Chapter 17 Gwen - Is this an ambush? #2
“Oh for Christ’s sake. Get out of the way, Caswell.” Sawyer brushes past, walking straight into the kitchen. Penelope follows after him without prompting, curiously whipping her head in every direction to check out this new place.
“Sure, make yourself at home, Sawyer. No worries.”
“I have for the last twenty or so years, Red,” Sawyer calls without looking back.
“He’s just a bit grumpy because we were…preoccupied when Miller called. But we’re happy to be here!” Margot raises up onto her toes and kisses me on the cheek before passing through the doorway, taking the pizzas from Miller’s arms with her.
Miller tries to shake the disgusted look off his face with no success. “Literally no one here needed to know that, Marge.”
“That’s what you get for calling me Marge, Mills!” Margot shouts.
“Is anyone going to tell me what’s going on?” I finally ask.
The three already inside ignore me. Miller is the only one to respond. “Family pizza night. For the record, I did come up with the idea about an hour ago so nothing is set in stone. But it seems pretty solid, so we’re running with it.”
“And you guys couldn’t have done this…at either of your places?” I think I’m missing something here.
“Well, Margot said you’ve sort of locked yourself away again. So, we had to bring the party to you.”
“But, I’m not family.”
Miller smiles like he knows something I don’t, and it almost knocks me down.
He is so painfully handsome, I think it’s a crime that he wastes his time at the bank when he should be walking in NYFW or something.
He’s wearing a worn black leather jacket with a thin red stripe going down each sleeve.
It’s open with a plain black T-shirt underneath, one of his hundred, I’m sure.
He has on the same jeans from the other night, cuffed to meet the top of his black laced-up boots.
That crush I had in high school on Sodapop from The Outsiders is making a lot more sense right about now.
He doesn’t acknowledge the fact I just dropped on him, running his hand through his dark curls. “You gonna invite me in?”
“I didn’t realize you were waiting.”
“I’ve got nothing but time when it comes to you, Gwendolyn.”
I—I think there’s a hidden meaning in that. The shiver that wiggles down my spine would agree. But I step aside to usher him through without questioning it.
He takes in his surroundings as he walks down the short hallway that leads into the kitchen, stopping to check out the pictures of me throughout my years of school framed on the wall.
As my parents' one and only child, the majority of photos in the house are of just me. I do realize with living here alone that does make me look completely self-centered, but the reality is I just never got around to decorating the place the way I wanted to. When Dean and I moved in, I was busy perfecting the cafe. And when he left, I just didn’t care.
Miller pauses on the one picture my parents ever hung from my wedding. Which, looking back now, probably should have been a sign of how bad shit was going to go down. It’s a shot that was taken from behind. It’s a candid where I’m facing a full length mirror, smoothing out my dress.
Dean’s mom hired the hair stylist and she opted for a tight, high bun.
Not what I would have picked, but I didn’t have the energy to argue.
It gave me a headache an hour into the day.
You can see the apprehension tattooed on my face.
I told myself they were normal wedding day jitters, but I remember thinking I always expected it to feel different.
I look objectively beautiful. I’m sure that’s why my parents picked this picture to showcase. But it’s not me. I don’t think it ever was.
“I hope you don’t take this the wrong way. You’re beautiful. You always are, but this isn’t it.”
“Isn’t what?” I ask with a laugh.
“It’s just not you, ya know?” He turns his head to me and looks at me like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“I mean, your hair. That’s like, your identifier.
You told me that once, it’s been that way since you were born.
It’s big and beautiful and you have it slicked back and trapped away for what? You can’t tell me you picked this.”
I walk over to stand next to him, inspecting the photo alongside him. “I didn’t, but it also didn’t seem like the thing to make a fuss about. I mean, like you said, I look fine.”
“You look more than fine, Gwen. But it was your wedding day. You’re in the white dress and everything,” Miller argues.
He’s very invested in this, and I’m not sure why.
It was never a big deal to me. Being married and starting a family was, but the giant, frilly wedding was something I was more than okay with living without.
“Does it even matter now?” I don’t ask it in a self-deprecating way. It’s just truly not worth the time. As a matter of fact…
I yank the frame off the wall, open my hallway closet up, and chuck it inside. It topples down the mountain of other useless junk I’ve let accumulate in there and lands with a soft thud before I shut the door.
You know what? That felt damn good.
“Uh…” Miller says. I wait for him to finish his thought, but he doesn’t.
I clap my hands together. “And this concludes our tour. Please make your way into the kitchen.”
I hear Margot pulling plates out of cupboards, and Penelope telling Sawyer a very over-the-top story from her day at school. I still don’t really know why everyone is here, but it’s nice to feel like there’s life and joy in this house again.
Miller doesn’t move from where he’s standing. “You doing okay?” he asks in a voice low enough for no one else to hear.
I quickly nod and immediately feel guilty for lying. I really haven’t been okay, but Miller is the last person who should have to try to pick up my broken pieces. I pushed him away. I deserve to handle this on my own.
“You wanna try that again, Gwen?”
“Is this impromptu family pizza night secretly an ambush, Miller?”
“What? No. Yes. I mean—No. Sort of?” He raises his shoulders with a sheepish look. “Look, as your…friend. I wanted to check on you. Your other friends in there wanted to do the same.” He tilts his head to the kitchen where absolutely no one is paying us any mind.
His hesitation on the word friend makes me want to punch myself in the face. Why am I the way that I am?
“Well, thank you. I appreciate the thought and the effort to wrangle the crew together. Besides, when I called George, it was to place an order for pick up to bring over to you so…”
“Same brain.” Miller shoots me one of those smiles that light up his whole face, but then he gets serious. “But really, is this about the other night? Because I feel like shit.”
“Wait, what? Why?” Yes, my current hermitting as Margot calls it is because of the other night, but it has nothing to do with Miller.
“I acted like such a dick. You’re allowed to say anything you want to me, in fact I prefer it.
I’m not good at communication but I won’t shut down like that again.
I’m really working on it. I wanted to give you some time yesterday and had planned on coming over here earlier, but the day got away from me at work, and then Penelope got home from school… ”
I get distracted by the way he tugs on his hair. I think about how I wasted the opportunity to tangle my own fingers through it the other night and how I still don’t know how it feels to pull it while we’re… Focus, Gwen.
“What I’m trying to say is, I’m sorry. Please don’t hide out because of me.”
Okay, I need to nip this in the bud now.
“I’m not hiding out because of you. After our…
conversation the other night, when I got home…
” Oh, God. I do not want to do this. Miller has been begging for an excuse to knock Dean out, and while I have no desire to protect Dean, I’m concerned about Miller’s future.
He can’t risk getting into trouble over me.
“What happened?”
“When I got home, Dean was here. In the driveway. He was trying to piss me off or scare me, or I don’t know.
I guess it worked. I fucking hate that he’s right there.
” I look in the general direction of the house next door.
Miller doesn’t follow my movement. Instead his eyes stay laser focused on me.
“Did he touch you?” His voice is cold, absolutely nothing like the Miller I’ve gotten to know. But I’m not scared. My body recognizes I’m safe.
My hand instinctively wraps around my bicep where Dean grabbed me and I realize my mistake when Miller tracks the movement. “He was drunk.”
“Did. He. Touch. You.”
“I told him to leave. He wouldn’t. I tried to pass him. He tried to stop me. It worked for half a second. I’m fine.”
“You’re fine? This piece of shit thinks you’re his property, Gwen.”
“Oh, I am well aware…” I mumble, remembering Dean’s words about how what I do and who I see will always be his business.
“This stops now.”
I don’t have time to think or react before Miller is moving past me in the opposite direction of the kitchen, back out through my front door.
Shit.