Chapter 36
There’s been a shift in everything over the past few weeks—the weather and temperature, and the relationship between Tanner and me. The shift came the night I met his friends at the bar a few weeks ago, but other than that, I can’t explain it. It’s like we’ve settled into accepting that whatever this is between us is real and have built a routine around that. We spend a few days together during the week, often rotating which home we’ll be at, although I am slowly realizing I prefer being at his. Don’t get me wrong—I love my apartment. It’s my sense of solitude away from the chaos of life, but it’s also nice not being so alone all the time. Plus, there’s a comfort in Tanner’s home that I welcome. In some ways, this reminds me of my home away from home, and I thoroughly enjoy it. What we’re doing—taking our time and not jumping into sleeping together or forcing something to happen between us may be unconventional, but it works for us, and that’s what matters.
It also doesn’t dawn on me that while we agreed to take things slow on my behalf, in some ways, we’re doing it for him, too. It’s been a while since Tanner has been in a relationship—not since the failed engagement to Yasmin, and I’d be wrong to think that I was the only one who dealt with scars. Granted, mine stems from growing up feeling unloved or wanted by my family, but that doesn’t mean he can’t experience those same things within a different relationship.
We haven’t talked explicitly about Yasmin since we went to Connecticut a month ago, and we don’t need to. There isn’t anything that needs to be said that changes how I view Tanner, and there isn’t anything he needs to explain to me. It wasn’t my relationship, and I believe him when he says he’s over her. It isn’t a thought in my mind whether he is or not, but I know there is still some hurt from the relationship. More specifically, her cheating on him.
From witnessing it firsthand, I’d say there was some manipulation in that relationship that made him feel less than worthy, which is bullshit because nobody deserves to feel that way in their relationship, but I remind myself this isn’t mine to carry. Should he ever want to talk about it, I’ll be here for him, but sometimes we have to work through our inner scars alone and hope that somebody will be there waiting when we’re ready to come back.
“You’re quiet,” his deep voice muses from next to me. I’m currently sitting on the edge of his counter while he stirs something together in the soup he’s making. I’ve never had Lobster Bisque—for some reason, it’s never appealed to me, but he made me agree to try his version at least once before I completely threw in the towel on it. It just doesn’t make sense why you’d put lobster, arguably the best seafood ever, in a soup. I’ve eaten it in Vietnamese Pho and that was incredible, but other than that, it makes no sense to me. I’m choosing to trust him in this circumstance and hope he’s right in saying that it’s the best soup ever. Cage the Elephant’s “Cigarette Daydreams”plays on the record in the background, a welcoming melody to fill in the space between us, which I’ve been more focused on than the silence, anyway.
“Sorry,” I say once he glances over at me again, concern flickering across his face. “I’m just thinking.” “About?” “Everything and nothing,” I say. When he makes a face, I snicker and elaborate. “If somebody would’ve told me I would be sitting on your kitchen counter while you were making Lobster Bisque on a Saturday after we’ve had our first snowfall, I probably would’ve laughed,” I admit truthfully.
“Is it a bad thing that you’re here?” he asks carefully, although I can see the trepidation in his eyes. I shake my head.
“No. I find that I rather enjoy being in your company.”
His lips curl up, and he lifts his head from stirring the soup to lean over, pressing his lips against my shoulder. “I rather enjoy your company too, Daisy baby.”
I smile, running my fingers up his arm. I’ve felt nothing but bliss being with him over the past few weeks. We work together but don’t spend a ton of time chatting there because our schedules don’t align, but even in those moments of sneaking in quick ‘hellos’ or direct messaging on our team chat, I’m happy. Being in Tanner’s life—taking up the small fraction that I do—fills me with something I don’t think I’ve ever experienced before.
Maybe, just maybe, I deserve this small slice of bliss.
The silence takes over again, but it’s not uncomfortable by any means. I’m learning that Tanner and I don’t need to fill it with unnecessary conversation. It’s slowly becoming one of my favorite things about us, and I’m hoping eventually, I get to discover all of the other things I enjoy about us, too.
“Hey,” he asks after a few minutes, bringing the ladle to his mouth and taking a sip, his lips smacking together to determine the taste. He grabs the salt from the opposite counter I’m sitting on and puts some in the soup, quickly mixing it in before dropping the temperature to a simmer. He leans against the kitchen island, his palms resting flat against the countertop. “What are you doing for Thanksgiving this year?”
A slice of dread plummets through me, breaking through the bliss. I don’t think anybody hates holidays more than I do. Maybe it’s a result of my upbringing and not having a family to lean on, but there hasn’t ever been a time throughout my life when the holidays were joyful. It was the complete opposite. Either isolating in my bedroom growing up because my parents were fighting or being yelled at by my mom for not acting like an “adult.” Newsflash: kids don’t need to “act” like anything, yet that was expected of me since I was old enough to articulate words. Plus, my birthday falls on the holiday this year, which is absolutely awful. The last thing I want to do is celebrate two days I hate more than most in a year at the same time.
“Well,” I say thoughtfully. “My birthday happens to fall on Thanksgiving this year, so I’ll probably be sitting in my apartment.”
He raises his eyebrows in surprise, tilting his head curiously. “When is your birthday?”
“November 23rd.”
He thinks for a moment, most likely figuring out what day it is today and how many days there are from now until Thanksgiving before nodding. “You’re right. Thanksgiving is on your birthday this year.”
“I know,” I muse, a smirk on my lips.
He steps away from the stove and folds his arms across his chest, its broadness expanding as he watches me. “You’re just going to sit at home for your birthday?”
I shrug casually. “It’s not a big deal. I do it most years if Sam or Gia are busy. This year, Gia is going back home to Seattle and Sam is heading out to New York to be with his family.”
“But you’re staying home,” he reiterates, his eyebrows indenting. He’s seemingly upset about me not having any plans, and I shrug both my shoulders.
“It isn’t a big deal. I personally enjoy the solitude during this time of year,” I say. “Gives me more time to reflect on my life and the goals I have for myself, where I’d like to be in the next few years, and so on.”
He nods, brows still bunched together. I laugh at the sight, mainly because he seems to be fixated on this.
“What?”
“I don’t like the idea of you being home alone on your birthday.”
I hum. “Well, what are you doing for Thanksgiving?”
“I’ll be at my parents’ house,” he replies, stepping forward to check on the soup again before side-stepping so he’s standing in between my legs. My arms naturally rest on top of his shoulders, and he turns his head to press his lips against my upper arm. “You could always come with me.”
I jerk back in surprise, blinking a few times like that’s going to suddenly make me able to hear him properly. “What?”
He shrugs, knowing I’d most likely pretend I didn’t hear him. I’m not pretending, but I’m definitely surprised. I wasn’t expecting an invitation to his family’s Thanksgiving, nor was I asking for one. His hands rest against my hips, rubbing them through the fabric of my leggings. “Yeah, why not? It’ll be my parents, Brooke, and some of my aunts and uncles with their kids, but it’ll be fun. You’re more than welcome.”
“Oh,” I say, unsure what else there is to say. Meeting family is a big deal, and I wouldn’t want to give them the wrong impression in case things didn’t work out between Tanner and I. Granted, we also haven’t had that conversation in a while, but still. The silence is enough to make him think twice.
“You don’t have to,” he retracts. “But it’s going to be low-key. We have a big family, but we’re not crazy.”
My hands find the back of his hair, running through his scalp. He shudders, pressing another kiss to my arm. “It’s not that,” I say. “Meeting family is kind of a big deal, don’t you think?”
He shrugs. “Depends how you look at it. My family is chill, and you already know Brooke and my dad, so it’s just my mom you’d have to meet..”
Yeah. Moms and I don’t usually mesh well, though.
For some reason, I don’t want to say no to him. How could I, when he’s looking at me with so much hope in bright green eyes? But instead, I settle for what feels safer for now, when I can fully process it when I’m away from him. “I’ll think about it,” I promise.
That settles something in him, because he nods once, kisses me quickly, and reaches back to grab my arms over his shoulders. He kisses each palm of my hand before stepping back to the oven to check on the soup.
“I’ll ask them regardless,” he offers casually. “Just ask if they’d be cool if I potentially bring you, if you were feeling up to it.”
Something relaxes in me, knowing that he’d be willing to at least get their permission. I don’t like blindsiding people almost as much as I hate being blindsided, and showing up to a Thanksgiving when I wasn’t properly invited by the family is enough to make me break out in hives. I couldn’t see why any family would say no to additional people at their homes during the holidays—people tend to be more merry and grateful, and if the rest of Tanner’s family is anything like him, or his dad, I couldn’t see them saying no. They seem like the family who would be offended that you stayed at home alone, rather than just showing up. They’re like the, “We always have extra plates!” type of people. Still makes me want to break out in hives, but not as bad. “I’d appreciate that,” I reply, turning to look at him. “Thank you, Tanner.”
He glances at me, his face soft with something I don’t want to contemplate long on. “No problem.”
The rest of the day is filled with that contented silence, the sound of the soup boiling, and different records Tanner switches out every so often as we cuddle on his couch, talking about everything and nothing. At one point, snow starting falling from the sky again as he massaged my feet, laughing at my rant about the conspiracies of the ocean. It’s been a picture perfect day, made better by the guy my heart is slowly and fully opening up to.
It’s been a long, long time since I’ve ever felt so relaxed and safe—maybe for the first time ever. There are select moments in my life when I’ve experienced these feelings, and it hasn’t been enough to note that this time is like those. Spending time with Tanner is something else entirely. The safety and security I feel with him weigh down like a weighted blanket—a constant reassurance I didn’t think I needed until I had it, and for some reason, deep inside, I don’t want to lose that. Not now, or ever.
And I think I kind of like it.