Chapter 6
so meat
Cian
The banging on my door is unexpected. It’s six in the morning. There’s no way I could sleep anyway. Two nights ago, I finally saw Sariah again. Last night, I held her in my arms until I made the choice to peel myself away and let her get some rest.
Pulling open the door, I find my sister, Ayla, looking way worse than I expected.
“Come in, sis.”
Instead, she falls into my chest, grips my shirt like it’s the only thing holding her upright, and sobs.
Eleanor is at her side in an instant. My girl nuzzles her favorite human and leans her support into Ayla’s leg.
There we stand for several long minutes.
Me holding my sister. My pup taking her flank with my front door wide open and Colorado morning sunshine streaming in.
My sister cries as if every good thing in her life was a mirage that evaporated, and she’s left holding the empty air of every possible dream she could’ve dreamt.
Finally, when her sobbing subsides enough for her to breathe, I kiss the top of her head. “Come in, Ayla.” I offer again. “Want an omelet?”
It’s a thing with us. I’m a decent cook. I don’t have a ton in my repertoire, but my omelets are spot on.
She shakes her head, but says, “Okay.”
I close the door and wrap an arm around her shoulders, leading her through the naturally lit great room with its story-and-a-half windows to the large, pale kitchen. She takes a seat at the island and draws her fingers along the veins in the marble as I light the stove and move to the fridge.
I can’t see my dog, but I know with certainty she’s at Ayla’s feet looking like she hung the moon. Or more aptly, created the entirety of the Front Range just for her to wander.
“Want to go for a hike after breakfast?”
She shrugs, dragging her fingers over the pattern in stone, staring at her work as if losing her place were the worst thing in the world. “Remember the last time we made omelets?”
I do. It wasn’t that long ago. “That was a rough night.”
“The night before last was worse.”
“I missed it coming in late, but, sis, I can’t imagine it being worse.”
“He hates me. I hate me.” She smacks her temple with too much force. “Why won’t my brain work?”
“Christian doesn’t hate you. Your husband is…” How does one describe my brother-in-law? “Intense.”
“He thinks I lied to him.”
All I can do is nod. “And maybe you did. You can’t control that now. Can’t go back and fix it. I’m not saying you get a pass, but amnesia really does throw a wrench in the works.”
I crack some eggs and whisk them, setting them aside to chop meat and veggies. “Want it all?” I tilt my head to the cutting board.
“I guess.” Her shrug is accompanied with tears brimming her eyes.
“Ayla,” I call, waiting for her to look up at me. A tear streams down her cheek. “You’re not a crier. You’re a doer. Those tears”—I wave my hand in her general direction—“are telling. So use them. And then tell me what you need of me, and we’ll find a way to make it happen, okay?”
“What can I do to fix things?”
“I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out on our hike. That work?”
She nods a little, going back to her counter tracing.
“How hungry are you?”
She put her thumb and forefinger a little way apart. Yeah, that’s not going to work for an omelet, but I have an idea. The eggs in and sizzling, I dump the toppings on and add a healthy layer of pre-shredded cheese.
Once it’s mostly cooked, I toss it under the broiler. When it comes out bubbly and golden brown, I slice a piece and plate it up for her and make another for me.
“Coffee?” I lift the carafe her way only to see her decline. Oh shit, things are worse than they seem. Ayla never turns down coffee. I pour her some anyway and a glass of orange juice before taking the seat next to her.
I was right. Eleanor is between her legs, gazing up at my sister as if I don’t even exist. At my whistle, she goes to her bed to lie down, though if I had to guess, she’s most unhappy about the turn of events. She’s well trained but spoiled—the best of all worlds.
I push Ayla’s plate toward her. “Eat. You’ll regret it once we get on the trail if you don’t.”
Wordlessly, she stabs a bite and forks it into her mouth.
The women in my life… Mom is sick. Ayla has amnesia and is, well, Ayla, which says enough. Sariah is fearful. Renée is a teenager. And my perfect dog is huffing on her bed. If I didn’t know better, I’d say the universe was conspiring to outweigh my testosterone in one fell swoop.
“Eat up.” I wave my fork in the direction of her frittata after she waits too long. “My brain could use the fresh air. You need the sunshine. Eleanor loves to explore. We’ll come down better than we went up.”
“I didn’t bring any equipment.”
“Not everything is about work.”
“Pot,” she extends a hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Kettle.”
“No lies detected.”
“Ugh, Ci. No. You’re too young to say that. I mean for an old guy, anyway.”
“Shut up, sis.” I step ahead of her on the trail, knowing Fitz has the rear, even if he’s unseen.
Her bodyguard would be annoying if he weren’t so convenient.
Too much shit has swirled around her to not have someone making sure she’s safe.
Even after I told him I had this, he insisted.
He’s well behind us. We’d never know he’s here if I hadn’t spoken with him.
“Well, it’s true. How’s the loosey-goosey club treating you?”
I laugh at our inside joke, but I also wince. I’m so methodical and meticulous that loosey-goosey even as a term is cringe-worthy. “You think there’s something between Type-A and loosey-goosey?”
“The whole world, big brother. The whole world is somewhere between those two. That’s where most of us live.”
“Different question. Do you think Type-A and loosey-goosey can exist together?”
She stops. The abruptness of her movement has me turning to her. Please God, don’t let it be a bear. Eleanor doesn’t need another encounter. She’s going to think the cubs are friends and try to bring one home.
“What brought this up?” She tilts her head and my sister—the real one, meddling and all—is back. “Cian Murphy, what are you hiding from me?”
“Nothing. Just thinking about the future.” It’s not the time. Not yet. Ayla would show up at Sariah’s house and have a coffee date scheduled before I could make it back to my truck.
Ayla plops her hands on her hips and stares at me as if she can sniff out the half-truth and pull it from me physically. Her eyes squint, even behind her sunglasses, as she studies me.
With no warning, she pulls out her phone and snaps a picture of me. “New contact photo. You keep up this cryptic shit, I’ll make a calendar of you just like our girl here and sell it around town. We’ll find you a woman.”
“My girl.” I swear she prods me about Eleanor just to get a rise out of me.
“Come on, Ellie. Your dad is being a butthead. Let’s show him how it’s done.” With that, my sister charges ahead, leaving me to wonder how in the world I’ll handle more estrogen in my life.
Sariah
Cian: {picture message}
The image is of Denver from somewhere high along the Front Range. The day is bright and clear, and the atmosphere must be thin, because there’s no haze or cloud cover. Just a beautiful city nestled below blue skies.
Cian: The view is astounding. Last night’s was better.
Swoon.
I can’t stop the smile that bubbles up like champagne from my toes and past those flitting butterflies. I snap a picture of my red shopping cart and return his text.
Me: Agree about the views. This one is nothing comparatively. Looks like your day is treating you well.
“What’s that smile about?” Renée asks as I fight to tamp down my joy, losing and not caring one lick. She sulks at my side, all the while her attention is on her phone.
Cian: Terrible bars or I’d call. Dinner tonight still on? Pick you both up at 6:00?
Me: That works.
“Seriously, it’s weird.” My daughter, ladies and gentlemen. She has tunnel vision on the device in her hand, but somehow manages to break long enough to tease me. Or chastise me.
Cian: Anything you or Renée don’t eat?
I look at the beauty I created, as she stares at me in horror.
Me: She’s currently a vegetarian, so meat.
Cian: You too?
I want to make some comment about eating meat that would make him blush, but I’m so out of practice it could come out wrong, especially over text.
Me: Only when we share.
Cian: There’s a great Italian place not far from you. Would that work?
Me: Sounds perfect. Can’t wait. {blowing kiss emoji}
Cian: Later.
Does that mean see you later? Or does that mean he wants to kiss me later?
“Cian?”
My head whips up. Busted.
“Yep.” I slide my phone into my back pocket and turn on to the canned foods aisle. “He’s taking us to dinner tonight.”
“And you’re not going to tell me why you broke up with him,” she states with no question in her tone.
“One day, but not today.”
She huffs, turns on her tennis-shoed heel, and stomps to the feminine products section. She likes to do that alone anyway, with no input or questions. She doesn’t want to listen to me when I’ve been through it for years now and have a smidge more experience, because Mom, talking about it is gross.
God save me from teenage girls.
She finds me in the cereal and baking aisle in time to drop a couple of blue boxes in the cart while trying slyly to add a box of Cocoa Pebbles.
I allow it, not in small part because of the blue boxes which means the cereal is necessary.
“Née? You won’t understand.” I hold up a hand when she attempts to interrupt me.
“And that’s because I haven’t given you the data to understand it, but please trust me.
It’s for your good.” At that she rolls her eyes.
“I mean it. I’d lay down in front of a speeding train for you. But this is not the time.”
“Why not?”
“Because I said so.” Crap. I promised myself I wouldn’t use that when honesty was a better option.
She throws her hands up as if I’ve made a tragic mistake. Or that she’s the witch in every cartoon movie I didn’t see growing up.
“Wait.” I offer a hand as if I can push the air around her arms down with just a gesture.
“That was the wrong answer. The right one is because I’m protecting you.
Because I want so much more for your life than the craziness that surrounded mine at your age.
Because I’m working my butt off for you to have every possible option laid at your feet when I no longer have you in the nest.”
Her shoulders slump. She’s still very much a teenager, but I can see that one of those things sunk in. How I wish I knew which one.
“Fine.”
All righty, then.
“Need anything for school while we’re here?”
We wander the aisles. I should ask Renée if she’s okay with Cian, with him asking me out, with someone added to our duo, our family. But for one moment, I want to be selfish. Just for now, I’m a woman with a man who’s showing interest and asking what I want and all I want is for things to be easy.
I want to pretend as if the other stuff doesn’t exist.
I want to pretend it won’t always be haunting me.