28. Michelle
Chapter 28
Michelle
“ A ll three of us can’t fit in a bed.”
“Ooh, but we could sing campfire songs while we’re going to sleep!” Sara teases.
Dad peers over The Wall Street Journal . “Could be fun.”
I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. Sara laughs, loudly slurping her coffee. I’m not laughing at all.
We overbooked the inn. I had a feeling it would get crowded for Thanksgiving, but part of me assumed people would want to celebrate with their families in the comfort of their own home. Turns out, at least three people didn’t care to discuss politics or religion with their crazy uncle or abrasive grandma. Now, all three guest rooms are full, which leaves only my king-size bed for me, my sister, and my dad with a bad back.
“Okay”—I walk to the hall closet and heave out the heavy, deflated rubber air mattress—“I’ve got this I can sleep on.”
Dad folds down his paper. “You’re not sleeping on a cot, Shellfish. I’ll take the?—”
“No,” Sara and I both snap at the same time.
“You’re definitely taking the bed,” I demand, and Sara nods firmly in agreement.
“You have to run this place,” he argues. “You need good sleep.”
“I can run on no sleep.”
That’s wrong. I’m actually a high-maintenance sleeper. I always wear an eye mask and earplugs. One time, I accidentally popped one out at three in the morning, and the next day, I stumbled down the sidewalk to work through bleary eyes, clutching a massive coffee. But my dad doesn’t need to know that.
The back door opens, and Emily strides in with a backpack over her shoulders. Cold air sweeps in behind her until the door shuts, blinds snapping against the window.
“Getting coffee before school,” she says without looking at us. “I’ll be quick. Britt’s outside.”
I lean to the side to find a teeth-chattering six-year-old in a color-block windbreaker, gripping the straps of her pink backpack for dear life.
“Doesn’t Brittany want to come inside?” Sara asks.
Emily groans. “She’s still afraid of Rocket. But”—she grabs a to-go mug from the cabinet and shrugs—“she’s at least in your yard. That’s progress.”
As if on cue, Rocket’s ears perk up from his dog bed, and he taps to the window, jumping to rest his paws on the windowsill. His tail cautiously wags as he presses his nose against the glass, sending pulsing puffs of heat on the surface.
Brittany stares at him for a moment, then slowly raises her mitten in a small wave. Rocket’s tail shakes more.
“Oh my God, I didn’t even think about Rocket!” Sara says, leaning back in her chair more. “So, we’ve got three adults and a dog in one room for a week?”
“What?” Emily asks.
“It’s nothing,” I say. “We overbooked the inn. It’s not a big deal.”
“It’s sort of a big deal,” Sara interjects.
“I can take the air mattress,” Dad mumbles to himself.
“Dad,” I warn.
“You should stay with us,” Emily blurts out.
My family goes dead quiet, like a gust of November wind blew through and chilled us to the bone. But when I look around, my sister and Dad are nodding, as if considering this idea.
So, maybe I’m the only one who’s shocked.
The inn is fully booked the night before Thanksgiving and the night of. That’s two nights. Two nights where Emily expects me to sleep under the same roof as Cliff?
As if reading my mind, Sara flashes me a devilish grin.
I slide my clammy hands over my skirt. “Em, shouldn’t you talk to your dad first?”
She blows air through her lips. “Psht, he won’t have a say. He’s trying to get on my good side.”
“Well, you can’t surprise your dad with this.”
The back door swings open again, bringing with it another gust of near-winter chill and Cliff himself. He’s wearing a dark brown corduroy jacket with the cuffs of his long-sleeved maroon shirt peeking through the ends. His freshly shaven jaw scratches against the collar when he turns.
“Em, why is your sister outside?” he asks, throwing a thumb over his shoulder.
“Rocket,” Emily says, spinning the cap of her mug to secure it. “I’m heading back out now.”
He blows out a breath. “Coffee’s a good idea. I’ve got the truck already running.”
“I’ll get the heat going. Oh, and I invited Michelle to stay with you for a couple of days.” Emily throws that in like a tossed grenade. As the back door closes, she quickly says, “Okay, bye. See you.”
Cliff’s eyes catch mine, then quickly dart to Sara. It feels so sudden, like he didn’t want to look at me to begin with.
My brow furrows.
“Emily was being funny,” I say.
“Why would she say that though?”
Cliff looks between Sara and Dad. Not me.
“We’re overbooked for Thanksgiving,” my dad says behind the paper, indicating he never left the conversation fully.
“Huh,” Cliff considers, then says, “Well, yeah, Michelle can take my bed.”
Leave it to Cliff to be unfazed by this news.
“That’s not—” I shake my head. “No, we’re not doing that.”
“And I’m not asking,” he says quickly. It’s weird how he’s somehow balancing both a generous offer while also looking like he’s one step away from never allowing me near his house again.
Is he upset with me?
“This is perfect,” Sara says.
I shake my head. “No, I don’t think?—”
“It’s not a problem,” Cliff finishes.
“Maybe we should?—”
Then, Rocket barks. Why are you so nervous about this, Shelly?
I close my eyes. “Can you people quit interrupting me for two seconds?”
The room goes quiet again.
I open my eyes and find Cliff staring. His mouth is in a straight line. I hate that I can read Cliff like a book. And while I’ve never seen him like this, process of elimination tells me this is a new type of irritation, aimed directly at me.
But why?
“Stay with me,” he insists.
I let out a frustrated exhale, peering over at Sara with her bottom lip pulled in and her shoulders raised to her ears. She gives the cheekiest grin imaginable.
“It does make the most sense,” she agrees innocently. “I don’t know Cliff as well as you do.”
I narrow my eyes. She knows what she’s doing.
“Perfect,” Cliff says.
His words don’t sound perfect at all. Not even a little bit.
“Got more coffee for me?” he asks Sara.
Sara—not me.
Why isn’t he talking to me?
“Half a pot. Have at it,” she says.
He smiles at her, patting her back when he passes by her.
Her. Not me.
Cliff makes his coffee with the same familiarity as his daughter. My chest strains when he walks past me to leave, a quick bit of warmth and cinnamon following. It’s like I’m both drawing closer, but also being kept at arm’s length. The same ends of a magnet, pushing when we’ve been pulled together for so long.
“Bye, Cliff!” Sara says with a wave.
“Bye, guys.”
He leaves through the door without even a second glance.
Oh, screw this.
In only my jeans and tucked-in button-up, I rip open the back door and walk out barefoot onto the stone steps. The door snaps shut behind me as the cold surface freezes my toes. I clutch the outside of my arms, now prickled with chills, and stride forward.
“Cliff!”
He turns on the spot with the coffee mug halfway to his lips. His eyes scour over my shivering body.
“Hey, Michelle.” The sentence feels almost exhausted.
My face drops, along with my mouth. “I … well, I just …” I hate when I stumble over my words like this. I hate feeling out of control in a conversation, and I feel at a loss for words more than ever. This isn’t my Cliff. Not even a little. “You seem irritated.”
“I am,” he confirms without hesitation, making my head jerk back. His words are so matter-of-fact. Transactional.
“Why?” I ask stiffly, mirroring his same tone.
He looks back to his truck idling in his driveway, hazy puffs from the exhaust warming the chilly air. Loud music from the radio blasts inside. Brittany taps Emily on the shoulder, and Emily looks like she’s seconds away from murdering her little sister.
Cliff faces me again, resting his eyes on my lips before looking back up.
“Because I’m really confused about us and I’m trying to sort through it,” he confesses.
My body heats. Goose bumps skitter over my arms. For once, I’m not sure I like how honest Cliff is.
“Us?” I ask.
“Us,” he echoes. “We agreed it was fine if we were friends, but … then you set me up on a date with your sister. And … it’s not … I don’t know. I said yes, so it’s my fault too.”
“If you felt weird about it, why’d you agree?” I ask.
“Because you told me I needed to move on. And, listen, you’re right, but …” He groans, as if upset with himself now. “But then I found out you never really felt the same about it as I did. And that …” He shakes his head. “That wasn’t fun to hear. Especially since it didn’t come from you.”
I’m speechless, my mouth opening and closing like a gutted fish. And part of me is gutted, torn in two because … not having feelings for Cliff? I snort, crossing my arms at my own thoughts. Quite frankly, I have too many feelings for this man. And right now, they’re bordering on frustration.
“Cliff—”
“It’s fine,” he says. “Really. I’ll get over it.”
“No, it’s not fine at all. Let’s talk about this.”
“Later.”
“Why not now? I didn’t say that. And it’s not true.”
He pinches his nose. “Michelle, it’s seven in the morning. I’ve already been up since four to prep the bakery, and I’m about to be late driving my daughters to their last day of school before break.” He holds his palm out. “And you’re standing there, freezing your ass off. I mean”—he laughs sardonically—“what type of conversation do you want to have right now?”
My blood pressure rises up to my ears.
“I don’t know,” I admit sharply. I repeat on a haughty breath, “I don’t know, Cliff. But I did have feelings. I do. I …” I shake my head. “I don’t know. You’re right. We can’t talk about it right now.”
He nods understandingly, the small bit of the Cliff I know seeping through. “All right.” He turns to walk toward the car, then whirls back around with a sigh. “And, for the record, of course it’s okay if you stay with us. Don’t think my irritation has any bearing on our friendship.”
“How can it not?” I say on a disbelieving laugh.
“Because you mean more to me than just a simple, confusing kiss.”
The quiet around us is deafening. The wind whips past my ears, but suddenly, I don’t feel so cold.
He runs his free palm through his hair. A little strand sticks out. “Stay with me.”
“What?”
“For Thanksgiving. I’ll take one of the girls’ beds since they’ll be gone anyway.”
I’m frozen on the spot, shivering in the whipping wind.
Cliff eyes my arms, then lurches forward for half a second, like maybe he wants to rub the chill from me, but instead pauses and grits his teeth. “And, for God’s sake, go inside. You’re gonna catch a cold or something.”
I don’t move from my spot as Cliff tightens his fist, then stretches it out. He turns on his heel, and his boots thump on the stone walkway. He crunches through the hard, dying grass between our yards and gets in his truck. He shuts the door, turns down the loud radio, and putters out of his driveway with Brittany and Emily blinking back at me through the window.