Chapter 6 Ethan #2
I feel Margot’s eyes on the side of my face, studying my expression. Whatever she finds there makes her step away, drifting down a nearby aisle to look at some bedding. I’m grateful for the space. Taking a few more deep breaths, I collect myself and eventually join Margot by the bedding.
“Which one do you think she might like?” she asks without looking over at me.
I survey the options, feeling completely lost. There’s a pale pink sheet set that she would’ve liked when she was younger, but maybe the dinosaur sheets would suit her better now.
When I don’t reply, Margot’s gaze slides over to me. “Is she really girly or more of the tomboy type?”
I have no idea.
“It’s, uh… it’s been a while since I’ve seen her,” I say.
There’s a short pause before Margot asks, “How old is she?”
“Five.”
Margot ponders for a second then pushes up onto her tiptoes to reach for a bedding set on the highest shelf.
She wobbles as her fingertips work to nudge the set forward, and I instinctively step forward to intervene.
It’s a mistake that I realize a second too late.
My chest is pressed against Margot’s back, boxing her in.
She stiffens at the physical contact, her fingers fumbling with the bedding set, which falls from the shelf and nearly lands on her head.
I catch it first, and we both spring apart, looking anywhere but at each other.
“Sorry,” I mutter at the same time Margot gives me a quiet, “thanks.”
Clearing her throat, Margot redirects her attention to the bedding set in my hands. “Do you think she would like that one?”
It’s white with little pink and blue penguins holding hands in a repeating pattern. It’s not too girlie, nor is it too tomboyish. Most importantly, it’s cute.
“Yeah, I think she would,” I say, adding it to the cart.
Admittedly, even after two years apart, it’s hard for me not to think of Sophia as my daughter, which makes it hard to admit that I don’t really know if she’ll like it or not. I hope she does though. I would give anything to see her face light up at the sight of her new bedroom.
Margot and I exchange stiff, awkward smiles.
The memory of her soft curves pressed against me is still fresh in my brain and on my skin.
It’s not something I mean to enjoy—just a simple, accidental touch.
But after a dry spell, it feels like more.
It absolutely shouldn’t though. Tamping down the thought, I grab the cart and navigate to the next section.
We pick out a bed, a dresser, a nightstand, a rug, and a weird little lamp that Margot likes for Sophia’s room. When we turn the corner and are greeted by a whole room of stuffed animals, her face lights up and she rushes over to a bin near the wall.
“It’s perfect!” she declares, holding up a little stuffed penguin. “You have to get this.”
I smile at her. “Put it in the cart.”
Our last stop before we check out is the giant warehouse. It takes every ounce of self-control I have to bite my tongue as we load the cheaper of the two mattresses onto the flat cart. I push the cart a short distance and load the more expensive mattress on top of it.
“What are you doing?” she asks, wide-eyed and already forming an objection on her tongue.
“My sister-in-law needs a mattress, too.” Unlike calling Sophia my niece, calling Rachel my sister-in-law comes easy. Even though it’s technically untrue since her and Silas were never married, it feels like the plain and simple truth. “You liked this one, didn’t you?”
“Oh. Yeah, it was nice.”.
“Great,” I say, pushing the cart onward without another word. Swapping the two mattresses when we get to Margot’s house should be easy.
Shopping for Rachel is awkward but manageable. I grab the same bedframe Margot picked, plus the matching dresser and nightstand. Bedding and décor seem like too personal of choices for me to make on Rachel’s behalf, so we head to the checkout.
I try to pay for Margot’s things and play it off like a mistake, but she catches on immediately.
Can’t blame me for trying though. Seven hundred dollars is nothing to me, but clearly, it’s a lot of money to Margot right now.
I watch her slide her credit card into the machine and try to think of a way I could give her a bonus at work without being too obvious about it.
When we pull up to Margot’s apartment and unload her stuff, it barely makes a dent in the small but overpacked U-Haul truck. After retrieving her new keys from the front office, Margot carries her little plastic drawer unit up the stairs. I follow behind her carrying part of the bedframe.
“You can just set that down by the door. I’ll put it together later,” she says.
I cock my head to one side. “Margot, you wouldn’t let me pay for a dresser or a better mattress. The least you can do is let me help you assemble this.”
After what appears to be quite an inner battle, Margot relents and allows me to help. I head down the hallway towards her bedroom. After a few more trips back to the U-Haul, we both sit on the floor of her bedroom amidst the sprawled-out pieces of her new bed frame.
“Hold this part while I screw these together,” I tell her, tossing the instruction sheet aside.
Margot scoots across the carpet, careful not to give me a view of what’s beneath her skirt. More of her black tights, I’d wager to guess. And under that, a pair of those lacy panties she threw in the bag last time we were in this room together. I wonder which color she’s wearing today.
Then I shake the thought from my head.
“Like this?” she asks, rising to her knees and lining up two holes in the boards.
“Yep,” I reply in a tight voice.
We’re closer than normal when I bend forward and thread the screw through the holes.
A sweet, citrusy scent wafts past my nose when Margot’s hair falls forward, brushing against my shoulder.
I crank the screwdriver a few times then sit back on my heels, putting some distance between us.
Unfortunately, we have to repeat this three more times before the bed is ready.
Once it’s done, we retrieve the mattress from the U-Haul. She immediately picks up on my attempt to swap it with the more expensive mattress, which nearly leads to a full-on argument in the parking lot, but I finally give in and haul the crappier mattress up the stairs.
We plop it on top of the frame, and I frown at the bare bed.
“We forgot bedding.”
“I have some extra sheets in the linen closet,” she says. “Jeremy didn’t take anything from there.”
I nod but can’t shake the feeling that the room still seems so empty. Just a bare bed and a bookcase. My gaze shifts to the empty shelves.
“What about your books?” I ask, remembering how devastated she looked when she saw her personal library destroyed. Something tells me her apartment won’t feel like home again until she’s restocked her bookshelf.
It takes Margot a minute to find the meaning of my question before she replies, “I budgeted twenty dollars per paycheck for books.”
“How many will that buy?”
“One,” she admits with a slight grimace. “Maybe two if I can find them on sale.”
I give Margot a long, pained look, biting back an offer to replace them all. Her gaze meets mine, knowing and stubborn but still soft and gracious. A whole conversation plays out silently as we stare at each other from across the room.
“Thanks for your help today,” she says then tentatively adds, “I could order a pizza or something if you’re hungry.”
And what? Eat it on her bed?
Where else does she plan to eat her meals? Spend her time?
I almost insist that she comes back to my house until she’s acquired some more furniture, but I know she’s stuck on the idea that a bed and a little plastic storage thing are all she needs to get by.
“Don’t worry about it,” I say reluctantly. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I glance at the time. Somehow, it’s already four o’clock. “I need to drop the rest of the furniture off at the house and return the U-Haul before six.”
“Okay,” she nods. “Thanks again… for everything.”
“Anytime.” It sounds casual and dismissive, but I mean it. Literally anytime. Now, for example. She could come back to my house and stay in a nice, comfortable bedroom. Have access to a television and a sofa and a fully stocked kitchen.
But she won’t, so it’s time for me to leave.