Chapter 4 #3
“That’s why I picked it,” Jo says. “My name is short, so hers gets to be long. That’s sharing. Mom and Dad keep saying I’ll need to learn to share, but I think I’m already pretty good at it.”
“You are.” Pat takes a seat half a cushion away from me, which squishes Jo in between us. “We just want you to understand it will be harder as she gets older. She’ll want to play with your toys—”
“And borrow your clothes,” I add.
“Or sleep with your stuffies,” Pat says. “Sharing now just looks a little different. We want you to be prepared.”
But Jo is undeterred. “I’ll always share,” she says fiercely. “Evangeline is my sister.”
Can’t argue with that. I pity the kid in some not-too-distant future who makes the mistake of picking on Evangeline and receives the full brunt of Jo’s wrath.
“What are some of the nicknames you’re thinking of?” I ask, shifting the baby a little in my arms.
Jo leans in and kisses her on the top of her head. “VanVan or Vanny or Linny, which is too close to Lindy.”
“She shot down all my suggestions,” Pat complains.
“Which were?” I ask.
“He said we could call her Jelly,” says Jo, disdain dripping from her voice. “Or Evan. Gross. She looks nothing like an Evan.”
“I also suggested Line,” Pat says.
“But that’s not how you even say it! It’s like lean,” Jo says, her hands on her hips. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Nicknames don’t always make sense.”
“You’re right, Patty,” I say, and Jo giggles. “And sometimes people have to grow into a nickname. I think sometimes the right name organically finds the right person.”
“Organically?” Jo wrinkles her nose. “Like … organic milk?”
I do my best not to chuckle. Jo hates nothing more than when she asks an earnest question and people seem amused by it.
“Kind of like the milk,” I tell her. “Organic usually means that something happens naturally. With milk, it means there’s nothing added to it. With a name, it would mean that it happens as you get used to a person.”
“That makes sense. I guess. Where’s Mom?” Unfolding herself from the couch, Jo scrambles toward the stairs. Beast, the half-blind Pekingese-terrier mix follows her, bumping into a table before curling up at the bottom of the stairs.
“I think Lindy’s taking a little nap,” I say.
“Careful not to wake her, Jojo!” Pat quietly calls after her.
“I won’t. But everybody can’t just sleep all the time,” she grumbles, disappearing up the stairs.
Pat snorts. “No one is sleeping all the time. Except maybe the dogs. And this sweet baby—but only at the wrong times. She’s got her days and nights confused now.”
I think I remember that happening with our kids. Or, at least, I remember Michelle telling me about it over phone calls when I was on the road. Though I just told myself not to feel guilty about what’s past, I guess I need frequent reminders because that feeling rises again.
There’s nothing I can change about the past. But I can be present for as much as possible now.
“Should we wake her up?” I glance down at Evangeline, who has barely stirred this whole time.
“Probably,” Pat says. “But she’s so content. And quiet. Let’s let her be for now and hope for the best tonight.”
“Speaking of tonight, I hope it’s okay, but Lindy said I could crash in your guest bedroom for a bit. I have a little … issue with a tenant.”
I did my level best to keep my tone even. A nothing to see here kind of vibe. Because there really isn’t anything to see. But I know Pat. And the gleam in his eye now tells me he’s absolutely reading into things.
“Would this tenant happen to be a baker?” he asks, grinning.
How? How is it possible that Pat already clocked this? I mean, not that there’s anything to clock. But the smug way my youngest son is smirking at me makes me feel like there’s definitely something. Even though there’s definitely not.
“The AC broke in her building,” I tell him. “The replacement parts won’t be in until next week so I said Rose could stay at my place.”
“Rose,” Pat repeats. “So, Rose the baker is staying at your two-bedroom loft … alone? You’re both adults. Why not just share the space?”
“I wanted her to have privacy. It’s just like when I let Molly stay there a few months ago.”
“I wouldn’t say this is just like Molly,” Pat says.
“Sure, it is.”
“No, it’s not. You didn’t have a crush on Molly. Which is a very good thing considering the age gap. And the fact that Molly’s dating Collin. That would have been awkward. Wow, this thought really got away from me.”
“It sure did. I can’t even believe you’re even broaching the idea. Molly is like a daughter to me.”
“Exactly,” Pat says. “Which is why this isn’t like that. Because you don’t see Rose as a daughter.”
“Of course not. She’s my age.”
“She is your age,” Pat says slowly, like he’s leading a proverbial horse to water with his words.
I know where he’s going, but pretending I don’t seems like the best option right now.
“And that’s what makes it different. She’s your age.
She’s pretty. She … uh, bakes stuff? Anyway, the point is: you don’t see her as a daughter. You see her as a—”
“As a tenant. Someone who needed a place to stay.”
Pat eyes me, assessing. “You know, it’s come to my attention that you’ve been frequenting the bakery.”
“What? I haven’t been—”
“Word on the street—and in the Neighborly app—is that you’ve suddenly developed something of a sweet tooth. Since I know that’s highly unlikely, I’ve been thinking maybe you don’t have a sweet tooth so much as you’re sweet on the baker.”
I’m not sure why I’m even trying to deny it. But for some reason, it feels vitally important that I do. If I’m not ready to put a name on the feelings when I’m just thinking about Rose, I’m certainly not ready to talk about them with anyone else.
And certainly not with the person who has the biggest mouth in the family.
“I have developed neither a sweet tooth nor anything else,” I tell him. “I simply wanted to make sure my newest tenant was settling in.”
“And did you do that for all the tenants when they first moved in? How about Kalli at the coffee shop or Phillip with the antiques store or Jamilla with the clothing boutique—did you stop in their shops several times a week just to see how they were settling in?”
Careful not to jostle Evangeline, I stand. “The dogs need to go out. They haven’t been since I got here. Come on, Amber. Beast! Let’s go.”
And with that, I lead the dogs outside, a baby tucked against my chest, leaving both Pat’s laughter and his insinuations behind.