Chapter 21 – Aston
ASTON
Our mothers leave in a tizzy of pregnancy and wedding party planning flutter, which officially means the word is out. Our moms will tell everyone in our families, and I guess that takes the burden off us. One less awkward conversation to have.
I shut and lock the door behind them, momentarily sagging against it. I started this train, and now I’m stuck riding on it, even as the brakes seem to have blown out and it’s racing down the tracks, headed straight for destruction.
A wedding party. Great. Zoey will never understand this, and I can’t fathom a way this doesn’t make her situation worse. Skylar’s too, probably.
Skylar walks straight past me into the kitchen, where she pulls a glass out of the cabinet, fills it with water from the fridge, and downs it in three huge gulps.
I have no clue what to say or how to help her with this.
In fact, I’m pretty positive she’s all set with my help and never wants me to speak to her again.
I seem to hurt everything I touch lately.
Or at the very least fuck it up somehow.
Zoey waves her fork wildly in the air. “We’re going to see the movie still, right?”
I nod and push myself away from the door to head back into the kitchen. “Yup. This afternoon.”
“Can I get the big popcorn? The one with the butter and stuff?” she asks, chewing with her mouth open, blissfully oblivious to all that’s happening.
“Sure,” I say because I don’t think I can say no to her today.
She saw something last night that reminded her of her mother, and she absolutely lost it.
I brought her home and lay in bed with her for an hour, holding her, comforting her, until she finally cried herself to sleep.
She made me promise I’d never die and leave her, which I can’t obviously promise.
If she asked for a Ferrari right now, I’d probably oblige.
A smile lights up her face, her lips glistening with syrup. “Sky’s coming too. We’re going to share popcorn and candy.”
“Sweetie, Skylar might have other plans today.” I go over to the stove and fix Skylar a plate.
She’s quiet. Hardly moving, and I have no clue what’s going through her head.
When the girl wants to shut down, she does it well and keeps everything roiling in her head and heart a mystery.
She likes her secrets, but they’re unfolding to everyone one by one.
I hand Skylar her plate. She eyes it dubiously but goes and sits down across from Zoey.
She hasn’t made any coffee for herself, and I don’t know if she wants any, and I’d rather not ask because fuck, it’s like I don’t even know how to talk to her anymore, so I just make her a cup how she likes it and set it in front of her.
She eyes it for a harsh minute before mumbling, “Thank you.”
“You’re not coming?” Zoey asks her, crestfallen.
Skylar puts on a happy-go-lucky smile, one no one could see through.
“Of course I’m coming. Popcorn, candy, and getting to hang out with you? Sign me up.”
A smile cracks my lips even as I wonder if she developed this talent from being a nurse and having to smile for kids despite knowing sometimes they won’t have the best outcomes or if this comes from her childhood when kids were dicks and she had to smile and appear unfazed or if it’s from covering the abuse she sustained from Josh.
All of those options piss me off, but I brush them aside. What am I doing trying to figure her out?
I shake myself out of my inane curiosity and make myself a plate minus eggs because eggs gross me out like few things in this world do, a large cup of black coffee, and sit beside Zoey.
I tell myself it’s to give Skylar space from me, but as I glance up at her, able to study her pretty face, I know it’s so I can watch her when she doesn’t realize I’m looking. Fuck. Last night has me spun.
I fell asleep with the taste and smell of her all over me.
Hating myself for how I ended it while convincing myself I had no other choice.
But she was the first thing on my mind this morning after being the last when I fell asleep, and that’s not a new phenomenon.
It’s been like that since I saw her outside the bar that night on Valentine’s Day.
Even before that, because she made Valentine’s Day her holiday for me two years ago.
I rub my forehead and take a sip of my coffee, staring at the kitchen counter, unable to stop myself from replaying last night through my head for the hundredth time since she ran upstairs on me.
I’ve never wanted a woman like this. Never had a taste and craved more.
That one kiss two years ago somehow rewired my brain into only seeing her, and what the fuck do I do about that?
Skylar isn’t eating either. She’s shuffling her food around on her plate, her left hand wrapped around the porcelain of the mug, and my gaze fixes on the diamonds.
She’s wearing them. I hadn’t expected that.
I thought they’d live in the jewelry box, and she’d only wear them when forced or in front of Josh.
I need to tell Zoey about this, but she’s a bit fragile. Maybe tonight.
I clear my throat. “Do you have a lot of things to move?” I ask, spinning my hat around on my head so it faces forward and I can watch her from beneath the brim.
“Yes,” she admits with a rueful laugh.
“You’re moving?” Zoey cries in horror, completely misinterpreting.
“No way,” Skylar tells her. “Your dad and I are simply switching bedrooms.”
Zoey is way too relieved by that, and acid burns up my stomach lining. My lungs constrict like I’m being held underwater, but no matter how hard I try to get to the surface, I can’t reach it. I just keep swimming in place and holding my breath, praying I don’t drown.
“So, we’re still going to the movie?”
“Absolutely. What are we seeing again?”
“Dog Cops.”
“Oh.” Skylar’s eyebrows bounce with amusement. “What’s it about?”
“Talking dogs who solve crimes,” I deadpan.
“No!” Zoey exclaims as if I’m an idiot. “He only talks to the girl.” Then she shrugs. “And his animal friends.”
“Naturally,” Skylar agrees. “It sounds awesome.”
Zoey wiggles in her seat and crunches on bacon when Skylar’s chair suddenly screeches back from the table. All the color has drained from her face, and without a word, she gets up and races toward the powder room off the entry.
“Is she okay?” Zoey asks, dripping in concern.
“I think she has an upset tummy.”
“Maybe the eggs made her sick like they do for you. Or maybe it’s just these eggs.”
I choke on a laugh. “Hey. What’s wrong with my eggs?”
She stabs them with her fork and holds up a chunk of them for me to see. “They weren’t good today. They’re brown on top.”
The grossness dangles from her fork, and sure enough, I burned her eggs. Clearly, I was a bit too preoccupied with thoughts of my wife.
“I’ll go check on her,” I offer. “You finish up and then clear your place. But be careful not to drop anything.”
“Can I color with markers after that?”
“Only on your art mat.”
She nods and hastily shoves food into her mouth so she can color.
“Slow down. I don’t want you to choke.” I kiss the top of her head and make my way down the hall to the bathroom.
“Skylar? Can I come in?”
“No. Go away.”
I open the door anyway, since she once again didn’t lock it, already anticipating she’d tell me that, and peek in to find her kneeling on the tile floor, her head resting on her arm that’s stretched over the plastic seat. Her hair sticks to her damp forehead and falls limply behind her.
Without thinking, I kneel beside her and brush the strands back from her face.
She swats at me. “I said go away,” she mumbles, but there’s no force behind it. I think she’s wrecked.
“And miss this glamorous moment? Never,” I tease, keeping my voice light. “Can I get you anyth—”
I’m cut off as she jerks up faster than a bullet and retches into the toilet. I pull her hair back so it doesn’t fall into her face as her body heaves with very little coming out. When she’s done, she groans and falls back to the position she was in before.
I grab a clean cloth from the cabinet under the sink, wet it with cold water, and hand it to her. She uses one side to wipe her mouth and chin and the other across her cheeks and forehead.
“This is humiliating. And gross.”
“True. How dare your body do exactly what we doctors say it will do? So inconsiderate.”
“God, there’s no limit to your arrogance. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Seeing me at my worst.”
I crouch back down and run my fingers along her cheek. “Skylar, trust me, this isn’t even close to your worst.”
She rolls her eyes, but her lips twitch even as she says, “Fuck you.”
“Not right now. At least not until you brush your teeth.”
She sits up, scooting until she’s pressed against the wall. I flush the toilet, though there’s not much in there other than a few traces of water and bile.
“Thank you,” she concedes grudgingly. “Even if you’re still a jerk.”
“Wouldn’t be me with you if I wasn’t.”
“Fair.” She sighs. “Christ, Aston. What have we gotten ourselves into? Our mothers are planning our wedding party. None of this was supposed to happen. They were going to listen as we told them what was up, and they were supposed to be quietly supportive.”
I close the lid of the toilet and sit on it. “It’s our mothers. We honestly should have anticipated this.”
“What will Zoey think about a wedding party where people talk like we’re in love and together?”
My elbows plant into my thighs, and I stare down at the floor between my feet. “I don’t know. I don’t even know what to say or how to phrase it, and I can’t exactly ask her therapist for help on that, though I do have to tell her I’m married now.”
“We had five days to figure this out between when you asked me and when we said ‘I do,’ and we didn’t.”
“It’s like what Monty Python says. ‘No one expects the Spanish Inquisition.’”
She snorts a laugh and sits up a little straighter. “Ain’t that the truth?”