Chapter 42 Sam
SAM
I have to keep asking questions, or I’m going to kiss her. Every time she looks down at my lips, I have to remind myself that this is a first date and ultimately it’s about more than what we physically have. But holy hell, is it ever hard.
“Well, relocating has been interesting. Lots of moving parts with paperwork and finding a place to live. Of course, Maggi starting school has taken a lot of my attention. I want to find a job, but that’s most likely a next year thing.
I think I need to establish some kind of routine before jumping back into work. ”
“Are you wanting to get back into flowers?” I ask, picking up my slice of pizza again and taking a bite.
“Ideally. Martha and Thomas have talked about investing in something with me, but it has to be right. I don’t want them taking that risk just because they feel like they have to support me.”
I stop chewing as her words sink in and swallow. “Those two definitely don’t do things for you or Maggi out of obligation. You’re their damn world, Rosie.”
She blinks back, her forehead pinching. “I keep trying to tell myself that, but it’s hard. I want to prove things on my own. Eric,” she pauses, eyes searching my face.
“Eric?” I urge.
“Eric was the best cheerleader, but I wasn’t great at accepting any help from him aside from the moral kind. I had a lot to prove. Or at least that’s what I told myself. I’m bad at accepting help.”
“You seemed willing to at the wedding,” I challenge.
“That wasn’t about me, though. Family is important and Maggi getting to spend quality time with her grandparents and aunt was a big deal.
And at the time, I didn’t know if we’d be staying longer.
I drive them nuts now any time they let me know they’ll happily watch her so I can go out and have a life, I insist that it’s okay.
‘Lass, we wouldn’t offer if we didn’t want to,’” she says with a rough Scottish brogue.
“Soon we won’t be sharing their home and Maggi won’t get nearly as much time with them so I put my pride to the side and suck it up. ”
“Are you happy?” I ask.
She looks at me for a while. “I am right now.” She finally says.
I want to push her because I mean, in general, but I have a feeling she’s dealing with some complicated feelings that time will hopefully help sort out. Early days, I suppose.
“Well, how could you not be? We’ve got four kinds of pizza,” I tease, pulling a slice of the Brekky off the tray and sliding it onto her plate. “I feel like this one should be eaten while it's still pretty hot.” I nod at the egg yolk in the middle of the slice.
“So, what now?” Rosie asks as we head out to the sidewalk.
I shift the two pizza boxes with our leftovers in my hands and look both directions. “Care to go visit the Duke?”
“Shall we make a bet on whether or not he’s got his hat on this evening?”
I scoff because, of course, he does. “I lived here for over a decade and never saw him without it.”
“Really?”
“Really,” I confirm.
“Well, the night I met Eric, the Duke of Wellington was not wearing his hat. So, I will take the bet. And when I win, you’ll let me take you out for sundaes two nights from now.”
I could argue and tell her that the sundae thing is mine, but there’s no point. “And if I win?”
“If you win”—her eyes trail slowly down the length of my body, lighting me up—“you’ll let me buy you a sundae.”
I laugh and then grab my stomach because I’m too damn full. “I should be excited about ice cream for any reason, but damn, I am so full.”
Rosie’s hand runs across her abdomen and she nods. “There’s a reason I’m suggesting two nights from now. It’s going to take at least that much time for me to be hungry again.”
“We better put these in the car and go see if you’ll be buying me a sundae in two days or if… you’ll be buying me a sundae in two days.”
“It’s going to smell like pizza by the time we get back.” I turn to see her grimacing.
“Maybe we’ll have worked up an appetite again from all the walking,” I joke, shutting the door and turning back to her.
“Seems unlikely, but I guess anything could happen.” She shrugs, smirking up as she moves closer, her fingers slipping between mine.
I want to stop and stand here holding her hand. I want to be holding her hand in the middle of nowhere, only the two of us, far from the rest of the world. But I give her hand a gentle squeeze as we head toward George Square.
She asks how I’m doing in that way people do when they’re unsure about how to bring up your depression.
And I tell her she can always ask me that without worrying.
I tell her that the sports psychologist employed by the team has connected me with a psychotherapist and even though I’ve only met him briefly, I got a good vibe.
I have my first full session next Tuesday morning but ultimately I hope that being in a better place mentally helps.
I tell her that I’m actually excited about working on myself for the first time since my retirement.
Rosie tells me she’s happy for me and is excited for me too.
She tells me about the other parents she’s met and has breakfast with once a week, including Peter the cardiologist, who is nice and all but not really her type.
She leans into me a bit when she says it and I convince myself that she did it on purpose and it wasn’t because there was a smashed ice cream on the sidewalk.
I find myself imagining what it would be like to join them for those breakfasts, to care about what other parents are saying about their kids. To care about what kind of new friends Maggi is making. Hoping she’s making good ones.
What would it be like to be there when she gets home from school, full of stories about her day?
What would it be like to help put her to bed?
I imagine she likes to be read to, probably something about mythical creatures so she can go to sleep and dream of all the adventures the next day could hold.
I want to know how Rosie spends the rest of her night. Does she watch something or read until she falls asleep? Whatever it is she does, I want to be doing it with her.
“Would you look at that,” she says, pulling me to a stop at the base of the famous Duke of Wellington statue. “Looks like I owe you a sundae.”
The Duke does indeed have an orange and white pylon sitting atop his head.
“It would appear that you do, indeed.” I grin down, wondering if now would be a good time to finally kiss her while she gazes up at me.
The moment passes when a jogger yells at us to get out of the bloody way, leaving Rosie laughing into my chest. When she looks back up, she gestures with her head in the direction of Royal Exchange Square before pulling me along behind her.
“This is my favourite place in the city at night,” she says, her head tipped back, taking in the canopy of faerie lights that stretches across the square.
“We brought Maggi here one Saturday, and she pulled Thomas to a stop and gazed up for about ten minutes before we insisted we had to keep moving.”
I look up, trying to imagine what it would look like to a five-year-old with an active imagination. It’s pretty, sure, but I’m not sure it’s more than that for me. When I look back at Rosie though, well, I start to really see the appeal as the lights reflect in her eyes and make her skin glow.
A breeze blows through the square, and she moves closer to me, seeking body heat. I wrap my arms around her and pull her close, relaxing as her arms wrap around my back and she rests her chin on my chest, her eyes still on the lights.
There are still plenty of people out and about, but at this moment it feels like it’s only us.
I take a deep breath and then do the responsible thing. I open my mouth and suggest that I should get her home.
She hums in agreement, her gaze lingering a bit longer above us before she pulls away, and we walk in comfortable silence back to the car.
I park in front of the house again, knowing that Maggi is likely in bed, sound asleep, but not willing to risk her possibly seeing me. Rosie hasn’t told her I’m here; she doesn’t want to until we have had time to figure this thing out. And despite my impatience, I understand completely.
“Thank you for a great date,” she says, unbuckling her seatbelt then leaning over and dropping a chaste kiss on my cheek. “I’ll see you in two days for sundaes.”
She offers one last smile then slides out of the car and walks away, in a nearly identical goodbye as when I dropped her off the first time. This time, however, I know this isn’t really goodbye, and it’s the only thing that keeps me from jumping out of the car and chasing after her.
A message pops up as I’m plugging my phone in before bed, and I sink onto the bed to read her words over and over again.
Rosie
I wish I’d given you a proper kiss goodnight.
Thursday. I’ll hold you to that kiss.
Xox
I can feel each of those letters, and I flop back onto the bed with the memory of what her lips feel like on mine.
Of what they feel like as they ghost down my neck and across my chest. The way she would pause at my hip, her fingers dipping into the V of muscle there.
She hasn’t touched me in weeks, and I can still feel her like it was yesterday.
She’s the only ghost I’m unwilling to let go of.