Chapter 26 – You Don’t Have to Feed a Drum Set
Liam
“Will you kill the music?” Rosalie calls out from the living room.
She knows I’m in the kitchen, and she probably suspects I’m in here retrieving my letter, considering the little remote to the sound system is kept next to the calendar.
I silence the Jonas Brothers and unfold her letter, walking with it as I read.
I had a feeling she’d share about her weekend, seeing as how it’s Monday, and I’m right.
This is a recap of her Friday night date.
Liam,
I spill stuff on myself all the time. Heck, the first time we met, a waitress dropped that iced coffee down my back. I have never had a restaurant experience quite like last night.
Kambryn and Gavin found the whole thing hilarious and graciously accept my ultimatum that I’m not up for a third date.
Poor Trey. He didn’t believe them. I did the ultra-uncourageous thing and turned him down for a coffee meetup later this week via text rather than calling him back. He sent me a sad emoji in return.
So, that’s my life outside of work. I guess I can’t say I’m completely done with fondue because I created dipping stations with the kids for lunch and they loved it.
We even attempted caramel sauce. Spills happened.
Nobody got yelled at, or burned, although I did make them help me clean it all up after.
Unscathed (sort of),
Rosalie
P.S. When I’m on my last nerve, I cry. But you probably already know that. Crying teachers terrify children. Not your children, though. They’re used to me.
I look up from Rosalie’s words, having finished, to meet her disapproving gaze from across the living room.
I guess we’re supposed to ignore the letters in each other’s presence, but since she was busy unraveling Callie’s double French braids when I came in, I didn’t think she’d notice.
I guess I should have stealthily tucked the letter away, as is our habit.
Callie has tiny pieces of grass on the front of her shirt, and her feet are dirty from running around barefoot outside.
Clearly, she’s been seizing every last bit of summer, a Rosalie specialty.
“Trey sounds like an enthusiastic dipper.”
“He is.” Rosalie presses her lips together, looking like she’s debating whether to jump up and rip the letter out of my hands or play it cool. Her hair is also in a French braid. I don’t know how she can reach backwards and braid her own hair, but I’m pretty sure Callie didn’t do it for her.
I understand her frustration with my rule breaking. The distance from vulnerability that a letter gives has been taken away from her. I’m looking at her with her words fresh in my mind. It’s Rosalie magnified. Rosalie 2.0. I’m sorry for that, but also not.
“You’re never going to leave me one of these again, are you?
” I fold it up and put it in my pocket, feeling safe to allude to our secret with a kid in the room.
Callie’s eyes are glazing over while Rosalie runs her fingers through her hair.
Callie might as well be in another country.
Or universe. Early bedtime tonight. Wyatt is at a friend’s house.
“No, I will. I’m a reciprocator.”
“So, as long as I leave you a letter, you’ll leave me one?”
“Pretty much.”
“What else do you reciprocate?”
Her eyebrows rise. I never blatantly flirt. I don’t even know why I said it or what I meant by it.
I clear my throat. “Anyway, I, uh, heard from my mom this morning.”
“Oh?”
About twice a month, I wake up to find a voicemail from her waiting for me.
Mom does all her best thinking late at night.
That, or she knows I put my phone on do-not-disturb after eleven and knows I won’t take the call.
She avoids texting at all costs, but she also hates live phone conversations.
I really should introduce her to the Marco Polo app.
“I could paraphrase, but you should probably hear this for yourself.” Since I read Rosalie’s letter in front of her, the least I can do is give her this window into my life. I sink into the armchair across from the couch where she’s sitting and hit play on the message.
“Liam, you RSVP’d with a plus-one for our anniversary party this Saturday, but you didn’t put in a name.
I need to know who this person is. Are you dating someone?
What am I saying? You’re always dating someone.
Keep in mind this place charges $250 a head.
The chef is very exclusive. Also, I’d like to see the kids this week if there’s still time.
Let’s do a family dinner. Please bring along Rosalie.
They like having her there with them, and that way we can herd them into the playroom once they get bored with their gifts.
Yes, I bought them gifts, loud ones and big ones so you’ll think of me every time you see or hear them. ”
No one ever accused her of not having a sense of humor. It’s wicked, and exhausting, and that’s the way she likes it.
Rosalie scrunches her nose. “More gifts.”
“More gifts. I’ve been trying to imagine what she’s planning to inflict on us all day. I think I could handle a drum set. You don’t have to feed it. What if she buys us a dog?”
“She won’t. She’s allergic, right?”
“That wouldn’t matter to her. She never comes here.” I’m not even sure why. My parents like things on their turf, I guess. I’ll have to text my dad later and find out what he knows. He will not interfere with his wife’s gifting habits, but he makes a good informant.
I RSVP’d to their anniversary party thinking I’d be taking Maggie along.
She would have met my parents, which would have thrilled her, possibly more than the fine dining.
But I only give Maggie a fleeting thought.
Rosalie is invited to a family dinner at my parents’ house.
That’s not a new thing, but our friendship is.
Rosalie claims we’re on solid ground. It’s a well-meant lie.
There’s an awkward and electrified awareness that’s working its way into our every interaction, and it’s not just because I have feelings for my nanny and I’m getting worse at hiding it.
I can’t tell if Rosalie’s taking cues from me or if I’m taking cues from her.
It’s probably a little of both. Regardless of who’s leading the way, my mom will pick up on it.
She can read vibes like no one else I’ve ever met.
She’s correctly predicted the creation and fall of most of the relationships around her.
Unfortunately, she thinks this gives her matchmaking skills. I think it would if she could set aside her inner control freak. Choosing is not the same as predicting, and she wants to choose.
She wouldn’t choose Rosalie for me, because my mom doesn’t believe in taking people out of boxes. She would be appalled, and Rosalie doesn’t deserve that from her. She certainly doesn’t deserve her wrath over vibes. Nothing’s happened.
Rosalie looks up from her phone. “Wednesday is meet-the-teacher night. We can’t do it then.”
“Correct.”
Callie is now full-on snoring with her head lolling back against the couch. Rosalie scoops her up from the floor in front of her and settles her with a couch pillow under her head. A nap this late will ruin her for bedtime, but we’ll worry about that later.
I follow Rosalie to the big calendar in the kitchen so we can consult together. Our combined scheduling is not a perfect science. Sometimes things scribbled here don’t make it to our digital calendars, and vice versa.
Scheduling conflicts aside, there’s also the issue of whether Rosalie even wants to come. “I could say you’re not available this week, but she has your phone number, and she would absolutely use it to override me. That doesn’t mean you have to go with us, though.”
“I don’t mind. She’s right. It makes it easier on the kids. And her.” Rosalie ducks in front of me to write something down on the grocery list, and while I should move back to give her plenty of room, I don’t. She invaded my space first. I think it’s a dare.
Just as I thought, when she’s done writing, she turns so we’re facing each other. She’s just one upped me to see what I’ll do.
A strand of her hair has fallen out of her French braid, and I resist the impulse to tuck it behind her ear.
She’s wearing pearl studs with little diamonds, a fancy contrast to her hot-pink tank top and worn-in jeans.
I swallow hard, trying to regain my train of thought.
“And then there’s the other problem, that I RSVP’d for two to their anniversary party. ”
“You thought you’d be bringing Maggie?”
“Yeah. If I don’t bring someone, my mom will pick. Someone she deems worthy of a two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar-a-head dinner.”
“Would that be so bad?” She says it with a look of innocence, but we’re standing so close that she’s practically tucked into me.
I stare her down. “You tell me.”
It’s the wrong thing to say, but there isn’t a right thing. I don’t want to bring anyone else with me to anything. I like the people in my circle right now, and I’m not looking to make an addition. But should I say that? Could I say that?
Rosalie’s eyes narrow. “This is weird, you and I. Don’t you dare make me define it. I already tried that.”
“Friends,” I whisper. We’re at a standoff, a precipice, and I don’t know what’s on the other side.
I just know the more I try to keep things where they are, the more it doesn’t work.
I’m slipping further into her orbit with every second I spend at this desk.
As it is, I’m dying to box her in against the calendar with my hands bracketing her sides.
I want to slide the tip of my nose along her neck and smell peach blossoms and Rosalie-scented skin, and then trace that path with my lips. These are not friendship thoughts.
Despite her irritation with me, her gaze moves to my mouth, and I can practically see her deliberating. It wouldn’t be my fault if she initiated something, would it?
The front door bangs open and then closed, and Wyatt calls out, “Dad?”
In the history of straightening, no one has straightened as fast I straighten right then.
And I’m relieved. What am I thinking? I cannot play with fire.
She deserves better from me than dares and flirtation where neither of us are ready to admit what’s really going on.
“Yeah, Wy? How was your friend’s house?”
“Great! He gave me his old baseball glove. I’m just gonna run it upstairs.”
I rub the back of my neck and stare at Rosalie. She stares back and me, and then she reaches behind her, takes a sticky note, and plants it on my forehead.
“What was that for?” I ask.
“It’s a reminder to get milk and bread the next time you’re at the store.”
I peel it off my forehead and look at it. “Will do.”
She’s the first to move away, stepping back and walking over to the hook where she keeps her bag.
She takes it down and slips her shoes back on.
Without looking at me, she says, “Thursday night would be best. Just let me know. I’m still planning to babysit for the party on Saturday night, regardless of your RSVP status. ”
Before I can think of a good response, she’s gone.
I’ve been called out, and rightly so. I asked her opinion on something I should already know.
Am I that afraid of my mother? The man who eloped against her wishes can’t tell her he doesn’t need a date for a family party?
The solution is so obvious that I’m embarrassed for trying to make Rosalie a part of it. I’ll call Mom today.
My only excuse is that I was trying to be more honest, the way Rosalie was honest with me about Trey. I can’t believe he burned her with caramel sauce. Although, I can’t say I’m not glad he’s an idiot.