7. Chapter 7
Chapter 7
Chloe
Seven cars pack into Carter’s driveway and in front of his house for the football game. Of course, I’m running late and have to park a few houses down. I rush into Carter’s stately two-story home without knocking, afraid I missed most of the first quarter of the Utah football game.
Passing the office and formal living room on either side of the front entryway, I walk down the short hallway leading to the open floor plan at the back of the house. As usual, the sectional is full of people. Enough food to feed a small army litters the island. And my best friend is standing next to my brother behind the couch, smiling.
Spotting me, Kate ditches Carter, meeting me by the island. I set my bowl of homemade salsa and a bag of tortilla chips on the counter. It’s laughable looking at Carter’s updated home with light-gray cabinets, hardwood floors, and big-screen TV compared to my small duplex with outdated carpet, tiles, and yellow kitchen counters. Who knew twins could end up in such vastly different circumstances as adults?
“It’s about time you got here,” Kate says, snatching paper plates from the corner of the counter and handing me one. “I thought I’d be the only girl and I’ve been waiting for your salsa.”
“Sorry.” My lips pull down, mirroring my mood. “I got distracted this afternoon and lost track of time.” And by distracted, I mean lying on my couch absently scrolling through social media, trying to block out Mom and what she did to us from my mind. By the time I came up for air (three hours later), it was time for me to head to Carter’s, but I hadn’t made the salsa yet. If I didn’t love being around my twin and watching football, I would have stayed home.
“Are you okay?” Kate’s gaze rakes over me like she’s trying to assess what’s wrong with me.
Physically, yes. But mentally and emotionally? Not really. Moments I try not to think about too often hit me out of nowhere today. A few scrolled through my mind like a movie stuck on repeat.
Like the time I started my period and didn’t know exactly what was happening to me or what to do about it. With tears streaming down my face, my stomach cramping, I was stuck on the toilet because I was too scared to move. I silently screamed, wishing for the ten millionth time that Mom—the pre-sixth-birthday Mom—was around.
Or when Thomas Richards flirted with me for weeks in eighth grade, then when we attended the same party, he sought me out and gave me my first kiss. The next week at school, he refused to acknowledge I existed. My heart ripped in two as I struggled to understand why he’d do that. Was I not good enough for him anymore? Was I someone he thought he could use then throw away?
All I wanted was for Mom to cradle me in her lap and stroke my hair like she did when I scraped a knee as a kid, reassuring me I’d be all right. When we turned six, she met Lewis, and the Mom we knew vanished. In her place was a woman no longer capable of cooking, doing our laundry, or taking us to the park. She quit her job, spent her time doing drugs and drinking, and ignored Carter and me. Mom no longer wanted us. She discarded us like we were used tissues, instead of children in her care.
Blinking away the moisture pooling in my eyes, I force my lips into a wobbly smile. “I’ll be fine. Just stuff from my past that resurfaced.”
A crease forms between Kate’s brows, her lips softening into an almost frown. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Goodness, no. That’s the last thing I want. “Eating and watching the game with you is the distraction I need.” Pointing to the platter on the counter, I say, “What have you tried?”
“Nothing yet. I was waiting for you.” Grabbing a spoon from the box next to the plates, she scoops a few spoonfuls of my salsa onto her plate then opens the chip bag and grabs a fistful. “The bean dip looks good though.”
“Which dish is Carter’s?” Whatever he makes often gets eaten first. I do fairly well in the kitchen myself, but when Grammy said she never wanted us to struggle to feed ourselves like we did when Mom was strung out, Carter ran with learning his way around a recipe .
“He made the bacon-wrapped jalapenos and the Stromboli.”
I bump her hip with mine. “How early did you show up?”
“Only ten minutes before the game started. I went shopping with my mom this morning.”
Normally when someone mentions their mom, a tiny needle stabs my chest. Because of my raw emotions from this morning, it’s like a machete hacks away at my heart. I like Kate’s mom. She’s sweet and always kind to me. There’s no reason to begrudge my best friend for the connection she shares with her mother.
But right now? Jealousy claws at my throat. “Fun.” My tone does not suggest her morning was fun. “What did you buy? Something I can borrow?” We’re not the same pants size, so we only share tops. Since Kate makes way more money than I do, her wardrobe is fancier and cuter than mine.
“I got a darling maroon and cream sweater and this incredibly soft bronze-colored sweater. After I’ve worn them, you’re welcome to try them on and see which one you want to wear. Maybe for a date?” Her expression is hopeful.
“Maybe.” I shrug. But really, it’s a hard no. Now that I’m officially in the later half of my twenties, when I tell guys I don’t want kids, they break up with me, or they aren’t the kind of guy I want to spend the rest of my life with anyway. I don’t do relationships. They never work out, and to keep everyone from experiencing what I did as a kid, it’s best to stay away. Everyone is safer that way.
As I reach for the carrots on the veggie tray, the doorbell rings and my gaze pops to Carter. Who could that be? His usual group is here, hogging all the soft seats .
Carter puts his plate on the dining table behind him and goes to answer the door.
“Is Carter expecting anyone else?” My brow furrows. “I thought the gang was all here?”
Kate’s gaze stays glued to the hallway. “They are. Maybe someone ordered food?”
“Why? There’s plenty here.”
When the person trailing behind Carter comes into view, my heart stutters in my chest. At least we’ve progressed from completely stopping every time I see Dawson. I’ll take the tiny progress.
“He’s not my usual type, but he is sexyyy ,” Kate whispers, staring at Dawson.
“Mmm,” is all I manage to say. She’s not wrong. In fact, it’s annoying how right she is. Why does a guy in well-fitting jeans and a U of U polo shirt make the blood in my veins heat like I’m sipping hot apple cider?
“Grab some food and pull up a chair,” Carter says to Dawson, pointing to the smorgasbord Kate and I are filling our plates with.
“I will. Thanks.” Dawson comes into the kitchen, and my lungs cease their normal function.
“Hey.” Dawson bobs his head in a typical bro greeting.
“Hi, Dawson,” Kate says.
“Hello. Where’s Finn?” Do I need to worry about getting spilled on again?
Dawson waves toward the door. “He went swimming with his cousins. Carter invited me tonight. I thought I’d come hang out before putting Finn to bed and working some more. ”
Thank goodness, I’m safe. I hand Dawson a plate. “Help yourself.”
“Thanks.”
Getting myself a scoop of the salsa I brought, Dawson asks, “How’s the appreciation festival planning going?”
I wobble my head from side to side. “I’m in the research phase. I need to get things done fast if I’m going to pull it off. But I’m sure I will. Do you like parties?”
He lets out a chuckle. “Not in the least. But as the new guy, I’d love to pitch in. How can I help?”
Spending any amount of time with Dawson, besides quick run-ins like this or at the gym, isn’t in my plans. How will I survive being around him and keep my attraction in check? And what about his son?
At the same time, it would be really nice to have someone to bounce ideas off of and delegate tasks to. Who am I to say no to free help? And I bet the more I’m around him, the less my heart will freak out every time I see him. “I’m researching venues soon. Want to join me?”
“Sure.” He hands me his cell phone. “Add yourself to my contacts and we can text about it later.”
I type my phone number into his cell. “Kate, what about you? Would you like to join the festival planning committee?”
Kate lets out a hysterical laugh. “Are you kidding me? I don’t have time for that. You two have fun.” She walks away, leaving me alone with Dawson.
“Did you graduate from the U?” I ask Dawson to fill the silence Kate left in her wake .
“Uh, no. I started there but moved to Tennessee when I was twenty and finished my degrees online through Southern New Hampshire University. But I’ve been a Utah fan all my life.”
“How long did you live in Tennessee?”
“Too long,” he coughs out.
At least I think that’s what he said. The words were too mumbled to tell. “Sorry. What was that?”
“Eight years.”
“Oh wow. What made you decide to move back to Utah?”
Dawson clears his throat. Blinks at me. Snags a handful of cheese-flavored chips.
I didn’t realize him moving was such a sore topic. “You don’t have to tell me.”
“I got divorced.”
My lips pull down. “Oh. I’m sorry, Dawson.”
He shrugs. “It was for the best.”
I’m not sure what else I’m supposed to say here. Congrats you ended your marriage? Apologize again? Ask more questions? An awkward silence descends as I decide how to respond. Lamely I go with, “Well… I’m going to grab a seat.”
“Sure. See you over there.”
The only open seats are at the dining room table. I take the chair next to Kate, giving me a straight shot of the television. I get lost in the game and eating a delicious dinner.
At halftime, Kate puts a hand on my shoulder. “Come on, let’s go for a walk. I need some air.”
I stand, going to the island to grab more veggies I can eat on our quick jaunt. We head outside and the second we get off the porch, cool air kisses my skin, making goosebumps rise all over me.
“This better be quick. I’m cold.” Now that it’s September, it’s chilly at night. My exposed skin is proof it’s time to break out my light jackets.
“You’ll warm up once we get moving, you big baby,” Kate teases, tugging on my arm.
I take a bite of crisp bell pepper.
“What’s going on with you and Dawson?” Kate blurts.
My food lodges in my throat. Spluttering out a cough, I try to get my airway free. “Nothing’s going on. You’ve completely misread the situation. I barely know the guy.”
“You sure? I thought I saw some interest on your part when he first walked in.”
Being attracted to someone doesn’t mean anything will happen. I’m attracted to Henry Cavill. You don’t see me moving to England, stalking him and trying to be his wife.
“Kate,” I warn.
“Right.” Kate puts a hand on my arm, stopping our walk. “I’m not trying to push you toward Dawson. From the little I’ve interacted with him so far, he seems like a great guy. But if he’s not the one you want, it’s fine. Forget I said anything. What I am concerned about is how long it’s been since you’ve gone on a date, and even longer since you’ve had a boyfriend.”
“My life’s too busy to go out all the time.” That’s a straight up lie and Kate knows it.
“I worry about you. I’m allowed as your best friend, you know.”
“What worries you? ”
“Your happiness.”
“I’m happy.” Am I, though? I like my job. I love my family. My friends (just friend . Singular. Kate is the only one I talk to and hang out with outside of family and coworkers.) bring me joy. But is it enough?
“You say that, but I know you, Chloe. You’re not fine and you haven’t been for quite some time.”
I’m too ashamed to tell her I’m scared of being abandoned again. Or how horrified I am I’ll repeat my mom’s mistakes. There are some things too hard to share with anyone. This deep, dark secret of mine is one of them. “Thank you, doctor, for your analysis. Can we go back now? I don’t want to miss the third quarter kickoff.”
“Only if you promise if you meet the right guy, you’ll give him a chance.”
Crossing my toes, I say, “I promise.”
I’m not looking for anyone. Where does she think I’m going to find my soulmate? Despite how lonely I am, singlehood is my calling in this life. Wonder if Grammy and Papa would let me get some cats at the duplex…a black one would be perfect.