23. Declan
Declan
You don't love someone because they're perfect.
You love them in spite of the fact that they're not.
~ Jodi Picoult
“Are you sure I should come?” Winona asks me over breakfast.
It’s Saturday and I cajoled her into coming over early so we could have some extended time together—especially because today is my niece, Boston’s, fifth birthday. She’s having a princess tea party.
“I’m sure I want you to come,” I tell her.
“I’m sure you want me to come too,” she smiles shyly at me, but also, there’s a new note of flirtation in her voice. “You seem to always want me around.”
I pretend to make a microphone out of my yogurt spoon. Winona brings out this side of me—silly and ridiculous. I’m not like this with anyone else but her.
In an announcer voice, I say, “Ladies and gentlemen, she’s finally seeing the light.”
She laughs, reaching over and pushing at me.
Over the past week Winona seems to be growing increasingly comfortable in our relationship.
She’s always been comfortable in her own skin.
But little by little, she’s accepting the way I feel about her—letting me in.
And the way that feels? It’s better than winning the Super Bowl.
Not that I’d admit that out loud. Not to my team, at least.
“It’s a family event, Declan,” Winona says.
“Maeve specifically invited you. And Daisy will be there.”
“Daisy is family.”
“Daisy is my brother’s girlfriend. Patrick’s bringing his girlfriend. I can bring mine.”
“They’re married.”
“Still his girlfriend.”
She laughs at me. “You really want me to come?”
“I really want you to come.”
She sighs. “I need to work on my ability to say no to you.”
“I don’t think that’s a priority,” I say, leaning in and kissing her cheek, then working my way around to her lips. “I think …” I kiss her again. “You need to keep saying …” Another kiss. “Yes.”
She melts into me.
“What was the question?” she playfully asks between kisses. Her hands run through my hair and she pivots toward me. “Whatever it is … yes.”
I smile into our kiss.
When we pull apart, she leans on me and I wrap an arm around her. We sit in silence, my hand moving up and down her arm, her nestling in just a bit more.
My phone rings on the counter, breaking the moment.
“My dad,” I say, holding up a finger while I grab my cell. “Hold that thought.”
She smiles softly and whispers, “Holding it,” while I answer. “Hey, Dad. What’s up?”
“Boston’s birthday.”
“Yes. Today. Are you and Mom coming?”
I’m talking to my dad, but my eyes are on Winona. She’s smiling at me with this affection I’ve never experienced from anyone before.
I reach over and run my hand down her jawline. She smiles wider.
“Yes. We’re coming,” Dad says. “We thought we’d stop by your place first. We can drive you over since you aren’t driving yet.”
“Oh. Well … Winona was going to drive me over.”
Her brows scrunch in slightly. I run my finger down between them, gently, dragging my finger down her nose and landing with my fingertip on her lips. She playfully nips at it and I pull it back in an exaggerated retreat.
She smiles up at me.
“Winona? The nurse?”
“Yeah.” I don’t correct him. She’s practically a nurse and he will give her more respect if he thinks she’s a nurse than if he knew she was still an aide.
“No need,” Dad says in his typical tone of finality.
“She’s coming with me,” I explain. “Maeve invited her.”
I’m weak. I invited Winona. Because I want her there. Sure, Maeve insisted on her coming, but I was the one who reached out to ask if I could bring her.
But this is my dad. He needs to be eased into ideas that weren’t his to begin with or he’ll bulldoze through whatever it is. He’s not a bad person, just very certain of his perspective and power.
Winona’s lips thin out for a moment.
When I silently mouth, “I want you there.” Her smile spreads again.
“Well, suit yourself,” Dad says. “It doesn’t seem like you’d need a nurse at the party.”
“She’s …” so much more than my nurse. But this isn’t the time or place to drop that bomb. So I just say, “She’s coming with me.”
“Have it your way, Declan. But your mother and I want to see you before the party. We should be there in a few hours.”
“Here?”
“Not at Chuck E. Cheese.” His tone is deadpan, but I still laugh. “Not that they have one of those in Waterford.”
You’d think that was a compliment, but coming from my dad, it’s sort of not.
He loves our hometown. He also loves what he calls bringing Waterford up to speed.
Even though he lives in Nashville now, he’s constantly dreaming up projects to bring more commerce to the area.
The practice facility was one. I can’t complain about that now.
If we were located in Murfreesboro or Knoxville, Winona wouldn’t have been the one caring for me.
Maybe that’s the angle I’ll use when I break the news that we’re dating to my parents. It’s actually all because of you, Dad. You made this possible. Yeah. Probably not.
Dad ends the call with a short, “See you in a few hours.”
“See you,” I say, clicking to end the call and facing Winona’s expectant expression.
“My dad,” I say.
“So you mentioned.”
“He and my mom are coming up for Boston’s birthday. They’re stopping here on the way. I told them you were driving me to the party.”
“So I heard,” she says. She lifts her glass of juice and takes a sip, staring at me over the rim of the glass. “Do they know about us?”
“About us dating?” Obviously that’s what she’s asking.
“No, about the way you’ve been honing my football throwing skills. Yes, Declan. Do they know we’re dating?”
“I haven’t told them yet.”
She nods. “I see.”
She’s not mad or huffy. Most women I’ve dated would be throwing a reality-TV-show level of a fit right now about how they need to be seen by the public as my girlfriend, and other women need to know I belong to them.
Not Winona.
This isn’t about image.
This is about belonging.
“It’s not about you,” I assure her, which unfortunately only serves to make it sound like it is about her. “It’s my dad.”
“Your dad.”
“He’s very opinionated. And powerful. And he needs time to warm up to things that weren’t his idea.”
“Oh, I know,” she says. “I sat through the town meetings about the Home Mart. And the next set of meetings about the practice facility.” She pauses, smiles and says, “He seems like he has a good heart.”
What? No one ever describes my dad as having a good heart. He does—beneath his drive to build an empire.
“He does,” I agree. “He means well. In the deepest sense. But he’s sometimes myopic.”
“And he won’t approve of me for you.” She’s so calm and matter-of-fact.
“He might take a minute to warm up to the idea.”
She laughs. “Declan, I’m not some shrinking violet.
” She shakes her head. “That’s such a silly phrase.
But you know what I mean. I understand your family dynamics.
I’ve been here while your mom mail-ordered companions to show up at your doorstep.
I’ve seen the women they expect you to fall for, or be with.
No offense to any of them, but they aren’t your type. ”
She’s so certain—strong where I unfairly expected her to be weak. It makes her all the more attractive.
“You’re my type,” I say.
“Crazy as that is, I think I believe you.”
“Good,” I move in for a kiss.
She stops me with a hand to my chest. “So, I’m your dirty little secret?”
I crack up. “What? Did you actually just ask that?”
“You don’t want to tell your parents we’re dating, right?”
“I want to time the reveal.”
“Which has nothing to do with me … except if I were a supermodel, you’d tell them today.”
“That sounds awful,” I admit.
“I get it. Not because you prefer supermodels. Because your parents do.”
“Let them get to know you—to see us together.”
“Together, but not together together.” Her tone doesn’t have any upsetment in it.
“I want them to know you. Who could meet you and not love you?”
“I’m sure there are plenty of people,” she says.
“Really? Because my team loves you. My coaches love you. My trainers love you. This town loves you.”
She just huffs out a dismissive laugh.
“Who doesn’t love you?”
“Maybe your parents.” She shrugs, but I can tell it matters to her.
“They will. Give them time.”
“I get it. If you order steak, you don’t want a burger. Even if the burger is really funny and kind and really likes your son.”
“The Winona Burger,” I say. “My favorite. But you’re not less than steak. And … why are we talking about steak and burgers?”
We both start laughing. She leans forward while she’s laughing and I wrap my arms around her and hold her to me.
“Thank you,” I say into her hair.
“For being your dirty little secret?” she giggles mischievously and looks up at me.
“Stop saying that.” I smile down at her.
She wags her brows. “Dirty little secret.”
“No one could possibly contain you,” I say.
“Unruly as I am.”
“Unique. One hundred percent authentic. All you,” I say with a smile.
“Or … some might say … quirky, a little bit of a train wreck, but always a good time.”
“Don’t do that,” I say.
“Do what?” She shrugs.
“Sell yourself short.”
She stares into my eyes, her playfulness morphing into something more vulnerable.
“Okay,” she says. “I won’t.”
We clean up from breakfast and then we move into the front room so I can put my leg up for a while while we watch a college ball game. Winona almost gets as invested in this game as she is in the NFL.
The doorbell camera alerts me a few hours later. I pull up the app even though I know it’s my parents.
“Should I hide?” Winona teases.
“Stop it,” I say, grabbing my crutches. “If you want me to tell them, I will.”
“Let’s wait,” she says. “You know them. I want to get this right.”
“Okay,” I say.
“I’ll just be your DLS today.”
I shoot her a look. She laughs.
I want her to know how much she means to me. I’m proud to have her as … whatever she is. My girlfriend? In my mind, yes. But we haven’t put a label on it. We said we’re dating. For me, it’s already a lot more. I don’t want her to question her worth.