Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Owen
“Alittle to the left.”
I slide the couch to the left a few inches and step out of the way for Mom and Sharon to examine.
My mom and Cal’s mom went antiquing today, and both fell in love with pieces and needed help getting them home and then moving their existing furniture to put them in place.
First, we went to Mom’s place, and now we’re at Sharon’s.
“Perfect.”
“Anything else while you've got me?”
“No, sweetie,” Mom says. “You’ve done enough. Thanks for the help.”
I wrap an arm around her shoulders. “It’s no trouble, you know that.”
“Well, we appreciate you sacrificing your Saturday afternoon to move furniture for a couple of old ladies.”
“Nonsense. You two don’t look a day over twenty-five.”
“Boy, you are too charming for your own good. Let me get you a clean shirt. You’re covered in dust.”
“It’s fine, Sharon.”
“Hush. I have a stack of T-shirts from the store in the back room. I’ll be right back.”
I could argue with her, but it won’t do me any good. These two women get what they want. It’s no different with Daisy. I’d give her anything, all she has to do is ask.
“So, how’s that grand puppy of mine?”
“She’s a handful, but she’s great.”
“I’m glad you have someone to share that big old house of yours.”
My house isn’t big, but it was feeling a bit lonely until Maui scampered into it. It’s nice not to be alone. It doesn’t hurt knowing Daisy has been in my space when I’m not there.
“You don’t have to worry about me, Mom. I’m all good.”
“I just hate that you’re alone. You have so much to give.”
“I agree with your mother. You’re a catch, Owen Swift. Now, take off that nasty shirt and put this on.”
Great, now they’re ganging up on me. Without thinking about it, I yank my dirty shirt over my head. When Sharon comes back into view, she holds a fresh T-shirt out to me, her mouth hanging open. It takes me a second to realize my error.
Shit.
I tug the clean McKinnon Hardware T-shirt over my head, hoping to avoid a new, unwanted topic of conversation. But I’m not so lucky.
“Owen Swift! What is that? When do you get a tattoo?”
Mom noticed the new ink. But Sharon... she noticed the details, and she’s put two and two together. I can see it in her eyes. This is not ideal.
“It’s nothing, Mom.”
“What is it? Show me.”
“Who wants pancakes?”
“Sharon, it’s 2:30 in the afternoon.”
“Well, I need pancakes.”
Yep, she’s put it together, and is so distraught from her discovery she’s making pancakes.
Sharon’s pancakes are a way for the McKinnon family to celebrate the highs and soothe the lows. Is this a low for her? Is she upset to see the declaration of love on my chest?
“Owen. What is on your chest?”
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s nothing, but you tattooed it on your body? I would imagine it means something to you if you waited to get one until the ripe old age of thirty-six.”
She lifts my shirt and spies the green four-leaf clover with a daisy in the center. Her head tilts to the side as she figures it out.
“Sharon, make enough for three, please.”
“Already on it.”
Mom puts her arm through mine and guides me to the kitchen island where I take a seat and wait. But neither of them speaks. Mom stares straight ahead while Sharon busies herself with pancakes.
“Sharon, have you been getting your fill of our sweet little Gracie?” I ask to end the awkward silence.
She clears her throat, and sputters. “Oh, um. Yes. Yes. She’s a doll.”
Sharon may be a second mom to me, and I know she loves me like a son, but she’s heard about my playboy reputation.
She doesn’t want that for her daughter, I’m sure.
If only she knew that my reputation may precede me, but it’s no longer applicable.
Daisy is the only person my heart belongs to. Has ever belonged to.
“Sweetheart, we’re here if there’s anything you need to talk about.”
“Mom, I’m fine. Really.”
Sharon had her back to us, so when she sets her first batch of flapjacks in front of us, the concern on her face punches me in the gut.
She looks like she’s had the surprise of her life, and it isn’t a good one.
I don’t give a shit what most people think about me, but Sharon is one of the most important people in my life and Daisy’s.
Not gonna lie, her concern about the implication of my tattoo hurts.
“Eat up,” she says, taking her spot back at the stove.
The fork in my hand shakes when I lift it to take a bite. I’m doubtful I’ll be able to stomach a plate of syrupy pancakes without them coming back up, but nobody ever turns down pancakes served at the McKinnon’s table.
Somehow, I swallow my first bite, but it’s a tough go. Like the mind reader she is, Sharon slides a glass of milk in front of me. She observes me for a moment, then her gaze briefly shifts to my mother, then back to me.
Unable to take another bite with their eyes on me, I slide my plate away. Crossing my arms over my chest, I wait.
It’s Sharon who speaks first. “Does she know how you feel?”
I nod, uncertain of how much I’m comfortable sharing. Not because I don’t want them to know. Hell, I wish there were no more secrets, and the entire world knew how I felt about Daisy. But this is her story, too. I’m not about to share it for her. Or without her.
“Does she feel the same?” It’s Mom who asks the question I know the answer to, even if Daisy refuses to believe it herself.
But again. This isn’t my question to answer.
“I love you both, but I respect her too much to discuss what there is or isn’t between us without her here.”
Sharon reaches out to me, so I give her my hand. “You’re a good man, Owen Swift.”
And that’s it.
No more questions. No more shocked faces.
As if my tattoo didn’t exist, the two of them discuss their upcoming cruise to Alaska. We make small talk, and I somehow eat two pancakes. Sharon asks me to take a case of water to the tack room in the horse barn, so of course I do.
Driving my truck to the barn, I look in my rearview mirror and see two of the three most important women in my life embracing.
I appreciate their respect and for not pressing me about our relationship.
But they clearly had a lot more on their minds.
I still don’t know what the emotions that flashed across their faces meant.
Now that I’ve seen our mothers’ reactions I can’t help but wonder if maybe I’m not good enough for my lucky four-leaf clover.
I’ve been so certain of my feelings for her, I never stopped to think if her hesitation was due to more than her brother.
I carry the water into the barn, my mind whirling with doubt and disappointment. Feeling a bit lost, I’m not really focusing on my surroundings until I see a sheet of paper out of the corner of my eye. It’s attached to the saddle I made for Daisy.
TOUCH THIS AND DIE!
LOOK AT ITS BEAUTY FROM A DISTANCE!
BUT KEEP YOUR HANDS TO YOURSELF!!!!
My fingertips glide over the leather I put so much time and care into. My heart, which had sunk minutes ago, now beats furiously in my chest. This piece of paper may not be a declaration of love for me, but she loves the saddle I crafted for her. It’s enough.
For now.
I’m a patient man, but I can only take so much. This is the hopeful light at the end of the long dark tunnel I needed.
It doesn’t matter how our moms feel.
Or how Cal feels.
I’m still waiting for the only person whose feelings matter to admit what she wants.
And I’ll keep waiting as long as she needs me to.