Chapter Thirty-Five
“First dates are nerve-racking. But the first date after you’ve screwed up on something is the worst of all.” - Warren
DEREK
I’m nervous as all hell.
I don’t think since I met Birdie that I’ve ever felt this nervous when it comes to seeing her, to seeing Rora again. It’s been over two weeks since I’ve been in this apartment, since I’ve hugged either of them, since I’ve felt part of their little family.
Tonight is my night to prove I still belong here.
When I’d gotten Birdie’s text this morning, I nearly fell over from shock to see her texting me back, finally. She held out on me forever, at least it seems that way.
I’ve been working diligently over the last week, trying to get everything established for the expansion of Fowler Hardware, and not only is that going well, but the store is booming.
Though the locals who came through did ask more than once where “my girls” were, which pierced my heart every time I heard it.
But I held steady, explaining they would be back.
Because frankly, if they don’t come back into my life, I’m not sure what I’ll do.
This, tonight, is my chance to get them back.
I stand outside, two bouquets of flowers in one hand and a six-pack of root beers in the other as a nod to the first time I came over here. Root beer was our thing now, Rora and me.
Birdie answers the door after a minute and gives me a small but sincere smile. “Hey.”
I stare for a moment, seeing her hair in those big, gorgeous honey-blonde waves I love, sliding over her button-up shirt and over her jean-clad legs. She looks dressed like a mom from the ’90s, and I’m obsessed with the way she looks.
“Hey.” I finally find my voice. “You look incredible.”
That blush I love of hers so much creeps onto her cheeks, and she ducks her head a little. “Thanks, Derek. You look nice, too.”
I smile at her, just glad I was being given a second chance when my faith and hope in getting one had been slipping. I didn’t think she was going to let me back in, but I’m holding on to that sliver of hope that this is my chance to earn her back.
“Derek!” The loud, excited voice pulls my attention from Birdie’s face to the little version of her that barrels out of the doorway. Her arms wrap themselves around my legs, and I try to pat her on the back with my full hands.
“Hey, Rora,” I say, but there’s emotion in my voice that I don’t mean to display. I don’t want her to think I’m sad, because I’m not. I’m thrilled, relieved even, to be on the receiving end of a hug.
“You came back!” Rora steps back and looks up at me, her legs bouncing up and down and looking at me with excitement that I’m here.
“Well, let’s let him inside,” Birdie says, seeming to just notice I’m still on the porch.
I follow them in, and it feels like coming home.
My tension, my nerves, my anxiety that have plagued me for the last two weeks slip away as I look at the familiar surroundings.
Everything is just as it was before: Birdie’s fluffy blanket over the back of the couch, the coffee table covered in children’s books, and toys in the toy box against the wall.
Pictures of the family and Hattie’s small but growing stack of books are on the shelves, including the one I got her for Christmas. And when I turn into the kitchen, where the kitchen table sits, half is covered in Rora’s art supplies, and there’s something cooking in the oven.
I set the root beer down and take the two bouquets, handing the smaller one to Rora and the bigger one to Birdie. “Some flowers for my girls,” I say, kneeling down and holding my arms out for Rora, who launches into them without reservation. I missed them, so damn much.
“Thank you,” Birdie says softly, then prompts Rora to do the same.
“Thank you, Derek! I want them in my room!” She bounces off then, running down the hallway to put her flowers away.
I turn back to Birdie and desperately want to take her into my arms again. I nearly do it too, but she quickly turns to the oven and starts checking things.
“No Hattie tonight?” I ask, trying to keep myself calm and casual.
“No, she had a work meeting thing and then trivia, or something,” Birdie says, scrunching her nose like she’s thinking of where her sister is.
“Ah.” I nod, then bite my lip, wanting to rejoice in being here, wanting to scream from the rooftops that I was back in the vicinity of the woman I love. But I keep my mouth shut and motion to the kitchen. “Anything I can do?”
“No, no, don’t worry. Have a seat. Or.” She snaps her fingers and seems outwardly flustered, but I keep the comment about that to myself. “Do you need a drink? There’s iced tea in the fridge.”
Thinking this will give me something to do, I get out two glasses and fill them with ice.
Birdie moves around me like we’ve done this a thousand times, which we have, and doesn’t say much about me getting us both a glass of tea.
I also grab a cup with a lid and straw, knowing exactly where Birdie keeps Rora’s things, and slip a few pieces of ice into it before pouring some root beer into the cup.
We work around each other in tandem, each anticipating what the other needs, and without her asking, I help her finish up dinner while Rora talks my ear off about everything I missed.
She tells me about her most recent adventure, which was a school field trip to a local firehouse where she got to sit in a fire engine and run the siren. I, without lying whatsoever, told her that that may be the coolest thing I’ve ever heard.
She also tells me about going to dinner with her grandparents the other night and how she asked them when we could all go on the boat again, to which they informed her we were still a couple months away, to which she asked why we couldn’t go ice fishing on the boat.
It was a very entertaining conversation.
It’s after we’re already sitting at the table, conversation flowing mostly from Rora, that I realize Birdie and I have barely spoken a word. She planned this on purpose, letting Rora take the lead tonight and making it so she doesn’t have to talk to me.
This puts a piece of lead in my gut and makes me wonder if this wasn’t some consolation prize—some weird way to invite me back in just to make me feel better, rather than her wanting me to be here.
It’s smart to have Rora be the icebreaker, because we literally don’t have a moment to talk with how much she needs to say and catch me up on.
I don’t mind it, I don’t mind talking to her at all. I hope I have the privilege to talk with her the rest of my life.
I would just feel better about it if Birdie and I were on good terms.
After dinner, it’s later than usual, and we start Rora’s bedtime routine. I don’t ask if I can stay because Rora obviously thinks it’s just the way it’s supposed to be, and Birdie doesn’t make any comments about me leaving or staying, so I just go with the flow.
We help her with her teeth, and I start the dishes while Birdie helps her with other things, like getting in pajamas.
“Derek, will you read to me?”
Her little voice reaches me, and I turn off the water, wiping my hands on a dishrag to dry them and smiling at her. “Of course, I will.”
Birdie smiles at me from where she stands in the hallway, leaning against the wall, and we both follow Rora into her room and watch as she climbs into bed, snagging both of her favorite elephants and snuggling into her bed with them. “Okay, ready!”
I chuckle and move by her bed, grabbing the book off the nightstand, and am surprised when Birdie sits next to me on the ground, content to settle in and let herself be read to just like her daughter.
Starting the story, in the dim light of her nightstand light, I let my voice echo into the room. It takes no time at all for her little head to prop itself onto my shoulder. Her fingers find my ear, and she rubs it absentmindedly.
I nearly choke up when she does, but what practically undoes me, is when I feel Birdie’s head come to rest against my shoulder and my girls have welcomed me back into their life again.
Yesterday, I spent the day thinking of every grand gesture in the book. I was trying to find something, anything that would show Birdie I was here for her, that I love her, and that I want her to forgive me, because being apart from them both was quite literally killing me.
Not knowing what they were doing, how they were, or how Rora’s school days were going.
Not knowing if Trip was still hitting on Birdie at work, even though she made it clear she was a taken woman.
Not knowing if she was still thinking about a future with me, like I was thinking of a future with her.
All the unknowns have been eating me alive, and I was trying to make it better. Somehow.
But this… this right here, with my girls lying against me and all of us safe and sound in their home together, is making me feel damn near misty-eyed.
“Derek,” Birdie whispers in my ear, and I stop reading. It’s a wonder I managed to keep going at all and look at her. Her face is close to mine, and I have to resist every impulse I have to kiss her. It’s all I want to do.
“She’s asleep.” Her words snap me out of the trance I was in, and very carefully, I extract myself from Rora’s sleeping form, moving so I can rearrange her onto her bed safely.
We move out of her room, leaving the door open so we can hear her, and walk down the hallway. I’m waiting for the words, waiting to be kicked out and not get a chance to talk with Birdie about anything, when she reaches over and grabs my hand, pulling me to the couch.
I follow willingly, like the happiest dog on the planet, and settle onto the couch. Birdie moves close to me, slipping under my arm and allowing me the gift of getting to hold her again.
“I missed you.” Her words are muffled against my chest, and it aches painfully at her words.
I squeeze her tighter against me and let out a deep-seated breath. “I missed you, so much. I can’t even begin to explain it.”
For a moment, we’re quiet and just enjoying each other’s company, completely innocent in our actions and just… holding one another. My heart is beating so damn hard in my chest, like it’s excited about where we are, like it’s been waiting for this moment. I’ve been missing this for two weeks.
Birdie sits up and turns, draping her legs over my lap and looking me in the eye. She has her head leaning against the back of the couch, and she watches me with only the slightest smile on her lips.
“How are things?”
This is actually a very loaded question. It seems innocent in nature, but it isn’t. She’s asking a real question, expecting a real answer.
And if there’s anything I’ve learned in the last few weeks, it’s that Birdie deserves the respect of me telling her the full and unbridled truth.
“Well, where should I start?” I ask, injecting some humor into my tone. I feel on edge, like the weight of our relationship hangs on the balance of this one conversation. “I started the expansion you wrote up.”
Her eyes widen and her head lifts. “You did what?”
“Yeah.” I nod, running my hand across her leg. Even through her jeans, I can feel her warmth, and just that simple bit calms me. “I showed the group your business plans, and they have been helping me from there.”
“But I thought you couldn’t.”
Her words bring back that memory of her fallen face, not just from me rejecting her plans, but from me yelling about it. “I didn’t think I could,” I reply, mustering up my courage. “Birdie, I’m sorry for how I treated you.”
“Derek.” She shakes her head, about to shove it away again.
“No, I’m a man, and men don’t treat people like that. Period. My father would be ashamed of how I acted.” I clear my throat and reach up to take her hand. “I couldn’t do any of this without you, without your support, and your big, beautiful brain helping me do it.”
Her eyes grow shiny, making me wonder if there is going to be a point that this night doesn’t turn out how I want.
“Your plans, your faith in me—it’s been overwhelming,” I continue, squeezing her fingers tighter. “But I wouldn’t be here, I wouldn’t still have a shop if it wasn’t for you.”
She sniffs and turns her hand, making our palms line up, and electricity fires between us. It never took much for that to happen, from the first moment I placed my palm against hers, there’s always been something.
I remember when I was a silly kid, and I saw the tall, willowy girl across the patches of picnic tables. She had been laughing about something, and my gaze had been completely transfixed.
My buddies from camp always made fun of me and always called me names and called girls gross or dumb.
I never felt that way.
Then, I’d started finding wildflowers in the woods that surrounded camp, small, fragile little things that would be embarrassing today if I handed them to her, but I didn’t have much else to work with when I was thirteen.
I’d always hoped, no matter what, that the flowers made her smile.
“I don’t know about that,” Birdie says, wiping underneath her eyes.
“I do.” I nod, sure of my answer. “I absolutely believe that if you hadn’t come back into my life, I wouldn’t have my father’s store anymore.”
“Derek.” She gives me an exasperated look. “You would. You’d have figured it out.”
I shake my head. “I think you’re underestimating how badly in the red I have been.”
“Does that,” she proceeds hesitantly. “Does that look like it might change?”
“Thanks to you.”
“Derek.”
“Can’t I just be grateful to you?” I ask, almost desperately. Gripping her knee in my hand, I say, “After everything you’ve done for my dad’s store, after everything you’ve done for me, I ask that you just let me give you props and let me be thankful that you’re in my life.”
For a moment, we stare at each other, the tension between us high. “That is.” I clear my throat, shaking my head and wanting desperately to look away in case the answer to my next question is no. “If you’re still in my life.”
Her words are soft. “I want to be.”
Then, like the final wave of a tsunami, relief crashes over me, and I get to keep the love of my life.