Chapter 47
Chapter Forty-Seven
Hayden
Because it’s getting late and Gin has already retired to her bedroom with a very enthusiastic slamming of her door, Cara gives me a very brief tour of the house.
It’s about what I expected. Small rooms, all in dire need of updating. Generations of clutter. Old windows that probably don’t even meet the minimum standard of efficiency. A lot of old, dark wood. The effect is claustrophobic, but I keep that opinion to myself.
This is Cara’s home, and I know this isn’t easy for her. The last thing I want to do is make it harder by insulting her home.
We end up in the kitchen, and I take Penny out the back door for potties.
She’s not pleased about it, so she takes her time finding a worthy spot.
Being behind the house makes it obvious, even in the fading light, that they’ve been putting what work and money they can into the front of the house, where it can be seen from the street.
When we go back inside, Cara’s leaning against the counter with her arms folded across her chest. She doesn’t look angry, but there’s clearly something serious weighing on her mind.
“You can’t sleep in my bed,” she says without preamble, though in a very low voice.
“I’m too old to sleep on the floor.”
“You can sleep on the couch downstairs and I’ll tell Gin we had an argument.”
I shake my head. “We’re not doing that, especially while we’d still technically be on our honeymoon if we’d taken a trip. Until we sign the papers, you and I are happy newlyweds looking forward to spending the rest of our lives in this house.”
Her nose wrinkles at the reminder that pretense is her only way out of spending the rest of her life in this house.
“Okay, I think there’s an air mattress somewhere in the garage.
My dad got it cheap at a yard sale because it has a leak, but if there’s one thing we have a lot of in this house, it’s duct tape.
We can slide it under my bed during the day. ”
“I’m also not sleeping on an air mattress.” I’m usually open to negotiation, but not when it comes to blowup beds.
She puts her hands on her hips. “Well, I’m not going to sleep on it. That is my bed and since nothing’s been signed yet, that is still my bedroom. And you’re the one who just showed up on the doorstep with bags, your dog and no plan.”
Oh, I have a plan. She even knows the plan—get Gin out of this house. But, to be fair, I hadn’t given a lot of thought to the sleeping arrangements before showing up on the doorstep.
Actually I had, but I’d been hoping the whole what happens in Boston, stays in Boston thing would be forgotten. Not that sleeping together again is a good idea—it’s definitely not.
“We can’t—” She pauses, waving her hand like she can’t come up with the right words. “You know.”
“I know.” I hate admitting it, but I know she’s right. We dove into the deep end of the pool with this marriage. We can’t keep wading into even deeper water or we’ll find ourselves dangerously over our heads.
“Penny can sleep between us,” I tell her. “She likes to wedge herself sideways and stretch, so over the course of the night, she’ll shove us toward opposite sides of the bed. As big as my bed is, there are still times I wake up clinging to the edge of the mattress, trying not to fall off.”
She smiles at the dog, who’s sitting by my feet and looking up at me as though to inform me this has been fun, but she’d like to go home now.
“A wall of Penny?” Cara says, smiling but sounding skeptical.
“We’ll make it work.”
It’s too late to go anywhere at this point, but too early to go to bed, so we end up in the living room, watching sitcom repeats. We’re at opposite ends of the slightly lumpy couch, with Penny stretched out against my thigh.
I’m starting to get drowsy, wondering if Cara will sit here and watch TV all night rather than face going to bed, when she moves suddenly. One second, she’s leaning on the far arm of the couch and the next, Penny’s sandwiched between us and her head’s on my shoulder.
That’s when I hear the creaking above us, and then the sound of Gin coming down the stairs. She doesn’t even look at us while walking through the living room into the kitchen, and Cara sighs.
Two minutes later, Gin retraces her path between us and the television. Once again, she doesn’t look our way, but she has a water tumbler in her hand. Without a word, she goes back upstairs. We follow the creaking and the door slamming, and then Cara moves back to the other end of the couch.
This is fun, I think to myself with a heavy dose of sarcasm.
“She’ll be sound asleep by the end of the next episode,” Cara whispers, and I nod.
When she finally turns off the TV, I take Penny outside one final time. She seems resigned to spending the night here, but she’s not pleased with me and takes her sweet time doing her business.
When we go inside, Cara’s nowhere in sight, so I pick Penny up and find the light switches to turn off the lights as I go. I hit the top of the stairs just as Cara comes out of the bathroom. She’s wearing leggings and a long tee, and her hair’s loose around her shoulders.
This is going to be uncomfortable enough for Cara without me stripping in front of her, so I follow her into the bedroom to grab what I’ll need. After setting Penny on the bed, I rummage through my bag for the sleep pants I’d packed.
By the time I’m done in the bathroom, Cara and Penny have claimed their side of the bed, and I smile as I close the bedroom door as quietly as possible. It’s hard not to be aware of how right this all feels, despite the circumstances.
It takes me a minute to find an outlet behind the table on my side of the bed for the charging stand for my watch and phone. Then I turn off the light and use the glow of my phone’s screen to make my way around the heavy wooden footboard without breaking a toe.
After pulling back the sheet and sliding into the bed, I stretch out and listen to Cara breathe. It doesn’t sound as if she’s crying, but I can practically feel her tension radiating across the bed. I want to hug her, but trying to touch her in this bed right now would not help her relax.
“It’ll get easier,” she whispers, and I’m not sure if she’s talking to me or trying to reassure herself.
“It will,” I reply anyway, in a low voice. “Try to get some sleep.”
It’s a long time before her breathing becomes regular, though. And an even longer time before mine does.
The next morning, I do not wake up perched on the edge of the bed, about to roll off onto the floor.
I inhale the scent of Cara’s hair as my mind shakes off sleep and I realize all three of us are in the middle of the bed. I can’t move my arm because it’s under Cara’s neck, supporting her head—which is tucked under my chin. Her ankle is draped over mine, and my free hand is resting on her hip.
Penny nestles between our chests, her tiny snores making me smile, as they always do.
I should figure out a way to free my arm and get back on my side of the bed before Cara wakes up, but I can’t make myself move. Instead, I close my eyes and breathe deeply, savoring the moment.
What would I give to wake up like this every morning for the rest of my life?