22. Meghan
TWENTY-TWO
Meghan
I wake up cocooned in Cooper's arms, his warm, solid body pressed against my back. Blinking to clear the sleep from my eyes, I glance over at the clock sitting on my bedside table and see that it’s just past five in the morning.
For a brief moment, I forget the events of the previous day as I relax back into Cooper’s embrace.
As if not wanting me to be happy, my mind hits me all at once with the flashbacks from yesterday—my dad’s phone call and his quiet and shocked voice breaking the news to me. It never crossed my mind that I would one day receive that call.
As pain assaults me, I close my eyes in an effort to ward it off. Nobody ever tells you that the pain caused by grief can physically hurt. I don’t want to feel anything.
Oh God, my mom’s gone .
As if sensing my anguish, Cooper tightens his hold on me as I cover my mouth to muffle the sob threatening to erupt.
I don’t know why he came here, or why he stayed, but I’m grateful he’s here.
Lying in his arms, I listen to his steady breathing mingled with the sounds of Brooklyn outside of my window, allowing them to soothe me for what feels like hours.
Before I know it, my alarm is going off and I’m moving on autopilot to get ready for my flight at nine. It’ll take me about an hour on the subway to get to the airport.
Leaving Cooper behind in my bed, I walk into the bathroom and turn on the shower before taking in my reflection in the mirror. My eyes are bloodshot and puffy, my nose is red from wiping it so much, and my complexion is pale, like I’ve been avoiding the sun for years.
I stand in a trance, staring at myself until the steam from the shower causes it to disappear and Cooper walks in. Any other day I would have ogled his physique, but instead I gaze at him with tears brimming in my eyes that I’m praying don’t fall.
He doesn’t say a word, just smooths his hand over my hair, placing a soft kiss on the top of my head, as his other hand rests on my hip and pulls me into his embrace. I inhale his scent, using it and the way he holds me in his arms to comfort myself.
We move in a comfortable silence as he helps me undress, taking the lead like I need him to, before guiding me into the shower.
Removing his own clothes, he steps in behind me, taking my washcloth and squeezing my strawberries and cream body wash onto it before lathering it up and smoothing it over my body.
It doesn’t feel sexual, just like he cares about me—to what extent I’m not sure, and I don’t have the capacity to delve into right now.
When he’s finished, he rinses the suds off of me before cleaning himself and I stand under the stream watching him.
The tenderness of his actions both this morning and last night has my chin trembling and silent tears coursing down my cheeks as he rinses himself. .
In my time of need, Cooper has been here taking care of me.
In my mind, I know he isn’t mine, not in the sense of me being able to rely on him like I have been.
So why is he here? Why is he doing all of this for me?
Normally, I’d talk these things through with my mom and she’d laugh, telling me I’m overthinking before giving me some sound advice, but I can’t call her.
I can’t ever call her for advice again .
If I’m truly honest with myself, I want him to be mine and I have since our first meeting. I want him to want me as much as I want him, but I’m almost certain I’m nothing more to him than his assistant.
Then why is he here? Isn’t that the million-dollar question?
My tears continue to fall, both in grief for my mom and because Cooper is here taking care of me. Pulling me into his arms, he’s right there to wipe them away, a pained look on his face .
He picks me up and I wrap my legs around his waist, burying my face into the crook of his neck as my sobs get louder and at the same time he presses my back against the tiles for support. He grounds me and allows me to take comfort in his embrace until eventually my tears stop flowing.
Still in his arms, Cooper carries me out of the shower and places me on the counter, before taking care to dry every inch of me. I watch, mesmerized, as he dries himself next.
“I’m going to miss you,” I whisper into the silence of the room. Almost immediately, I want to take it back, wishing I hadn’t opened my mouth. I don’t want to burst the bubble we’re in.
He freezes for a split second while drying his hair and I wish the towel wasn’t obscuring his face so I could get a read on him.
I open my mouth, ready to apologize for stepping over the boundaries of our…
situationship, but he removes the towel with a blank expression on his face and I snap it shut.
“I could come with you? If you want,” he suggests and I really want to say yes, but not only is that not what we are, but I know he’s got a lot coming up at work.
Shaking my head, I look down at my fingers sitting in my lap. “You can’t. You’ve got too much going on. Anyway, I should really be there for my dad.”
Hanging the towel on the rail, he steps between my legs and brushes my hair from my face before cupping my face.
“I’m going to miss you too, baby. But you’re going to call me every day.
If you need me, you call me and I drop everything and get on a plane to you.
” Placing a gentle kiss on my lips, he steps back, holding his hand out to me.
“Come on, let’s get dressed and get you to the airport. ”
I place my hand in his before jumping down from the counter and following him into the bedroom to get dressed.
Cooper ends up taking me to the airport, upgrading me to first class and then buying a ticket just so that he can wait with me until I need to board my flight.
He didn’t listen to my protests when I said that I could wait by myself, instead he silenced me with a kiss and took my hand as we went through security.
I don’t know what any of it means, but he intertwined his fingers with mine and didn’t let go until I had to get on the plane.
When I board my flight, I buckle into my seat and sleep until we touch down in Sacramento. I don’t want to dwell on why I’m visiting home, especially when I was supposed to visit over the holidays but wasn’t able to get away. Work was just too busy and even though Cooper said I could go, I didn’t.
Although I speak to my parents, in some way or another, nearly every day, my last visit home was nearly a year ago. I was going to visit at Easter and had promised my mom, even with my poor baking skills, that I’d help with the bake sale she does at the local church every year .
Grabbing my luggage, I make my way to the terminal exit where I see my dad in the crowd.
The sorrow on his face that surely matches my own makes my chin tremble and tears tumble down my cheeks.
I’d managed to hold myself together since leaving my apartment.
I’d drawn my strength from Cooper and he’d willingly given it to me, but seeing my dad brings back the reality of why I’m here.
My parents were childhood sweethearts and so my dad has lost the love of his life.
My mom was everything to him and he showed her that every day.
Everyone always joked that they were meant to be.
Warren and Rosie Taylor. They’d been together since they were fourteen-years-old and got married at twenty.
I didn’t come along until they were both in their mid-thirties, and they’ve always told me they wouldn’t have had it any other way as they got to spend their younger years making mistakes and having fun.
I was their miracle baby after having tried for many years unsuccessfully to have children. My mom was only sixty-three, and I thought she would be around to see any children I had—to at least see me get married.
My dad pulls me into his embrace and we hold each other in our own bubble of grief, oblivious to the crowd around us. Both of us sob and take comfort from the other. I pull away first and look into eyes so similar to my own and note that he already looks older than the last time I saw him.
His signature scent of sunshine and cinnamon lingers in the air around us and I give him a trembling smile as my eyes roam over his features, soaking in his familiarity.
“How are you, sweetheart?” he asks, wiping his eyes, and I can see he’s trying to pull himself together.
“I’m okay. How are you?”
“Better now you’re here, sweetheart.” He tucks my hand into the crook of his arm and I rest my head on his shoulder as he grabs my bag, walking us toward the parking garage.
The ride back to the house is quiet as the radio plays old soul classics in the background. I spend the ride to my childhood home looking out of the window as we get closer and closer. Everything looks familiar and yet so different.
She’s not going to be there to welcome me home.
One of my biggest regrets is that I didn’t visit home more often. I didn’t see her in person enough . Resting my elbow on the window ledge, I place my chin in my hand as I try to keep my emotions in check. I can’t help but feel like maybe if I’d been here, she would have been okay.
A single tear slips out and rolls down my cheek before I dash it away.
My dad squeezes my other hand as we turn onto their street, sensing the cloud hovering over me as we draw nearer.
Parking in the driveway, he shuts off the engine as we both stare up at the house in silence, neither of us willing to move to go inside but still connected by our touch.
Pulling in a deep breath that I release in a heavy sigh, I open my door and jump out of the truck. I can’t stay sitting in the car forever. I grab my bag from the backseat and walk toward the front door, hearing the sound of my dad following behind me.
When he opens the front door and I move past him into the hallway, he squeezes my hand, comforting me. The memories I wish I could have avoided just a little bit longer assail me all at once.
Pictures of our family line the hallway walls and my mom’s shoes are still by the front door, her coat and scarf hanging on the hook just above them.
Stepping into the living room, I glance around and spot her favorite chair sitting in the corner.
She liked to sit in that particular spot because she could look out of the window, watch the TV or do her knitting, with the perfect view.
Balls of yarn sit in the basket on the floor under the side table, a half finished project stuffed on top.
Closing my eyes, I take in a deep steadying breath as the memories continue to flit through my mind.
There was the time she comforted me on the couch after my high school boyfriend broke up with me, or when she’d waited up for me after I snuck out to a party with Alex and she’d sat in her chair with the lights off and scared the crap out of me when I tried to sneak back in.
All the times she brought me bowls of ice cream when I was off ‘sick’ from school and she told me later that she knew I wasn’t sick but she wasn’t about to pass up time with me and my grades were good so she wasn’t concerned.
My final memory of her in this house was from the last time I visited home, when she’d rushed me as I’d walked in the door. She’d been so happy to see me.
“Why don’t you get washed up and we can sort something out for dinner?” My dad interrupts my reminiscing and I nod as I turn toward the stairs with my bag in hand.
Walking into my childhood room comes with its own set of memories.
Not much has changed since I left to go to college.
My queen size bed sits in the corner against the far wall and my desk is under the window with the chest of drawers standing next to it.
A small closet is on the wall opposite the bed and a rug is spread across the floor.
I smile as I remember Alex and I having our dance contests when we were in middle school.
We'd force my mom to come in and watch us as we danced around to our favorite songs, usually something by Britney Spears. She was always our biggest cheerleader and we’d both be awarded a cookie as a prize.
Even though I was her daughter, there was never one winner.
I wonder for a moment what Cooper would think of my childhood home. It’s nothing compared to the grandeur of his penthouse, but then neither is my apartment, and he doesn’t seem to have any complaints about that.
I love that he doesn’t flaunt his wealth. In fact, the only clues that tell he’s a billionaire are that he has a driver, wears nice clothes and has expensive watches. Placing my suitcase at the foot of my bed I sit down on the edge and pull my phone out to text him.
Meghan
I’ve just arrived. Thank you again for everything you’ve done for me. I’ll let you know when I’ll be back soon. I’m sorry to leave you in the lurch at work.
I try to keep it business-like. I don’t want to come across as needy, no matter how much I want him.
I’m very aware that when he told me I was to call him while I was away, he was most likely just telling me what he thought I needed to hear after my declaration to try and alleviate some of the awkwardness.
Putting my phone down next to me, I flop back on the bed, thinking he won’t respond for a while, if at all. When my phone goes off with the sound of an incoming text message, I grab it immediately, like a teenager waiting for her crush to text.
Cooper
I’m glad you’ve arrived safely. Take as much time as you need. Even though nobody can do what you do, I can get a temp in while you're away. I don’t want you to come back sooner than you’re ready.
I meant what I said this morning, I’ll be waiting for your call tonight.
A small smile graces my lips as I look down at my phone and read his message over again. An overwhelming urge to tell him I love him rushes through me—him being there for me in my time of need solidified it for me—but I don’t want him to think it’s my grief talking.
I’m certain of my feelings, but I don’t want him to brush off a declaration of love because of this life-altering event.
I couldn’t take the heartache that would inevitably follow.