Chapter 18
Chapter eighteen
Sam
“I’m sorry in advance about dinner,” Danae whispers with urgency as she opens the door to me. “I had the conversation with Jason this morning that we’re not going to invite his biological grandmother to the wedding. I know he understands, but—”
Placing a hand on her arm, I finish her statement. “But big feelings?”
She heaves a sigh. “Very big. All day. So I pivoted, and we’re having canned ravioli for dinner.”
Wrapping my arms around Danae, I say, “Good thing I love a classic canned-ravioli meal.”
I know this is one of Jason’s comfort foods from his before life—before Danae, before foster care, before his father went to prison. I don’t mind forking down the bright orange sauce if it soothes Jason’s subconscious.
He comes barreling through the sliding door from the small back porch off the living room, yelling about being hungry. His stormy eyes brighten when he sees me, and he sprints over to us.
“Sammi! I didn’t know you were coming over!” he exclaims as he hugs me. His eyes grow suspicious when he pulls back. “Are you here to talk about wedding planning?”
“Not tonight,” I answer. “I’m hanging out for dinner and cards. It’s been too long since the three of us got to hang without that annoying brother of mine around.”
His eyes light up again, and we walk to the kitchen for dinner.
Danae has tossed together a salad in addition to the ravioli, and we take opposite-sized portions of the two in comparison to Jason.
He talks my ear off about his baseball practices and the latest MLB rankings that he and Griffin will talk about on their podcast this week.
When he starts breaking down the highlights of the Crowns game today, including Adrian’s significant contribution, Danae looks at me with a sparkling, knowing expression. Jason’s too busy talking to notice her smug smile, thank goodness.
He continues chattering away as he takes our plates over to the sink, and I glance at Danae in time to see her relieved expression.
He seems to be back in a regulated state if he’s voluntarily picking up dishes.
She brings playing cards over to the table, shuffling two decks together, then dealing out ten cards to each of us for Trash.
We take turns swapping out the face-down cards with the correct numbers or wild cards until someone goes out and forces the end of a hand. Several rounds later, Jason is crowing with glee.
“I can’t believe I’m still on seven cards when you’re down to two!” I exclaim. “At least Danae is in the game with four. I’ll never win.”
“What can I say? I’m the best at Trash,” Jason gloats.
“I taught you this game, you know,” I remind him. “You should go easy on me.”
Danae laughs. “This is a game of pure chance. Jason’s unreasonably lucky.”
Grinning at her, he says, “It takes skill to be this lucky.”
I groan and roll my eyes. “You’re starting to take after Adrian too much,” I joke, then snap my mouth shut.
Blushing, I catch Danae smirking at me. This must have been what I always looked like when I was pushing her toward Griffin. I slightly narrow my eyes and flick them to Jason, asking the telepathic question. She almost imperceptibly shakes her head as Jason deals out the next round of cards to us.
After two wins by Jason and one by Danae, she announces that it’s time for him to get ready for bed.
“But it’s summer!” he protests. “And Sammi is here!”
“Just because it’s summer doesn’t mean all routines go out the window,” Danae says gently. “Besides, you’re recording the podcast with Griffin tomorrow, so I have a feeling you’ll be sneaking out of bed extra early in the morning to watch the highlights from tonight’s late games.”
Jason gives her a sheepish look, knowing he’s been caught. “I thought I was being quiet!”
Danae laughs and says, “You are incapable of watching a baseball game without making constant commentary on the plays. Loudly.” He grins and shrugs, and Danae asks, “Do you want me to read with you tonight?”
He shakes his head. “Nah. I’m gonna read the new graphic novel from the library.”
“Okay. I’ll be up in a few minutes to tell you good night,” Danae says. “Be sure you brush the backs of your teeth.”
“I know!” Jason groans, and I stifle a laugh. He gives me a hug and says, “Thanks for coming over, Sammi!” He runs through the living room and up the stairs with the speed and chaos of a bull running the streets of Spain.
Danae’s smile is grateful yet tired as she watches him, and I say, “I’ll get the dishwasher loaded while you go tell him good night.”
“Samantha, you do not need to do the dishes,” she objects. “Sit down and relax. It will only be a couple of minutes.”
I don’t budge. “No way. It will only take a couple minutes. Then you’ll be able to sit down and relax as soon as I leave.”
“Fine.” She stands up and lowers her voice to say, “As long as you give me a detailed update about you and Adrian, I don’t care what you do for the next few minutes.”
I cover my eyes as blood rushes to my cheeks. She snickers as she walks past me, following Jason upstairs. It doesn’t take long to load our plates into the dishwasher and hand-wash the sauce pan Danae used to heat the ravioli.
I take a seat on the couch, attempting to keep my breathing calm as I mentally play through what I’m going to tell Danae. Despite the summer temperatures outside, a cold sweat makes me shiver, and I grab one of the cream throw blankets to cover my legs.
Danae descends the stairs and practically floats over to the couch.
She sits on the opposite corner, angled toward me with her knees tented in front of her.
There’s a smile on her face when she says, “Okay. I know you have specific things you wanted to tell me that you said are difficult. But first, I need you to give me the full rundown of how you and Adrian went from friends to more than friends.”
A reflexive grin takes over my face as I look down at my hands. I give Danae the story in reverse order—starting with last night and working my way back through my own recognition of my feelings after the gala, concluding with a summary of our interactions over the past several weeks.
She beams at me. “I can honestly say I didn’t see this coming. I was probably too wrapped up in all we have going on to pay enough attention. But now that I see it, I can’t unsee it. It’s too perfect. How do you feel about it?”
Sighing, I allow my head to drop back against the arm of the couch. “Happy. Surprised. Giddy,” I say, then sober. I look back to Danae when I add, “Really, really afraid.”
She offers me a gentle smile. “I assume that has to do with whatever things from the past you wanted to tell me about?”
I nod, fidgeting with the fringed edges of the throw blanket. “Yeah. You know bits and pieces of my story, but there are a lot of gaps. I could spend the next month filling in gaps, and you still wouldn’t have the full picture. But I do need to tell you my history of dumpster fire relationships.”
Closing my eyes, I picture myself detaching from my body, separating from the emotions of all I’m about to revisit.
“So, you know I was nine when Ian and I went to live with David, Cinda, and Griffin,” I say, starting with a simple known fact.
Danae nods. “For the first few years, I was nervous around men. You know how incredible David and Griffin both are, and they were patient with me, not ever pushing to have more of a relationship than I was ready for.”
I smile, thinking about some of the happy memories.
“Even when Griff was away at college, he still made little efforts. Taking only me out for ice cream when we’d be in Texas watching one of his games.
Asking to talk to me on the phone whenever he’d call Mom.
Watching girlie Disney Channel shows with me when he was home on breaks in exchange for watching The Sandlot over and over. ”
Danae laughs, and I allow myself a second to laugh too. Before transitioning to the harder memories.
Clearing my throat, I say, “By the time I started college, I had a good relationship with David. I’d started calling him ‘Dad’—and meant it—my freshman year of high school.
I watched his relationship with Mom, recognized the healthy ways they interacted with each other and us kids.
Sawyer also got married in those years, so I saw positive loving relationships modeled to the point that I wanted that same thing. ”
Exhaling a long, pained breath, I say, “Unfortunately, I didn’t know how to create a healthy relationship. I just knew I wanted one. So badly. I wanted to have someone love me and care about me. I wanted it too badly.”
Danae leans forward and takes my hand, giving it a firm squeeze of support. I tell her, “Almost immediately after I got to college, I started dating the first guy who showed any interest in me. I was so excited to have someone want me, you know? Maybe you don’t know. Maybe that was a me issue.”
“I do know,” Danae cuts in. “That’s not a you issue. It’s not even an issue. I think it’s normal to want to be wanted. Don’t feel embarrassed by that.”
Nodding once, I continue, “Tucker. That was his name. We wound up dating for my entire freshman year, but I was convinced he was ‘the one’ after the first week.” I emphasize with air quotes and a throaty voice.
“I rearranged my entire life to fit his. I’d skip my classes to help him with assignments or bring him lunch when he forgot.
I’d help him study for his tests instead of my own.
I was constantly worried that he would dump me and I’d go back to being alone, so I did everything I could to convince him he couldn’t live without me.