4. Tess
FOUR
TESS
Five-year-olds are fun. Sometimes, they don’t pay attention to significant events—like, say, a big move—and carry on as though nothing in their life has changed. Other times, they fixate obsessively on one small detail and refuse to let it go.
Tonight, it’s the fixation.
“Did you see how much Dutch likes me?” August asks as he slips into bed.
I’ve tried to keep to our usual routine, despite the new location. We ate one of his favorite dinners—tomato and basil pasta salad, carrot sticks, and green grapes—unpacked our clothes, and read through at least twenty of his most-loved picture books.
I keep waiting for him to say something about missing his Nana and Aunt Wren, but the dog he met today is taking up too much space in his brain.
Kind of the way the dog’s owner is in mine. Not like he did when I was a teen, of course. My days of getting caught up in charming men who do dangerous things for a living are long over. Apparently, so are Ian’s days of being charming, so I guess we’re good there.
Mostly, I’m thinking about how ridiculous I was to jump into this “befriend Amy’s nephew” situation without learning a few more pieces of information about the nephew.
“You were so good to pet Dutch so gently. I’m sure he liked that.” I double check the continuous glucose monitor and insulin pump on the backs of August’s arms, but they’re still on tight. We did his nightly finger prick before he brushed his teeth, and his numbers are looking good for the evening. “Your super shields are all set.”
How do you explain to a little child what insulin does or that we need his blood sugar levels to stay in a certain range or he’ll get sick? I told him about the two medical devices in broad euphemisms when he first got them a couple of years ago, settling on “super shields.” He mostly understands what they do for him now, but I haven’t let go of the cute nicknames.
He is my little superhero, after all.
“I like the guy, too.” August’s l-sounds come out sounding like a y. He yikes the guy.
“His name is Ian,” I remind him. Names don’t stick well in his head. He needs a lot of gentle encouragement not to call everyone new he meets “guy” and “lady.”
“Yeah, him. He’s funny.”
“Mmm.” I didn’t see much evidence of Ian’s sense of humor. He used to have one, years ago. But if I start remembering how great his laugh was or how a glimpse of his smile could make my whole day, this situation will get even trickier than it already is. Best to accept Ian exactly how he is now, with no illusions about Past Ian or the expectation of seeing any smiles.
“I want a big beard when I grow up, too.” August pats an imaginary beard about six inches below his chin.
I smooth his pale blond hair over his forehead, not remotely in the mindset to think of him as anything other than my tiny little boy. “One day.”
He settles against his pillow, his eyelids drooping. “He asked me to take him on walks sometimes.”
“Ian asked you to walk his dog?” It’s obvious he hasn’t been around kids much, but I didn’t think the man was obtuse enough to request pet care from a five-year-old.
“Dutch asked me to walk him.” August flashes a sleepy smile, showing off his missing tooth.
“Oh. For now, let’s just be happy when we get to pet him, okay?”
“Okay.” He cuddles his favorite stuffed ostrich closer. “Can I pet him again tomorrow?”
“We’ll see.” I’m sure the dog would be willing. It’s convincing his owner I’m less certain about. I kiss August on the forehead. “Goodnight, sweetie.”
“Night, Mama.”
I switch off the bedside lamp and leave his room by the glow of the duck nightlight we brought. Another little touch of home, like the plush dinosaur blanket on top of his bed and his favorite cups in the kitchen. I brought as much as I reasonably could to make this space feel comfortable and familiar. I leave his door ajar and step out into the decidedly unfamiliar apartment.
The rooms have a faint, lemon-fresh scent, but they’re cozy. It’s weird to be in them at all. I haven’t been on my own since before August was born, and that attempt didn’t last long. For most of my life, I’ve lived right down the hall from my mom and sister.
The apartment is unbelievably quiet, my solitary footsteps strangely lonely. I sought out this small separation from my family, but now, I kind of wish I’d brought a fuzzy blanket to snuggle up in, too.
I get comfortable on the couch and do the next best thing. I call my sister.
Wren picks up right away. “I was wondering when I’d hear from you. Are you all unpacked? Do you miss us yet?”
“We’ve only been gone a few hours.” No need to admit the reason for the call.
“I already took over your drawers in the bathroom. I’m used to this lifestyle now, so if you’re thinking about trying to come right back, you’ll be out of luck on the storage situation.”
“You move fast.” We’ve shared that tiny bathroom since we were kids—I would have done the same thing.
“I have my priorities. How do you feel about your new place now that you’re there?”
“It’s different being right on the foothills practically surrounded by trees, but I like it.” Our childhood home where Wren still lives with Mom is in a more traditional neighborhood, close to downtown.
She pauses, her voice growing softer. “How’s our little man handling it?”
I glance at his undisturbed bedroom door. “He’s too obsessed with our neighbor’s dog to process the big change yet.”
“Ooh, that’s right. Amy’s relative. What’s he like?”
I drop my voice in case he really can hear me through the walls. “It’s Ian Vaughn.”
“You say that like I should know who that is.”
“I guess you wouldn’t.” She was in middle school the last time he was in town. I’ve never been much for sharing my crazy crushes the way Wren and her friends do and certainly wouldn’t have told her anything private back then. She had too many ways of learning more than I meant to tell her.
Still does, unfortunately.
“So you already know each other?”
“Not really.” One-sided infatuation doesn’t equal an acquaintance.
“You’re driving me nuts. You need to give me more than this. Who is Ian Vaughn?”
If I don’t spill at least a few beans, she’ll wind up parked on my porch every day for a week until she finds out everything she wants to know about him.
“He visited town right before my senior year of high school. He was a few years older and…really cute.” I grimace hearing myself say it. Cute doesn’t begin to cover a guy with unbridled confidence and a killer smile, but that’s all I’m willing to tell her. “I had a thing for him that whole summer.”
“Oh. My. Gosh.” Wren’s gasp makes me roll my eyes. “This is just like Hope getting reunited with Griffin.”
“It’s nothing like that.” I need to shut down whatever insanity’s swirling in her brain before those thoughts take hold. Ian and I are not in some kind of romantic Christmas festival scenario the way our friend was last winter. “He’s a totally different man now. He’s a grump who didn’t smile and barely talked to me this afternoon. Whatever charms he had fifteen years ago, they’re gone now.”
“ Charms .” The woman actually giggles.
Clearly, she only heard me say the one word. She’s as bad as August when she’s fixated. “Please stop.”
“Come on. It’s so rare for you to pay attention to a man at all. You can at least give me a second to enjoy it.”
This is exactly why I don’t talk to her about things like this. She enjoys it too much. True, I haven’t been interested in a man in ages. But I’m certainly not breaking that streak with Ian Vaughn.
“Any attention I pay him is for Amy’s sake. That’s all.”
“Right,” she says, dragging out the word. “It’s for Amy.”
I’m going to have to strangle my sister. It won’t be easy at the bakery without her, but Mom and I will find a way to get by.
“Wren.”
She makes a sound of irritation. “You’re no fun. So what’s going on with him that Amy asked you to draw him out?”
“Nothing obvious.” Although I know better than most that you don’t have to look sick to have a serious illness.
“Could it be PTSD? Wasn’t one of Amy’s relatives in the military? She has so many cousins and whatnot who’ve stopped through. It’s hard to keep track.”
“I don’t know. If he was, he’s abandoned the clean-cut look.” I won’t mention that he’s already influenced my son to grow facial hair as soon as he’s able. “Have you seen a guy with long red hair and a bushy beard around town?”
“No! You mean it’s him ? I’ve only seen him a couple of times, but…wow. Okay. I’m starting to understand why you had a crush on him.”
“What? How is that your takeaway?”
“Because he’s hot! In a rakish pirate kind of way.”
I say nothing. I definitely don’t think about how perfectly that description fits Ian. Or picture him giving orders at the helm of a ship. Looks mean nothing.
Even surprisingly good looks.
“You’re safe living next door to the guy though, right?” Her voice goes hard, like she’s ready to come over here and bust his head if she needs to.
“Nothing about him feels sketchy, just…off-putting.” Like a prickly cactus you can’t get too close to. Or those brightly colored frogs that are chock full of venom. His whole personality is a neon sign that says Do not touch.
“Which is why Amy wants you to befriend him.”
“Exactly.” I probably shouldn’t have revealed so much to Wren, but she’d had a thousand questions for me when I told her I was finally moving out. I had to give her a little information or she’d burst into flames.
She’s quiet for a moment. “Do you want me to come over and spend the night? Just so it won’t be as weird for you? I can bring a sleeping bag and stay on the couch.”
“Aww. You don’t have to do that. You’re going to have your own place soon anyway. Save the sleepover for when it’s your place.”
“Ugh. Mom’s going to flip when we’re both gone.”
“I know.” After our dad left us almost twenty years ago, Mom cinched Wren and me closer to her. At first, it was comforting—we had each other’s backs no matter what. But now that we’re adults, that closeness is becoming a too-tight belt around us we’re struggling to loosen. “How is she tonight?”
“She said a few times she hopes this isn’t too much for you to handle. Sighed a lot. No tears.”
Maureen Krause doesn’t sob over her regrets. She throws herself into action. She doesn’t agree with my choice to get a place for August and me—she thinks we need our little village to raise this child—but she hasn’t interfered, either. She even offered to help us unpack after the bakery closed tonight, but I wanted to do this on my own.
“But don’t worry,” Wren says. “I’m sure she’ll be relieved when she finds out about your hottie pirate next door.”
“You’re not going to tell her about that.” I didn’t mention Amy’s reduced rent to Mom, and I sure didn’t tell her about needing to be nice to a strange man as part of the package. She absolutely would have interfered if she’d known that little detail.
“No, no. Not me.” Wren’s gloating is limitless. “But how long until August tells her?”
I sag against the couch. Mom’s definitely going to find out about the hottie pirate next door.