Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Flynn
Monday morning, I wake up in the back of the Chevelle, bathe in the dog wash, brush my teeth, dress, and trek to the front of the house to knock on the door by six.
“Good morning,” Rupert says, eyeing me with a funny look.
“What?” I say, stepping inside and kicking off my shoes.
“Nothing. I just said good morning.”
“What’s with the look?” I narrow my eyes at him.
“What look?” He closes the door.
“Never mind. Good morning.” I tuck my hands into my back pockets. “Is Mrs. Rawlings awake? Should I get her tea?”
“She’s awake. Pilates is in an hour. I’m not sure if she wants tea now or after Pilates.”
“Pilates?”
“It’s an exercise class.”
“I’ve heard of Pilates. Is this something new?”
“Yes.” He heads toward the kitchen. “She signed up for the class yesterday, but she used to take it before everything went to shit.”
What does that mean?
“Am I driving her?” I follow him.
He chuckles. “Yes. You’re driving her. And you’re taking the class with her. She had me pick you up proper clothing yesterday. You’re welcome.”
“Dude, I don’t do Pilates.”
He refills his coffee mug. “Dude, I wrote a check for five grand. You definitely do Pilates. Yoga. Ballroom dancing …”
I bite my tongue while he sits at the counter, wearing a smirk that acknowledges just how hard I’m biting it.
“Did you have a nice weekend?” he asks.
“It was okay. I bought June a car.”
He pauses his mug at his mouth. “Wow. Things must be serious.”
“Things are …” I shake my head. “I think. I don’t know. They’re what they are. But she needed a car.”
“Is that what she said?”
“No, but ride-sharing every day has to be expensive.”
“Was she complaining about it?”
I shake my head.
“Did she say she needed a car?”
Again, I shake my head.
“Well, Flynn. In theory, a car sounds like a great gift. But it’s like encouraging someone to get a cat.”
I frown.
“If it requires maintenance that you’re not providing, then mind your own business.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Callie interrupts us, padding into the kitchen in pink workout attire, hair pulled into a small ponytail. “Flowers require maintenance or they will die. Jewelry requires cleaning. Clothes must be laundered.” She sets Loki down, and he weaves between my legs.
“Callie, he bought June a car.”
“Oh?” she says, filling a sports bottle with filtered water from the fridge. “Was she excited?”
“Yeah.”
I think.
“Then good for you.”
Rupert shakes his head.
“I met her parents last night,” I say.
Her eyes widen as she screws on the lid. “How did that go?”
“Great. I think they like me.”
“Well of course they do,” she says.
“Interesting.” Rupert scratches his chin. “How much did you share about yourself?”
“Rupert,” Callie scolds.
“What? Honesty matters if things have progressed to the point of meeting her parents.”
“Listen”—I hold up my hand in surrender—“I have it on good authority that oversharing early in a relationship is not such a good idea.”
The Rawlings study me for a second before looking at each other. They’ve both cautioned me about telling her too early, but also about telling her too late. How the hell am I supposed to know the definition of early and late on this matter?
“That’s true sometimes,” she says, picking up Loki and cradling him in one arm. “However, it’s one thing to wait to tell her you don’t like her cooking. It’s another to mention, on your honeymoon, how you did time.”
“That’s a terrible example.” Rupert scoffs. “You were fine with my legal indiscretions. But I know if I were to say one bad thing about your cooking, I’d be on the street.”
“You are so full of it, Rupert Seaman Rawlings.” She flicks her wrist at him. “Flynn, we’re going to Pilates. Your clothes are on the vanity in the hall bathroom off the entryway. I’ll meet you in the car in ten minutes.”
When she’s out of the kitchen, I give Mr. Rawlings my full attention, crossing my arms over my chest.
He avoids eye contact, rinsing out his coffee mug at the sink.
“Your middle name is Semen?”
“S.E.A.M.A.N,” he says. “Like a sailor. Man of the sea.”
“Wow.” I roll my lips between my teeth to keep from grinning when he turns toward me, daring me to say another word. “I mean … you don’t come across that name very often.”
“Go put on your unitard so you don’t make my wife late for class.”
I laugh at his attempt to get even, but when I stop into the bathroom and discover the black unitard, I close my eyes and tap my fists against my forehead. “Fuck.”
Before I open the bathroom door to head to the garage in the world’s most embarrassing getup, my phone chimes with a text.
June: What are you doing? Working?
Flynn: Mowing the lawn with my shirt off
Flynn: Chopping down trees with a big ax
Flynn: U?
I peek out the door and run toward the stairs.
“Have a good class,” Rupert calls.
I don’t give him the satisfaction of turning around so he can see the outline of my junk. Instead, I wave goodbye with my middle finger.
Fire me. Please. Do it!
He snickers. “Back at ya, bud.”
When I open the driver’s door to the Tesla, Callie smacks her hand over her mouth, eyes bugging out.
“You didn’t pick this out?” I ask, sliding into the seat.
She slowly shakes her head, snorting despite her best efforts.
I grumble, pulling out of the garage.
She clears her throat to compose herself while entering the address onto the screen. “He likes you.”
“Ya. For sure. This is the exact workout wear you buy for someone you like.”
“It’s all just a game to him. If I like you, he thinks I’ll fall back in love with him. You’re him thirty-five years ago. You look like him. You act like him—”
“Am I going to find out he’s my long-lost daddy? You got pregnant at the wrong time. To avoid a scandal, you gave me up for adoption, but now you’re trying to make things right with me?”
When she doesn’t answer, I glance at her. Sadness lines her face.
“Shit. I’m joking. But am I right?” For a moment, anger boils up from the pit of my stomach to my throat, cutting off my next breath. For years I’ve imagined what I’d say to my biological parents if I ever met them. Did she used to have long, black hair?
“No.” She shakes her head. “I don’t mean it in a literal sense. Sorry.”
“Sorry?” I refocus on the road. “What do you have to apologize for?”
“I’m sure it’s a sensitive subject. And I didn’t mean to bring up your past in that way. We’re not your parents. We would never do that to a child.”
“I’ve got June,” I say.
“Yes,” she says slowly.
I shrug. “I’ve got June. That’s all that matters. Had my parents not abandoned me, had I not gone through all that I did, I wouldn’t have gotten this job. And this job led me to June.”
She leans her head back and closes her eyes. “Flynn?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re a good man. June is the lucky one. Don’t ever forget that.”
What. The. Fuck?
Pilates is nothing more than women gathering to stretch on wonky machines while listening to Chappell Roan, Sabrina Carpenter, and Taylor Swift. They compliment each other on their “cute” workout wear and go for foo-foo coffee drinks afterward.
“Are you coming tomorrow?” one of the women asks me after class as they all gather around me in a circle. It’s worth mentioning this class is only older women. They look great, but they’re all old enough to be my mother. However, they love my unitard.
“He’ll absolutely be here,” Callie says. “And we’ll get you something a little less revealing to wear. Something less distracting.”
“Callie?” The instructor stops us. She squeezes Callie’s hand. “I’m so glad you’re back. We’ve missed you.”
She returns a half smile. “Thank you, Tracey.”
“If you ever want to talk—” Tracey says.
“I’m good, but thank you.” Callie continues toward the exit.
I don’t say anything on the drive home until we’re halfway to the house. “Why do you need a muse?”
“I don’t.”
“Why does Mr. Rawlings think you need one?”
“I told you. He thinks I need to fall back in love with him, but that’s not the problem. Marriages go through many seasons. Ours is in winter. It’s been a long winter.”
“So you haven’t been to Pilates because your marriage is in winter?”
“Sort of.” She keeps her gaze out the window.
“I don’t understand,” I say.
“It’s complicated.”
“Are you saying I can’t handle complicated? My whole life has been complicated.” I slow down to let ducks cross the road toward the lake.
“You’re a muse. Not a therapist.”
“Do you have a therapist?”
“I used to.”
“Do you want to kill yourself?” The words come out like a breath I’ve been holding too long—the thing everyone is thinking, but no one wants to say.
And now I know why.
Saying it makes it feel like a real possibility. There’s no more deniability. If she does it, no one can say, “I had no idea.”
Fuck.
What have I done?
“What are you going to do if I say yes?” she asks with no emotion in her words.
I slam on the brakes just before pulling into the garage, racking my brain for what possible reason she would have to kill herself.
“You’re depressed,” I say, and I’m not sure if I’m asking her a question or stating the only possible reason she might have.
“Have you ever been depressed?” she asks.
“I don’t really know what that means. Sad? Are you asking if I’ve been sad? Because my life has been a constant string of awful things. Is that sad? Probably. Do I want to kill myself? No.”
“Do you feel sad every day?”
I shake my head, feeling irritated. Discussing emotions has never been my thing.
But I can’t complain because I started this conversation.
“I get angry and pissed off. Annoyed by others. Sadness just feels like a worthless emotion. What’s the point of it unless someone dies—” I close my eyes and slowly shake my head as a light goes on. “Someone died,” I whisper.
Silence.
I’m afraid to look at her, so I open my eyes and stare into the garage. Rupert’s cars. The far wall where I have my belongings hidden. I look at anything but her.
“Thank you for going with me to class,” she says. “See if there’s anything Rupert wants you to do. You’ve inspired me enough today.” She doesn’t wait for me to open her door. And I don’t feel like she’s being honest about me inspiring her today.
When she’s in the house, I call June.
“Hey!” she answers with a cheery voice.
I immediately relax. “What are you doing?”
“Shopping with my mom before I have to work this afternoon. What are you doing?”
“I’m in a unitard, sitting in Callie’s Tesla, talking to you instead of checking in with Rupert, which is what I’m supposed to be doing.”
“Wait.” She laughs. “Back up. You’re in a unitard?”
“Yeah. I look like a wrestler.”
“Is there a reason you’re wearing it?”
“I’ve been enrolled in Pilates with Callie.”
June snorts. “And you wore a unitard to class? Why?”
“Because Rupert is a dick.”
“I’m going to need a picture.”
“Hell no,” I say.
“I’ll send you a picture of me.”
“In a unitard?”
“In the bikini I’m trying on right now in the dressing room.”
I’ve never snapped a selfie so fast in my life. “Sent,” I say.
“Oh, just got it, let me look. Wait, it’s only the top half of your body.”
“That’s all you get. Now send me a pic.”
“I’m only sending the top half of my body.”
“That’s fine.” I laugh.
“Ugh. No. I’ll send the bottom half.”
“That works too.”
“Flynn. This isn’t fair. No picture for you. If you want to see my bikini, you’ll have to come to my apartment later, and I’ll show you.”
“When are your parents leaving?”
“They haven’t decided yet. But I’m sure after dinner tonight, they’ll go back to their hotel, and I’ll be at my apartment. You should come to dinner with us again.”
“I’m sure they’re here to see you, not me.”
“Stop. I want you to come.”
“I know you do, but we’re talking about dinner with your parents right now.”
“Oh my god, Flynn. You’re all talk. No action.”
“There’s a name for what I am,” I say. “But I don’t actually know what word I’m looking for because I’ve never used it. If someone said it, I’d recognize it.”
“That’s helpful,” she says.
“It makes me think of being cold, but it’s not shiver.”
“Chivalrous?”
“That’s it!”
June laughs. “You think not having sex with me is chivalrous?”
“I think your dad would think it is.”
“My dad took my mom’s virginity while she was in high school. He’s not an expert on chivalry. Did you call me just to say that you went to Pilates in a unitard? I’m fine with it. Just curious.”
“Nah, I’m just …”
“Just? Is something wrong?”
I sigh, leaning my head back. “This job. It’s so weird. And I’m kinda tired of not knowing what the deal is with Callie. So today, I flat-out asked her if she’s depressed and wants to kill herself.”
“Whoa … seriously?”
“Yeah. And I couldn’t take it back.”
“How did she react? What did she say?”
“She said, ‘What are you going to do if I say yes?’ So I said she must be depressed. She never answered me. But I threw out the possibility someone died, and I just got the feeling that was it. I’m still sitting in her car, but she’s inside.
I’m supposed to check with Rupert to see if he needs me to do anything for him. I suck at this job.”
“Why did you apply for it?”
“It’s … uh … a long story. I’d better get inside before they wonder where I’m at.”
“I like long stories.”
“Noted. Later. K?”
“Later,” she says.