Chapter Eighteen #2
Something I’d never considered. “Yeah.” I opened the freezer. “Oh, how about some flatbread? There’s a vegetarian option.” I wrinkled my nose before I realized how that might look. Then I tried to school my expression.
He rolled his eyes, then grabbed the package. “We just have to preheat the over and cook for twelve minutes. That won’t take much time. So tour, music, then yeah, we can come back here and this looks just perfect for dinner—not too heavy.” He winked. “And vegetarian.”
Something inside me warmed a bit. “Tour?”
He nodded.
Then reached for my hand.
I guided him through the formal dining room and then across to the equally formal living room. I stood at the entryway for my father’s study as he poked his head in. Next, I took him up the stairs. First to the bedroom my mother had converted to her office.
Again, I stood in the entryway.
Then came the three spare bedrooms and three lavish bathrooms.
He gaped. “Seriously?”
I grinned. “Wait until you see mine.” I led him that way and flipped on the light as he entered.
“I’m impressed.”
“Why? The size?”
“No.” He turned to face me. “I expected…”
“Dirty?”
“Well, no. More…chaotic.”
“Everything has a place and all that.” I leaned against the door frame as he examined my bookcase. “I still expect my mother to perform an inspection. And since she always reported her findings to my father, my rebellious phase lasted about—” I scratched my chin. “Twenty minutes…?”
He snickered. Then sobered. “This must be hard.”
Clearly, he didn’t mean keeping a clean room. “I have someone who comes once a week to clean, do laundry, and make a few meals. I don’t want to burden her, so I do my best.”
“Have you ever done your own laundry?”
“Um… Is there a right way to answer that?”
“What if you spill sauce on your favorite shirt and you want to wear it again before laundry day?”
I grinned and pointed to the walk-in closet.
He walked in and guffawed. He poked his head back out. “Seriously?”
“If I see something I like, I buy a few of them. That way I never have to worry. It also means I’m less likely to wear things out.”
“Those jeans…” He pointed to my legs.
“Well, jeans are an exception. If I find a pair I like, I’ll wear them until they disintegrate.”
“That’s…a choice.” He grinned. Then pointed to the bathroom while arching an eyebrow.
“Go ahead.”
He walked inside and this time whistled. “Seriously?” He shook his head again. “How much space does one person need?”
“Is there a right answer to that?” This time I was a little less flippant. A little more soulful.
“It must get lonely.”
I shrugged. “I was lonely when they were alive. It’s why I had friends over as often as I could get away with.”
“But not now?”
“It’s not that simple. When I joined the orchestra, my high school friends sort of slipped away.
University, dating…all that stuff. I had my music to focus on and, frankly, the friends I made there weren’t the type to come over and hang around.
From there…” Another shrug. “Until I met Creed, I was lost. He comes over plenty. Along with Reese and Freddie. I’ve even had Mama Murthi over for dinner.
Catered, I promise. No way was I going to risk burning something to feed her. ”
“Would she have really minded?”
His question caught me off guard. “I guess… No, probably not. We also ate at the dining table, and I had the impression none of the grandeur impressed her. She wanted to see the spaces where I hung out.”
“Same here.” He stepped toward me. “So show me.”
I grinned. “Yeah, okay.” I grasped his hand and headed toward the stairs. Just before I led him down, though, I stopped. I pointed to a closed door. “That’s their room. Was their room,” I corrected.
“Ah.”
“I haven’t—” I swallowed.
“It’s okay.” He pressed a hand over my heart.
“I should probably… I mean… I’m the head of the house now, right? So I should, you know—” I swallowed again.
“Who says?” He met my gaze, his eyes dark green in the low light. “There’s no hard-and-fast rule. Given the size of your bedroom—and your bed—I’d say you’re just fine in there.”
“Yeah.” I wanted to make some glib joke about my bed, but this moment felt too tenuous. Too precious. Too perilous. “The lady who cleans the house goes in there every month. Or so I think. It should be clean—” I’d never checked. I probably should have…but I hadn’t.
“Do you want me to check?”
His offer touched me. And alleviated a knot in my chest. “Would you? I don’t know what I’ll do if you say there’s a layer of dust—” I bit my lip.
“How about I check, and we cross that bridge when we come to it?”
I nodded. Sound reasoning. Very logical. Just one of the many things I liked about him.
He released me. Then, slowly, he turned the knob. With one final glance in my direction, he headed into their room.
The urge to look seized me, then, just as quickly, passed.
I moved to the top of the stairs and dropped.
The grand staircase was before me. Halfway down, it cleaved in half and curved downward in two pieces.
The foyer was two stories of windows. On sunny days, this space was drenched in sunlight.
Almost overwhelmingly so. We rarely used the front door, so if that doorbell rang, the visitor was likely a stranger.
A door shut and Spencer plopped next to me.
I linked my arm through his and leaned against him.
“Not a speck of dust. All the clothes hanging in the closet are in dry cleaner bags. I didn’t open the drawers, but I suspect as much care was taken with them. The bathroom’s spotless. Whoever does your cleaning is doing a good job.”
I blinked. “Thank you for that.”
He shrugged. “Not much to do. That space is…massive. I can see why it might feel like a waste to leave so much of the house unused.”
I waited, but nothing more was forthcoming. “Do you think I should move in there?”
A long time passed before he drew in a long breath and let it out slowly.
“Only you can answer that question. I don’t have a lot of experience with grief—certainly nothing as profound as losing a parent.
Let alone two. I think—” He cleared his throat.
“I know a charity that accepts donations of professional clothes. They give them to people trying to enter the workforce who’ve faced barriers—poverty, incarceration, addiction—things that make getting a job much harder.
At least they can go into interviews with nice clothes.
” He rested his ear against the top of my head that was resting on his shoulder.
“Just something to consider. I can’t see you wearing their clothes. ”
I laughed. Lightheartedly. “No. Definitely not. Both were much shorter than me. And I’d never feel right. But giving their clothes away? That feels…macabre.”
“Then don’t. It’s just a suggestion. You might also find a consignment store. Then you could make some money.”
I shivered. “That would be a hundred times worse. I don’t need the money.
” I let the first suggestion settle over me.
People who might benefit from my parents’ things.
Their very expensive and well-maintained clothes.
That held some appeal. “Can you get me the number of those people? The ones who help people get back on their feet?”
“Sure. There’s no rush. Some of those clothes are classic—they’re not going to go out of fashion.”
“That’s true. I have my mother’s jewelry. My father’s cufflinks….” I swallowed again.
“Sentimental things you could easily pass along to your children.”
“My—” I nearly swallowed my tongue. I pulled my head away from him and met his startled gaze—all wide eyes and confusion. “You think I’m going to have kids?”
He cocked his head. “You’re young, Malik. I mean, you might know you’re not going to have kids, which is fine. Or you might change your mind later. But…” He broke my gaze.
Gently, I pressed my fingers to his jaw and urged him to turn toward me.
To meet my gaze.
His eyes shone.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
He sniffed. “It’s stupid. Some people just aren’t meant to be parents.”
“But you wanted to be.”
He swallowed. “Yeah, I did. I thought that Paul would come around to the idea…” He snickered. “More fool me.”
“Jackass.”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“You’re only forty—that’s not too late.”
“With a job that barely keeps a roof over my head? With a five-hundred-square-foot condo?”
I nodded. “We make choices. This Land is Ours is your penance. I get it. But if you really want kids, you either need to marry someone rich or find a way to make more money. Or move to the middle of nowhere—but then you’d have employment problems.” I winked.
“Or marry a guy with a massive house and a decent inheritance.”
He stilled.
I stilled. “I was just…”
“Yeah. I know.” He blinked. “Music? Then we can eat. I’m getting hungry. Then—” He gestured to my bedroom with his chin.
I grinned. “Yeah. That.”
With the moment of solemnity passed, we headed downstairs.