Performed by Kelly Clarkson
TWELVE YEARS AGO
HIM: Was your mom mad that you got in past curfew?
HER: She didn’t even know. It was Chelsea who met me at the back door.
HIM: Next time, I’ll set an alarm. That way, if Shakespeare bores us to sleep again, you won’t be late.
Moments passed.
HIM: Maise?
More moments slipped by.
HIM: You okay?
HER: Why do you still read with me? I mean, I’m so grateful you helped me when I was little. I’d never be the reader I am now without you. But there’s no reason to read with me anymore.
HIM: I can’t like hanging with my friend, doing something we both enjoy?
HER: What sixteen-year-old boy really wants to spend his Friday night reading Shakespeare in a treehouse with the kid next door?
HIM: Did Chelsea say something? Is this her getting in your head? I like reading books. You like reading books. What does it matter where we do it? You know better than to listen to her.
HER: She’s just worried about me. That’s what big sisters do.
HIM: The only person Chelsea is ever worried about is herself.
PRESENT DAY
I couldn’t decide if I wasa cowardly chicken or a woman hiding in self-preservation. All I knew was that I’d been dodging Beckett since dinner last night. The little episode in the cove and Kurt’s words had sent me into a tailspin.
Like a reel on repeat, I kept seeing Kurt’s worry as he’d said, “You love Beckett, and my son loves you, but he has issues he hasn’t worked through yet. I’m afraid if you two do this now, it’ll end badly for both of you. It’ll prove his point about relationships rather than heal them.”
And when I’d started to reply, he’d cut me off, saying gently, “Don’t get me wrong, sweetheart, the two of you belong together. I’ve known it since you were little kids and couldn’t be separated. I couldn’t be happier to have you as my daughter-in-law. But I don’t want either of you to get hurt because you haven’t taken care of your own house before merging them. That was my problem with Liza. I hadn’t fixed the damage left behind by Camila, and it sent her scurrying away.”
Beckett had returned from the snack bar before I could respond, which was for the best. Because I wouldn’t have been able to tell Kurt the truth—that this was all temporary. That while Beckett and I loved each other, he’d never wanted me like a man truly wants a woman. Not as a girlfriend. Not as a wife. Not as the mother of his kids.
The heat in the looks Beckett sent me lately was new, but I wasn’t naïve enough to believe it meant he’d suddenly decided he loved me. If anything, he might be considering a friends-with-benefit situation, but that would be as bad of an idea as a real relationship would be. Because I didn’t need much more than a nudge to fall completely and utterlyinlove with him. And if I did, when this arrangement ended, I’d never recover.
Truth was, Kurt was right. Beckett and I carried too much baggage to make anything work between us.
The situation in college with the frat boy who’d taken my virginity had forced me into therapy. Believing he’d actually wanted me, only to find out he’d slept with the plainest girl he could find all for initiation points, had nearly shattered what was left of my soul. But it had also made me see how desperate I’d been to be loved. To be the center of someone’s world.
So I’d sought help. And I’d done the hard work to put the worst of my childhood wounds behind me. But they’d been cracked open this week by Chelsea’s visit and Dad’s situation.
It was a struggle to keep my eyes wide open and my heart sealed shut. But the deal I’d made with Beckett wasn’t going to end in forever any more than the time with the loser frat boy had.
With my emotions still raw this morning, I hadn’t been any more prepared to face Beckett than I had been last night, so I’d stayed away aslong as possible. I’d kept to my room until Dad was ready to go next door with me, simply so I had a buffer.
When Dad came into my room in jeans and a T-shirt that still smelled like smoke, my guilt leaped to the surface. I should have stayed home yesterday and done some laundry instead of galivanting to the lake and stirring pots I knew better than to stir.
“Let’s start a load of laundry before we go next door,” I told Dad. “Everything you own smells like burned plastic.”
He sniffed his shirt and grimaced.
“I don’t need you to do my laundry, Maisey. I’ll start it when we get back. Right now, I want to get out there before Beckett does all the work himself. I see he already had a dumpster delivered. Make sure he knows I’ll pay for it.”