered my dad cooking on the weekends. He would run my mom a bath and then prepare dinner, standing me on a stool next to him until I was big enough to reach the counter on my own and we’d talk about school and I’d stir things and shred cheese and generally think I was helping. Amanda was a few years older than I had been the last time I’d cooked with my father.
“You mean I need to learn how to cook because I’m a girl.”
“No, you need to learn because you should be able to feed yourself decent meals. Stop being a pain.” Max sat on one of the bar stools opposite the counter. “We’ll sit here and watch,” he said as Amanda tied an apron to her waist.
Had my father had the same kind of love for me I saw in Max’s eyes?
I knew the answer. I recognized the expression Max wore as one I’d seen on my father’s face every time he looked at me.
“Get everything you’ll need out on the counter,” Max said, then turned to me. “How’s business?”
Grateful for the distraction from the whirring inside my head, I said, “Good actually.” Grace and I took seats next to Max. “The market is tough at the moment, but I think that’s an opportunity. It stops people from playing the real estate market like it’s a game of blackjack, which can’t be a bad thing.” I took a swig of beer.
“I saw you’re developing that site by Battery Park.”
“Yeah. It’s such a great location. It’s underutilized at the moment.”
For a very long time my social interaction had comprised of Angie and Chas. I wasn’t used to new people and I wasn’t used to being with so many voices in a non-work environment. The memories of my own childhood were growing stronger. I tried to convince myself that Connecticut with Max and Harper wasn’t anything like my childhood home because I’d never had any brothers and sisters. All the noise—babies crying, people laughing—and the child paraphernalia littering every room in the house were all alien.
But there were too many similarities for me not to remember my parents.
I’d forgotten the sense of family, of love. I’d buried the memories of times with my parents and stomped on the ground so they never surfaced. For nearly fifteen years they’d remained there, still and unmoving. But now the earth had cracked and the ground was shaking.
I was trying like hell to hold it together.
“Grace, is Sam better than your other boyfriends?” Amanda asked as we watched her prepare supper. “Harper said you date losers.”
“Harper!” Grace called over to the couch. Max rolled his eyes and I smiled because I knew he expected me to.
“What?” Harper asked as she placed a sleeping baby Lizzie into the crib at the end of the couch.
“You said I date losers?” Grace asked.
Harper came into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of wine. “You can’t deny it’s true.” Harper looked up at me as she filled a fresh glass. “You’re the first decent guy she’s ever dated. Don’t fuck this up.”
“Harper,” Grace protested.
But Harper was right. I had to get this right and I wasn’t sure I knew how. I’d spent every day since my parents died deliberately trying not to want anything—Grace had been right. I didn’t want to lose anything important to me again. It had been hard, at first, difficult to stop coveting things. And even now, it was almost impossible not to be jealous of those with loved ones, but it had become easier. It hadn’t happened overnight, but slowly, a hardened shell had grown around me and become my armor. After that, every day was easier.
“What? It’s true,” Harper said.
I’d realized pretty early on that her previous boyfriends weren’t worthy of her. I was no angel, but it was no effort for me to put Grace first, where she deserved to be. But could I do that forever? Grace looked comfortable here, happy amid the family and the love. And she should have that for herself. I just wasn’t sure I could give it to her. I’d shut down my emotions a long time ago—ruled out the possibility of this kind of future for myself. For the first time in a long time I’d allowed myself to covet someone. I’d had no choice. Grace had broken through my armor and not given me a say in the matter. But a family? A home? I couldn’t risk that.
I took a swig of my beer, trying to swallow down the anxiety threatening to drown me.
“Your problem,” Harper told Grace, “is that you’re a fixer.”
Grace snapped her head around and caught me forcing down a chuckle. It was one of the many things I loved about Grace, and it was exactly how I’d described her in one of our first encounters. She scowled and placed her hand over my mouth. I grabbed her wrist, kissed her palm and twined her fingers in mine. “I didn’t say a word, Princess.”
“She’s always taken men on like projects. Guys that need fixing, or nurturing,” Harper said.
“Harper,” Grace complained. I knew she didn’t like hearing herself described like that.
“You give and give and give,” Harper continued, ignoring Grace, “until you’re bled dry. It’s like you’re permanently breastfeeding these losers! You’ve been dating children.”
Grace sighed.
“Well, I don’t need fixing,” I said, though I knew it wasn’t true. But I also knew that nobody, not even Grace, was capable of fixing me. No one had the power to go back in time and stop that drunk driver. But did Grace know that? Or was I just another one of her boyfriends who needed nurturing?