Chapter 11 Gwen - Do your worst, Gwendolyn
The Worst Mistake Of My Life
We need to talk, Red.
The Worst Mistake Of My Life
I’m trying to not make a scene at the cafe.
The Worst Mistake Of My Life
Ignoring me won’t make this go away, Red.
Me
won’t know if we don’t try!
The Worst Mistake Of My Life
Really? That’s how you finally respond?
The Worst Mistake Of My Life
You’re being childish. It’s not attractive.
Istart to type out exactly how little of a fuck I give about what he finds attractive but stop before I hit send.
I’m immediately angry with myself for letting him get to me enough that I broke my silence. But God, Dean Fitzgerald is so irritatingly insufferable. I don’t know how I wasted years of my life on him.
I haven’t heard from him in months. I had finally gotten to the point where I was enjoying the silence, rather than looking over my shoulder any chance I got.
It was the longest we’ve probably ever gone without seeing or talking to each other since elementary school.
Why break the streak now? What could possibly be so important?
That’s what’s sending me over the edge. I think I’m at a point where I could handle seeing him in passing. If he tried to pester me at work, I’d have no problem shooing him away. Margot is dying for an excuse to rip him apart as it is.
But utter the phrase we need to talk, and I’m sent into a tailspin. Something’s up, and I have zero desire to face what it is.
Maybe he knocked someone else up. That feels like it would be a Katie problem now, though.
Wouldn’t that be rich? He spends years telling me he’s not ready, years of placating me with the let’s revisit this conversation next year. Just to run around and be the town sperm donor.
If this is about wanting the house again, he’s so fucking cracked out of his mind, I’ll just laugh in his face.
I’ll laugh and laugh till tears stream down my cheeks.
And then when he finally accepts I’m too crazy to deal with that he walks away—maybe walks all the way out of Merrymount—I’ll throw a Goddamn party, mark my words.
I’m still fantasizing about a Dean-free life when I hear the door that leads to the back alley unlock. I look up from my spot on the couch to see Miller walk in, and he doesn’t look happy.
Now is probably not the best time to admit how hot he is when he’s angry, is it?
His hair looks like it’s had his hands run through it hundreds of times within the last thirty minutes since he left the cafe to bring Penelope to school. His usually soft features are sharpened by narrowed eyes and the clenching of his jaw.
“I’m pissed, but not at you, and I need you to know that,” he says to break the silence.
“Okay. Me too. Wanna come have a seat and talk it out?” I pat the cushion next to me.
Miller paces the small space between the living room and the kitchen, seemingly ignoring my question.
He can’t be this worked up because I was upset, right?
I mean, it’s not even a big deal. People have shitty exes.
We deal with them. I don’t even know if there really is an issue, or if it’s just Dean trying to start shit for fun.
Because he’s bored.
He was always fucking bored.
“It was your douchebag ex that texted you, right?”
“Yeah, but—”
“What does he want?”
“I don’t know, and that’s what freaked me out,” I answer honestly.
Miller stops and comes to sit down next to me. He keeps enough distance for zero accidental touching, and I’m pretty sure it is intentional.
“I hate that he has the power to mess you up like that.”
“There’s another thing we can agree on.” I laugh but it falls flat.
“Have you spoken at all since…?” He leaves the question open ended.
“No. He hasn’t reached out…until now. And I was content to pretend he didn’t exist.”
Whatever space that was between us suddenly ceases to exist because Miller leans and lays his head on my shoulder. It’s so gentle. He lets out the biggest sigh, like he’s been holding it in for a while. “I’m sorry,” he says.
He’s warm. His hair is just as soft as I thought it would be. I like this a lot.
I huff. “For what? Did you cheat on me and get the meanest girl in town pregnant behind everyone’s back?
And now poke into my business for funsies?
Don’t bother answering. I got you. No, you didn’t.
Don’t say sorry on someone else’s behalf, especially when they wouldn’t mean it if it was coming from them.
Save the apology for when you actually piss me off, Miller. ”
It’s Miller’s turn to laugh, except this time I can feel his body shake, and his soft hair tickles my neck.
A second later, I can’t contain it, and I’m joining him in a laughing fit.
We both fall back into the couch and while his head is no longer resting on my shoulder, he’s still leaning against me.
I love when he laughs like this. It’s with his whole self and unabashed. It makes me wish more people laughed like this. It’s contagious.
Miller pulls himself together first, rubbing his hand on his chest. “I like when you’re fiery like that.”
“Har-har,” I say in a deadpan voice. “Very funny.”
“Huh?” He sits up straight.
“Fiery? A redhead joke, really?”
I look at him and see the confusion painted all over his face. Now I’m confused.
“It…wasn’t a redhead joke?” I ask.
“Uh, no. I meant fiery…like, feisty. Umm, you know? Like, snappy? I’m running out of adjectives here, Gwen.
” There goes his hand running through his hair again.
“This morning has sucked, I’m sorry. I just meant…
I like when you stick up for yourself. When you say what you want. I like your confidence.”
Well, I’m an asshole.
“Damn it, I’m sorry. You’re not who I need to be snapping at.”
Miller shrugs and that boyish smirk is back on his face. “Do your worst, Gwendolyn. It doesn’t bother me.”
How did I go so long without hearing my name? Why does it always sound so pretty when he says it?
Dean was my husband and the only time he ever didn’t call me Red was when the officiant had us say our vows. Even in his proposal it was, “Red, wanna get married?”
Romance was in fact—very much so—dead.
“He says we need to talk,” I finally admit out loud.
“Dean?” Miller asks.
I nod.
“Do you?”
“Do what?”
“Do you need to talk to him? Is there anything you feel like you have to say?”
I sit with that for a minute. It’s a good question. I mean, I haven’t said anything to Dean. About any of it. I’ve successfully dodged every attempt at conversations about the marriage, the cheating, the separation that led to divorce, and then…this whole mess.
I’ve gotten really good at ghosting Dean.
And for a while, it was because it all felt too heavy and too hard to do anything else.
I was dealing with keeping myself together.
But now, I just really like the freedom.
Thinking about having to sit down with him and rehash whatever he deems important sounds like the biggest waste of my time.
I’ve been too busy filling my days with things and people, like the guy to my right for example, to consider loaning any of my time to a waste of space like Dean. Blech.
My eye catches the tv stand, a row of tiny Polaroid pictures framed in equally tiny frames occupy the shelf under the TV.
I smile, because it’s practically identical to the set up I have at my house.
Tiny things in our lives always find a way of overlapping.
It’s a silly thing to notice but, anyway…
You can tell every single picture was taken through a child’s lens of the world.
Miller, caught off guard with a goofy grin, making breakfast in the kitchen to our left.
Margot, a dollop of ice cream on her nose, holding a waffle cone at the farm stand.
A group picture of about fifty stuffed animals, piled high on Penelope’s bed.
“Frankly, no,” I finally respond.
I feel Miller’s shoulders start to jitter before I hear him laugh. “Atta girl. But hey, you were really shaken up. And it’s not the first time I’ve seen it. Come on, Gwen.” His shoulder nudges mine. “We’re…friends. Let me in.”
I could have imagined his pause before the word friends. I don’t want to read into what that might mean, though. Instead, I choose to do exactly what he asked for once.
“It’s just, ugh. Why do I let myself get like this?
This is new to me, and I don’t like it. I never used to freeze up or shut down.
It’s like the older I get, the less sure of myself I am, of who I am.
” I rest my elbows on my thighs and cradle my head in my hands.
My hair falls to the sides of my face, blocking Miller from my view.
It’s like my own version of a confessional, and I’m suddenly word vomiting.
“Everyone is so used to being able to expect this…this cookie cutter version of me. Every single day. I’m the fun time, but I’m the reliable one.
You come to me with a problem, I’m solving it and making sure you’re laughing and fed before I send you on your way.
You destroy every version I had of a future, but I’m still expected to answer when you call.
I’m a glorified doormat, Miller, and I fucking hate it. ”
“Have you ever told anyone that?”
I shake my head and decide I’ve already committed to this honesty hour. “Why would anyone need me around if I wasn’t that version of Red?”
And that’s the loudest voice in the back of my head, always has been.
I keep blabbing. “The second I stop being that person to everyone, I’m faceless, nameless.
I’m not talented or super smart. I’m not saving lives or breaking records or rocking worlds.
For fuck’s sake, I’m the walking cliché of a cheerleader who peaked in her small town high school.
I have the matching divorce papers with my high school sweetheart to prove it. ”
Miller stares back at me and blinks. He blinks again like he can’t believe what he’s hearing.
“Hold that thought.” Before I know what’s happening, Miller is up and walking into Penelope’s room.
He comes back fairly quickly with a hardcover children’s book and thrusts it into my lap.
“Here. We have a second copy. We actually have a third packed away somewhere, too. In case something ever happened to copies one and two. I uh…” He scratches his head, looking like he’s regretting this whole thing.
“I picked this book up right before Penelope was born. It could be really stupid but, read it.”
I quietly flip through each page. Everyone starts with Repeat after me…
I am kind.
I am smart.
I am brave.
I am strong.
I am beautiful.
Miller bends into a squat in front of me when I close the book.
I look up to meet his gaze because it’s Miller, and I know he’s waiting for me to.
It hits me like a ton of bricks that over the past couple of months, through a bunch of little moments, I’ve gotten to know a lot of the pieces that make up Miller.
And he’s gotten to know some of mine too. Not Red’s. Not the doormat’s.
“I’m gonna be real with you, Gwen. I don’t think I can hear all of the reasons why you believe those things about yourself.
I have a feeling I know who they’ll lead back to and while I got away with it before, I don’t know if I’d be lucky enough to walk away with a clean record if I had to deck Dean again.
And just so we’re clear, I want to deck Dean again. ”
“Get in line,” I mutter. “You said you have another one of these?” I hold the book up.
He nods.
“Is it okay if I borrow this one?”
“It’s yours.”
“Oh, no. I’m going to bring it back. This is Penelope’s. I’m not stealing from my girl.”
Miller’s cheeks go pink. I can’t pretend I didn’t see that.
The flirting is fun. The company is better. The friendship we’ve found here works. But, I’m scared to even think about rocking that by leaning into this… this…God, am I really about to admit this? This crush I have on Miller?
“I, uh. I need to get back downstairs. I’m sure you have work?”
Miller stands and nods again. I follow suit.
The next thing I know he’s crushing me into a hug.
My arms instinctually wrap around his waist, and I tuck my head into the crook of his neck.
He always smells so fresh and clean but being so close to him like this, it’s intoxicating.
I try to inconspicuously breathe him in.
I could live here in this safe little cocoon—
What the actual fuck is wrong with me?
I let my arms fall and stand up straight. Miller stretches his arms up until a strip of skin shows just above his belt. I avert my gaze to make sure I don’t get caught openly staring.
But his eyes find mine with a knowing look that says he absolutely saw me checking out the lines that I’m sure as shit lead to a very nice V. He shows me mercy by not bringing it up though.
“Will you let me know if he starts to bother you again?”
If he asked me this a couple months ago, honestly, even a couple days ago, I would have brushed him off, letting him know I could handle it myself. I might have even lied and said yes, just to be nice and never mention it again.
But he keeps showing up, judgment free, ready to roll at any pace I need, and I think I need to start meeting him in the middle.
“I will. If you promise to not run off and get arrested pulling dumb shit in my defense. I don’t want to pay your bail, and Penelope needs her dad.”
I need you, too is what I want to add. But I don’t.
He looks at me like he wants to say something. But he doesn’t.
“But hey,” I add. “Are you okay?”
“I’m afraid if Penelope is late for school again, the front office lady is going to file a truancy charge against me or something.” Miller shudders, and it takes a lot of willpower to not full blown cackle in his face.
“Mrs. Harrison? Please.” I wave my hand. “She pretends to be tough as shit, but it’s an act.”
“She scares me, Gwen. She scares me real bad.”
I assure Miller he has nothing to worry about, and he seems to at least sort of absorb what I have to say.
We say our goodbyes and Miller waits until I’m at the bottom of the stairs before closing his door.
I get back to work on finishing my very late by my standards spooky decorating while expertly avoiding Margot’s demanding answers face, while I’m sure Miller is booting up his laptop for a day of…whatever an IT specialist at a bank does.
I think we’re both playing it safe. I think it’s better this way.