28. Keeley
KEELEY
T he following Saturday morning, we are in Ben and Gemma’s kitchen with Lola jumping at our heels, and a ten-page list of directions Gemma’s reading aloud to me.
“Keeley went to medical school, hon,” Ben says. “I’m sure she can comprehend it on her own.”
Graham hoists himself onto the counter. “I wouldn’t be so sure. The only thing I’ve seen her read all week is Ugliest Celebrity Babies and Celebrities Who are Bad in Bed, and they were both mostly pictures.”
“I’ll have you know I also read Help! I’m in a threesome with my boyfriend’s parents and I don’t know how to tell him! And it had no pictures at all, which was unfortunate.”
Gemma laughs. “Okay, we’re leaving, but don’t baby her the whole time, okay? If you’re holding her 24/7, then she’s going to want me to do it while I’m at work.”
“Are you bringing her to work?”
“Well, I can’t leave her here alone.”
I laugh. Gemma is probably the most driven, professional person I know. She worked weekends and holidays for years and wore a suit every day of the week. I never thought I’d see the day she’d bring a dog to work.
“Oh, and if she sees a dog on TV, she goes nuts, so—”
“Hon,” Ben says, his jaw tight, his voice sharper than normal, “I really want to get there.”
Her mouth curves. “Fine. Just call if—”
“I know how to operate a phone, Gemma. Go, before your husband kills us both.”
They leave and I sink to the floor, pulling Lola on my lap, which is probably exactly the kind of thing Gemma was warning me about. “I’ve never seen your brother like that before.”
He laughs to himself. “He had his reasons.”
“What reasons?”
Graham brushes a hand through his hair. “She hasn’t slept with him all week,” he says. “She said she wanted to make this weekend special. I suspect he’s been pushed a little too far.”
“Ugh,” I grumble. “He’s complaining about a week ? Give me a break, Ben . I’ve been married for six months, and I haven’t had sex once. I think that’s grounds for an annulment right there.”
He stiffens. “So there was no one else…after Vegas?”
I sigh heavily. “You are the only person I’ve slept with since last summer, and I don’t even remember it.”
Our eyes meet and I feel that shift inside me again, which is occurring more and more.
That goddamn kiss was the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.
I can barely think of anything else half the time.
He simply has to walk into the room and my skin is too warm, the lace of my bra is too rough, and I’m wondering what it would take to get him to kiss me again.
I’m wondering what it would take to get him to do more .
“It’s been a while for me too,” he says.
What an absolute waste. Someone should be taking full advantage of that body and that face. And if he’s not sleeping with anyone and I’m not sleeping with anyone…maybe it could be me?
It would be a terrible idea given the baby is coming and we’re actually friendly at the moment, but I’ve never let the fact that an idea was terrible stop me before.
And it would be expedient. Efficient. He’d like that aspect of it. I mean, we’re in the same place and it’s not like he can get me extra-pregnant and—
“Ben asked me to take a look at something,” he mumbles, walking away.
“I think we dodged a bullet there, Lola,” I whisper, as the door shuts behind him.
Lola and I play for a few minutes, but she’s not especially chatty, and the house gets too quiet.
“Let’s go see what Graham is doing,” I tell her, and we walk out the back door to find him on his knees, looking muscular and competent while he messes with an outlet.
There’s a screwdriver held in his teeth and a toolbox at his knee.
I never imagined I’d see him with a toolbox, and I never imagined how appealing I’d find that.
I’ve always been more the type to find men hot when they’re…
you know, on stage. Or ignoring me. I suppose Graham is mostly doing the latter.
“You love all this, don’t you?” I ask. “A house, a garden, all the family bullshit.”
He gives me a slight, sheepish smile. “Yeah. I guess I do.” He shrugs. “Who knows if it’ll happen? I’m gonna have some baggage.”
I think about the way women look at him when we’re out, and out of nowhere I feel leaden.
“You’d get snatched right up, if that’s what you wanted,” I tell him.
His gaze lingers on my face. “What makes you say that?”
“You’re adorable, obviously.” I flush and scuff my shoe along the patio’s edge. “I mean in a really gruff, stern, ‘those shoes are overpriced’ kind of way.”
He smiles, but there’s something wistful in it. “You mean in a way you personally hate.”
“I don’t hate it,” I reply. “Well, the commentary on my spending, yes. But the rest of it is just fine.”
His mouth quirks up a bit. “You’ll appreciate the commentary on your spending later on, when you’re ready to retire.”
“I’m not sure that’s true,” I reply, and we both laugh. “I’m going to take Lola for a walk.”
“Are you actually walking her or are you just planning to carry her the whole way? Because you haven’t put that dog down once. Our kid isn’t gonna learn to walk ’til she’s five at this rate.”
“Ugh, you’re not the boss of us,” I say, hugging Lola closer. “We don’t want him to come anyway, do we?”
Lola and I walk to the pet store, and I wind up carrying her most of the way because she keeps just sitting in the middle of the sidewalk.
And she’s very little, after all. I then buy her more dog treats than she should eat in a year and feed her half of them on the way home, but again, she’s very little and probably needs food.
Just as we reach the house, though, she vomits.
Because of me.
Is this the kind of mother I’ll be too? Will I let my kid eat until she vomits? Will I ignore completely rational advice because I like my own way better and ruin her?
Lola falls asleep in my lap once we’re inside, and I just feel guilty. If I’m a terrible dog mom, I’ll probably be an even worse regular mom.
I go outside to look for Graham, hoping he can somehow make me feel better without me admitting what I’ve done. He’s at the far end of the yard, shirtless and tugging God knows what out of the ground, his taut, ripped shoulders glistening in the sun.
Ugh. Why does he have to look so goddamn good without a shirt?
He glances up as I approach, and his face is clear and untroubled for once. He’s in his element here, fixing shit and pulling up weeds. Working hard and being responsible—my polar opposite.
“I just saw your future,” I tell him. “You’ll settle down with some nice little wife who grows her own vegetables, loves to cook, and worries about getting your shirts done just right.”
He rises, studying me. “You sound like you don’t approve.”
I swallow, staring at the ground as I blink back tears. “It’s all fine until you decide our kid should stay with you permanently because it’s a better environment.”
“Jesus, Keeley,” he whispers, closing the distance between us. “Stop. I would never, ever do that to you.”
My eyes fall closed, my heart aching so much it’s hard to speak. “But you’d be right,” I whisper back. “She’d be better off with you.”
He nestles me against his firm chest, his arms wrapping tight around me.
“Bullshit,” he says. “You’ll feed her endless amounts of garbage and she’ll get expelled at least once for saying something wildly inappropriate, but no one will love that kid more than you do, and make sure she knows it.
And what could possibly matter more than that? ”
I can almost see myself the way he sees me: a version in which my gross irresponsibility is merely a quirk and my heart isn’t jaded at all.
“I made Lola vomit,” I whisper. “I gave her too many treats.”
He laughs. “That sounds about right. But it’ll be okay.”