Chapter 12 Gwen - Howdy, Neighbor #2
A light flicking on above the door that leads up to the apartment catches my attention, and I calculate that I have about four seconds to hightail it to my car and peel out of here before Miller catches me.
I spend those four seconds thinking about how much I don’t want to do that.
The door with the lock that isn’t broken opens and I see his hair first. It’s exceptionally messy. Bedhead looks good on him.
You know what else looks good on him? The round, black framed glasses sitting on his face that I’ve never seen before.
That’s a new Miller fact unlocked.
I expect him to be rubbing his face or yawning, maybe dazed or confused as to what’s going on around him. But his eyes are clear and concerned and directed right at me.
They’re also a little bigger due to the lenses. Damn, how blind is Miller?
“Gwen?” he asks.
“Hi,” I sheepishly say.
“It’s 1:00 o’clock in the morning.”
The words fall out of my mouth. “He bought the house next door.”
Thankfully, it doesn’t take Miller long to catch up. Understanding dawns on his face, and while logically the concern should melt away—because physically I’m fine—it hardens.
“That’s fucking insane. You know that, right?”
I shrug my shoulders, trying to not let on how badly I needed to hear him say that. “Honestly, I kind of thought I was overreacting.”
“If you told me you keyed his car and put dog shit on his front step, it still wouldn’t have been an overreaction.”
I shuffle my feet and hoist my bag up on my shoulder while giggling. “Don’t go giving me any ideas.”
“I’ll call Margot over here right now to watch P so I can join you.”
For some reason, I don’t think he’s joking. I attempt to wave him off and take one small step back.
“Come upstairs.” Not a question.
“I…I was about to head home.” I lamely loll my head in the general direction of my car.
“And now you’re coming upstairs.” There’s really no room for argument in his voice, and I have to say, authoritative Miller is working for me.
It’s working so well I walk right through the doorway, under Miller’s arm he’s had braced on the frame, and march my sorry ass up the stairs.
I kick my shoes off and line them up next to Penelope’s favorite jellies and hang my bag on the coat rack before falling face first into the couch. For someone who was pretending to be adamant about leaving, I’m having no issue making myself at home.
“Are you hungry?” Miller asks while locking the door.
Lifting my head off the couch cushion, I keep my voice low to not wake Penelope in her room. “You don’t have to cook for me.”
“Who said anything about cooking?” Miller opens one of the cabinets and pulls out a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. He grabs two bowls from the drying rack and two spoons from the drawer. He places one set in my designated seat at the island and keeps his set on the other side.
I hear the dry cereal being poured into one of the ceramic bowls, and I will my body to get up. I snatch the milk from the fridge, trying to help at least a little. I get situated on my barstool and watch Miller pour the perfect amount of milk over both of our mounds of sugary goodness.
He leans against the island and scoops a spoonful up into his mouth. The only sound is him chewing, and I’m the idiot sitting here mesmerized over a guy munching on children’s cereal in the middle of the night.
He swallows, and I watch his adam’s apple bob. The only light is coming from the light over the stove, and a small lamp in the living room so everything feels soft and quiet.
“Gwen?”
I snap out of my daze and the spoon I didn’t realize I was gripping crashes into the bowl. It sounds so much louder than it probably is, and I’m nervous I just woke Penelope up.
“Sorry!” I whisper-shout.
“Don’t be sorry. Eat your cereal before it gets soggy.” He points at me with his spoon and a classic Miller smirk on his face.
“Aye, aye.” I mock salute with my spoon before finally diving in.
We eat in comfortable silence, and it feels so much like a regular night that a deep pang rattles through me when I remember the reason why I’m sitting here in this kitchen right now.
“He bought the fucking house next to me,” I finally say again after a loud exhale. “I’m going to have to…see him. He just couldn’t let it go, huh? He had to blow everything up and then stick around to…I don’t even know what exactly he’s sticking around for.”
I don’t know if I’m rambling to Miller or myself, but I can’t stop now.
“Like, why bother? That’s what’s killing me.
It’s been how long now? I’m not going back.
I was never going back. There’s no love there.
We literally have nothing between us. I’ve been racking my brain all night trying to figure it out, and I just can’t. ”
“Do you want my opinion?” Miller asks as he clears our dishes, placing them in the sink.
I nod once. It’s a small thing, but I appreciate how he approaches boundaries.
“It’s a power thing. Guys like that…they don’t care if you’re done with them, or if you’ve walked away and said no.
I don’t know if Margot’s mentioned our dad, or even how much she remembers from her own experience with him, but he’s that kind of guy.
They’re miserable to their core and take it out on everyone around them. ”
“But you’re not like that,” I counter.
“I could have been. I don’t know the kind of person I would have been if Penelope didn’t come along. Hell, I still could turn into that.”
“I don’t believe that for a second. You’re good, Miller. You’re one of the good ones.”
He gives me a soft smile, and I get the pleasure of watching his cheeks turn pink. “I try, harder than I want to let on. But, forget about me. Did you have to see him today?”
“Oh, not just him. The whole happy family. It felt like a bad movie. And he was jingling the keys, taunting me. I can still hear them ringing in my damn ears.” I try to stifle the rogue yawn that hits me with no success.
Miller’s face twists up in disgust before my yawn triggers his own. “I’m sorry for waking you up,” I add.
“You didn’t. I hadn’t gone to bed yet,” he answers as he runs his right hand through his hair. His left hand is still planted on the island in front of me. His pinky ring glinting slightly in the dim light.
“Partying hard? Or was something keeping you up?” I can’t solve my problems, but maybe I can help with his.
“Nights are tough for me,” he says after a beat.
“Has it always been like that?” I readjust myself on the stool, resting my head on my arm and tucking one of my legs under my butt to get comfy.
“Yeah, but I’m used to it. I’ve been running off a few hours of sleep a night for as long as I can remember. It helped the first year of Penelope’s life, I’ll tell ya that.” He laughs.
“Oh, was she a tough sleeper as a baby?” If she was, you’d have no idea now. That kid can pass out anywhere.
“It wasn’t her fault. Her little belly couldn’t handle a lot of the formulas. It took us a while to get it right and until we did, she was up every few hours. It sucked being so helpless. I remember rocking her, bartering with any being up in the sky who’d give her a break.”
“Is she lactose intolerant?” I’m sure Penelope is in fact, not lactose intolerant. But I’d rather learn more about her and her dad than rehash the bullshit going on back on my street.
“Thankfully, no. You’ve seen her throw back pints of ice cream. She was just sensitive for a bit. But hey, I know you’re trying to change the subject. This whole thing is fucked up. They can’t make you uncomfortable in your own house.”
Well, so much for that plan…
“I know, I know,” I huff. “I just—I don’t know. My skin was crawling knowing they were right there. But, it’s ridiculous. I’ll get over it. I’m gonna head back.” Another yawn escapes me, and I shimmy off the barstool.
Next thing I know, Miller is on my side of the island, and his hand is gripping my wrist. His fingers wrap around me so delicately that it tickles.
His chest presses into my arm. The shadows and the quiet are making this a lot more intimate than I think he intended, and I find myself stuck in place, holding my breath.
His voice doesn’t go above a whisper as he leans into my ear. I feel goosebumps rise all over. “Why do you always run away from me, Gwen?”
Because you and your daughter deserve better. Because it’s easier to leave, rather than be left. Because I’m so fucking scared to let myself believe that someone will find a home in me, just to be another temporary resting place or helping hand.
I admit to none of those truths though. I take the cowardly route and pull from Miller’s hand, losing the comforting feeling of his thumb gently rubbing circles on the inside of my wrist. I wrap my arms around his neck and give a quick squeeze, breathing in the fresh smell of his shampoo.
“I’m not running. I’m just…I’m tired. We should both get some sleep.”
Miller looks like he’s about to object. Maybe if I was a different version of myself, I’d let him.
But I don’t leave room for the what could be’s. I say nothing when I get to the door and slip my shoes on. Miller silently follows me, picking my bag up off the hook and holding it out for me. His facial expression tells me everything he’s not saying. He’s sorry, and he wishes I’d stay.
I don’t tell him I’m sorry too, but I am. And I don’t tell him I wish I was staying, but I do.
I don’t think I could handle a friendship with Miller Caswell that included sleepovers, where I get to wake up in the morning to him and Penelope. I fear I wouldn’t recover when the game of playing pretend ended.
Miller unlocks the door and walks me down the stairs. He opens my car door for me and tells me to let him know when I get home. I thank him for everything and assure him I’ll be okay.
It feels forced and dull, and I hate it. But I have to stick to these stupid, self-imposed boundaries I created. If I tell myself it’s safer and better this way enough times, maybe I’ll finally start to believe it.
When I pull into my driveway ten minutes later, I see there’s still a light on upstairs at Mrs. Johnson’s Dean’s house. The window is cracked, and I hear the crying before I’m even fully out of my car.
The arguing between the two bozos who are in charge of taking care of that crying baby is somehow louder, though.
“It’s your turn to feed him, Dean! I can’t do this every night!”
“Sorry I don’t have milk tits!”
Laughing to myself, I make my way inside. I’m not the one having the worst night, and I’m taking that small win. Forgoing turning on any lights, I blindly climb the stairs to crash into my bed.
Before letting my eyes close, I make sure to send off a text to Miller to confirm I made it home safely. I’m assuming he’s fast asleep by now, but I see my phone light up before I can even set it down on my nightstand.
Miller
Get some rest. Bowl of cereal with your name on it here whenever you need it. Always.