Chapter 9 – I’m Dying to Read It
Liam
Of course she’d write me back. Rosalie never suppresses a kind thought, which is one of the things I like best about her.
I play with the edges of the folded-up letter she left for me under the calendar page and then shove it in the front pocket of my white dress shirt in a panic when I hear her coming down the stairs.
Once at the bottom, she’ll walk through the living room and straight into the kitchen.
It’s weird how I can predict her movements, but now I can’t predict my own.
Our phone conversation last night was easy, but a few minutes ago, I walked in and literally said, “Oh.” Like I was surprised to see her in my house.
More like, I was surprised by how much the attraction thing is going to be a problem going forward.
When she turned and smiled at me, it seemed to happen in slow motion with a hair flip and everything.
And then her smile dropped and she raised an eyebrow at me because I was being weird.
Thankfully, the kids discovered I was home right then and ate up all the awkwardness between us with their squawking.
I thought my professional friendliness was to protect her, but maybe it was to protect me.
As expected, she walks right into the kitchen and comes to stand next to me at the desk, looking over the sticky notes.
Tasks that don’t get done get moved up. Sometimes the edges of the calendar start to look like a Candy Land board.
I do not miss the way her gaze goes from the calendar to my front shirt pocket.
The letter doesn’t quite fit inside all the way.
Even worse, she wrote it on a yellow sheet of paper.
“Got something there?” she asks with a smirk.
“Nope. It’s nothing.”
“I can just throw it out for you then.” She reaches for my letter, and I press my hand against my shirt to block her. Not that I think she’d actually take it from me. She’s already proved her point. Yes, I got her letter, and yes, I’m dying to read it.
“Is there anything you need before I go?” she asks. “I found my shoes.” Stepping back, she kicks out one leg in demonstration, showing off her brown leather sandal. “Callie put them in her closet because she thinks they’re cute.”
My daughter is a kleptomaniac and they are cute shoes. But I don’t say any of that. All I manage is, “They are shoes.”
Rosalie laughs like I said it as a joke. Yeah, let’s go with that. My humor is dryyyy today.
I rub the back of my head. “So, um. No, I don’t need anything. I might hit the grocery store tonight, and if I do, I’ll cross off what we get from the list.”
“Okay.”
My cell phone rings, and I pull it from my back pocket. Rosalie starts to move away, assuming it’s a work call, but when I answer and say, “Hi, Jack,” she quietly claps her hands together.
Jack is the exception to every rule. He can get away with not calling me for months, and it still feels like we’re close. While Rosalie tiptoes around my parents, she loves Jack. My younger brother is a lot like her, actually. They both break down walls without really trying.
When Callie dances into the kitchen and motions for me to pick her up, I roll my eyes and hand Rosalie the phone.
She takes it gladly so I can hold my daughter. “Liam is temporarily unavailable. How’s it going, Jack? How’s Florida?”
“Rosie!” I can hear him loud and clear. “I’m doing amazing. I don’t have to ask how you are. I can hear it in your voice. My brother doesn’t deserve you. Why are you still there? Isn’t it, like, six p.m. your time?”
“It’s five. And I was about to leave for the day, but then you called.”
“Lucky you.”
“Right.” She rolls the word out, giving him a hard time.
“So, I read that book you recommended. Super twisty. I couldn’t guess who the murderer was. Do you have any more of those?”
“How do you have time to read books?” I call out.
Rosalie puts it on speaker just in time for Jack to say, “Only a nonreader would ask that, Liam.”
“I read.”
“Boring nonfiction books about increasing productivity don’t count.”
Callie pats my cheeks. “It’s okay, Daddy.”
Rosalie and Jack ignore me after that while she gives him more book recommendations.
But my job has taught me to watch for the evasion tactics people use when they don’t want to answer a question.
There’s something different in Jack’s life, which prompted him to call.
This isn’t the first time. He called me last weekend on a Friday night when he’d normally be out with friends.
He didn’t have a specific reason. Actually, he seemed kind of…
lonely. He would hate me if I pried, so once the call is handed off to me, we just talk about all the little nothings while I watch Rosalie take down her bag and go in search of Wyatt so she can say goodbye.
The second she’s gone and I’m off the phone, I pull her letter out of my pocket and read it.
Liam,
You’re going to regret sending me a letter, because I love letter writing.
LOVE IT. I had a Korean pen pal when I was eleven.
She was the daughter of a business associate of my dad’s.
We wrote each other for about six months.
She had the most beautiful handwriting, and her letters were written on the prettiest stationary.
I don’t remember why we stopped writing each other. I guess life happens.
I’ll stop rambling, because I have a couple of questions for you.
What is one dinner you haven’t had in a long time but sounds really good? (Seriously, I’m running out of dinner ideas.)
Do you have any hobbies I don’t know about?
How did we offend Mrs. Lobronski next door? We brought her cookies yesterday, and she sniffed and asked if you knew what we were up to. (We’re generally up to no good, but it’s nothing scandalous.)
Always on my best questionable behavior,
Rosalie