Chapter 48
SAM
Every time I go back to Colin and Sarah’s flat, the countdown to seeing Rosie and Maggi starts again. It runs beside an ongoing one—the countdown to when I get to fully call them home.
And that’s what I’m doing right now, sitting at the kitchen island, nursing a coffee, waiting until it’s time to head over to their house so I can walk Maggi to school with Rosie.
I spoke at length with my therapist about my about-face on the whole married-with-a-kid thing, and he basically summed it up as never wanting those things because I hadn’t met someone to want them with.
Then he reminded me that I missed the rough first couple of years of raising a child.
He grilled me on where I was mentally about the future.
If marriage was something I now wanted, when could I see it happening?
I said tomorrow if that’s what she wanted, but I’m not in a rush, and it’s not because I’m afraid or something.
I’m not in a rush because this feels final whether there are rings on our fingers or not.
Was I open to another kid? That one I had a shockingly fast answer for.
Yes, absolutely. But that isn’t something we’ve really discussed.
Rosie’s focus is on Maggi, not on a hypothetical future child.
She wants Maggi to be more settled before she even thinks about looking for a job, so it’s a fair assumption that a baby isn’t top of mind.
He’d dug deep on how I felt about what it means to be with someone whose previous relationship ended because of death and not because of choice. And I gave him a summary of what I’d told her because those words felt far too private to share in detail. But I assured him that I was ready and willing.
My therapist also decided to prescribe the lowest dose of my meds to see how things went, and so far I feel good.
I haven’t been pulled under since coming back, but I know I’m still on cloud nine, and things could very well change.
The fact I’m not ignoring that possibility feels like a big step for me after years of brushing aside the down days.
I’ve even been approached about being part of a mental health campaign, which is something I’m mulling over.
I’m probably going to do it. They really sold the initiative of showing that people from all walks of life, including people in high-profile professions, aren't immune. While also pushing the message that we have these things, but these things aren’t who we are.
I shared how I hadn’t handled the diagnosis well at first. It felt like there was suddenly this giant flashing sign above my head letting the world know.
When in reality, no one knew. And now when someone reacts with shock, I have to remind them, and myself, that the stigma of looking depressed, anxious, or any number of other descriptions is often what leads people to avoid seeking help.
I don’t look a certain way, so I must be fine.
You end up wearing a mask so often you forget to take it off, but when you do, everything is worse.
Lots to keep my mind busy, yet it always seems to wander back to this goddamn countdown.
At five to seven I give up waiting and leave the house, with the intention of stopping for coffee on the way.
When I pull into the driveway, I can see movement through the front window, and I instantly feel calmer.
“You don’t have to knock, you know,” Rosie says, rising on her tiptoes to kiss me quickly before stepping back and letting me in.
“I know b—”
“Sam!” Maggi comes bounding up to me. “Are you here for breakfast?”
“Hey, princess. Depends, what’s for breakfast?”
“Toast, eggs, and orange slices,” she says, and Rosie grabs the coffee from my hands before Maggi grabs my right one and pulls me behind her to the kitchen.
I wonder if she’ll be like this one day when I’m down the hall and not across the city. Will she still be happy to see me?
Rosie sets the coffee on the island and slips around me, her hand gliding across my lower back, sending shivers up my spine.
“I’d love some orange slices if you are willing to share.” I bump Maggi with my elbow, distracting her while I reach around with my left hand and grab one from her plate.
“Orange thief,” she accuses, her little finger aimed at me.
“It’s okay, Roo, I’ve got lots more,” Rosie assures her, lifting a huge bag of oranges into the air. “Someone is going through an orange phase.”
“What’s your favourite fruit, Sam?” Maggi asks before sinking her teeth into a fresh slice and pulling the pulp from the rind.
“Hmmm…” I tap my chin. “I’m a big fan of apples.”
“I like oranges best,” she chirps, sucking in another slice.
“This week,” Rosie says, resting her hip on the counter and crossing her arms. The purple sweater she’s wearing rising a little higher over her left hip and exposing a sliver of skin.
“Next week she may very well love the same fruit as her favourite person.” She grins, her right eyebrow quirking as she studies Maggi, who has gone back to eating her breakfast and flipping through a picture book, unbothered by the conversation.
“What about you, Rosie? What’s your favourite fruit?” I ask before taking a sip of my coffee.
“Raspberries,” she says without missing a beat. “There’s a bush in the back. Maggi is very excited about picking them next summer.”
“Maggi, eh?” I tease, enjoying the blush that spreads across her cheeks far too much for present company.
“Raspberries were my mom’s favourite.” You’d be my mom’s favourite, I think.
Because she would be. My mom would adore this woman and she’d spoil the hell out of Maggi.
I swallow down the emotion that threatens to turn this happy morning into something else.
Not quite ready to acknowledge how shitty it is that my parents never got to meet my person… my people.
Rosie looks concerned and I prepare myself for a question when I see her breathe in but her attention shifts to Maggi. “Mags, hurry up and finish. We've gotta get going.”
“Will you walk me to school?” Maggi asks, looking up at me with wide brown eyes that I’m pretty sure make it impossible to say no to anything.
“If that’s okay with you.” I shrug, trying to act nonchalant about something I’ve been looking forward to.
“It’s okay,” she confirms before jumping up from the table and running out of the room.
“Is she capable of walking anywhere?” I chuckle, looking over to see Rosie walking toward me with a wedge of orange.
“No,” she says, holding the wedge up to my mouth, licking her lips when I take a bite. She pulls it away, tossing the rind onto Maggi’s plate, and then leans in until her lips meet mine.
It’s the kind of kiss I have been looking forward to since I left last night, but it’s also the kind of kiss that we can’t be sharing when we have a precocious kid who is no doubt about to come bouncing back in here at any minute.
Rosie’s fingers curl around the top of my jeans, and she tugs me against her, making me hiss as I try desperately to keep control over my body.
“You’re cruel,” I murmur against her lips.
“I missed you last night,” she whispers, giving my bottom lip a little nip before backing away, flipping from seductress mode to mom mode instantly. “You ready to go to school, Roo?”
While they get ready, I take several calming breaths and try to think of anything but what happens after we get back from walking Maggi to school.
A bang and Maggi bursting into tears does the trick. Turning, I see her sitting on the floor holding her toes and wailing.
Rosie crouches beside her, picking her foot up and examining it and murmuring softly. Maggi’s tears slow, but she’s still sniffling away.
“Do we need to go to the hospital?” Rosie asks, dead serious, and I watch as Maggi shakes her head. “Are you sure?” Maggi nods, wiping her eyes and pulling her foot out of her mother’s grasp. “Okay, well, let’s go get your shoes and coat on, and we can head out. Do you still want Sam to come?”
“Yes,” Maggi whimpers, pushing off the floor and heading to the front door.
Rosie stands back up but doesn’t come closer to me. “Have you recovered?” she asks, her gaze dropping to my crotch, her lips twisting as she desperately fights a smile.
“Ready!” Maggi calls, and Rosie tips her head toward the front door.
“Time to go to school.”
We walk three across, each of Maggi’s hands in one of ours. She spends half the walk demanding to be swung, and her giggles ring out each time.
How could I not want this?
At the school, Maggi barely gives us a wave before she runs into the building, grabbing the hand of another student on her way.
“So she just…” I start.
“She sure does.” She laughs, watching me process the fact that the kid who doesn’t usually leave my side happily ran away without looking back.
“Blythe,” a blonde woman says, coming up beside us as two kids wave back before heading into the building.
“Morning, Ally,” Rosie says cheerfully, but Ally’s attention is already on me.
“I know you.” Her eyes narrow as she studies me. “Rugby?”
“Sam, actually.” I stick my hand out, and she shakes it.
Ally’s eyes flick between Rosie and me, clearly hoping for some clarification. I’m not sure what to do. This is the first time we’ve come up against this. Do I introduce myself?
Rosie’s hand slips into mine, and she leans into me. “Sam’s my partner,” she says. Not boyfriend, partner. I’ve never been introduced like this before, and it feels bigger somehow. Probably because everything with her feels bigger.
“Is this why you haven’t joined us for breakfast in a few weeks?” Ally’s eyebrow quirks mischievously while she continues to study us.
“Well, yes. We’ve been working to get the house ready. Finally moved in last weekend, so I guess it’s time we planned that playdate.”
They continue to talk, figuring out which day would be best, perhaps sometime after school, while I stand there still feeling the impact of being called her partner. The warmth of the title spreads through my chest as they talk and continues when we say goodbye and head back the way we came.
Right as we are reaching the house, Rosie drops my hand and takes off at a run.
I, on the other hand, stop dead because my brain can’t seem to comprehend why she’s running away from me.
And then it clicks, except we aren’t exactly in the middle of nowhere, and I’m not sure how it’s going to look with me chasing after her.
It’s not like I’m well known in this neighbourhood.
I speed up my walk, but I don’t run until I hear the front door shut.
I’m met by silence when I walk into the house but then my eyes snag on something on the ground: that purple sweater.