“Well, we know it’s not Rosalie, because there’s no way you’d let Mom trap her in a room with your kids and those awful recorders if you had feelings for her.” He turns to stare at me, and in that moment, I know he knows. He probably saw us through the front window when Rosalie covered my mouth and told me we’d be having a conversation later. I’d been looking forward tothat conversation, however awkward it might be. Not anymore.
Leave it to Jack to flay me open and show me another reason why I’m not relationship material. He’s better at it than Maggie. He didn’t even have to hear Mom order Rosalie around. He just knows that’s how it went down. And I did nothing about it.
A buzzing starts in my ears, and I don’t hear what my parents say next because I’m too deep in self-reproach. I came in here determined to stand up for myself, when I should have stood up forher.
My instinct is to not do it now because Jack pointed it out, but that’s just the brotherly rivalry in me. I have to say something, and I have to do it right now. Whatever I feel for Rosalie, the respect she deserves is not tied to it. This correction is overdue. It’s so overdue.
“What is Jack talking about?” Dad asks, and they all turn to look at me.
“Mom, from now on, please don’t talk to Rosalie like she works for you. It’s been bothering me for a while; I just needed Jack to call me out on it.”
“You’re welcome,” he mutters.
I ignore Jack and continue. “At our house, she’s part of my team. I don’t tell her what to do, and she doesn’t tell me what to do. We just work things out together. You didn’t need to tell her to stay with the kids. She knows.”
Mom frowns, giving my speech more thought than I hoped she would. She’s putting puzzle pieces together while she studies me. “So, you want me to talk to her like she’s yourwife?” She throws the last word out like a test, and I make sure not to react to it.
“My work wife, yes.”
Jack shakes his head in disgust. “Just own up, man.”
“It’s an accurate description. We’re friends. She’s the closest friend I have.” Seeing their surprise, I add, “Next to Andrew.” It’s not even true. She’s surpassed him in a lot of ways. I work with both of them, but only one of them gets daily heartfelt letters from me.
Mom throws up her hands in defeat. “This is why you shouldhave remarried already, Liam. Not on the market! Close friend? You broker compromise for a living so don’t think I don’t know when you’re just repackaging what’s really going on to make it sound good. You’ve fallen for her, haven’t you?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer before continuing. “I should have seen this coming. She’s just been so solid. I know you’re a catch, but I didn’t think she’d jeopardize her position by trying to seduce you.”
As if Rosie’s to blame. I can’t let this stand, no matter how much I want to keep my parents in the dark. “She’s the catch, Mom. Not me. In fact, I’m probably the last thing she wants. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be listening to my kids destroy my love for music until dinner’s ready. If Rosalie comes in, maybe strike up a conversation with her. I can give you a list of talking points if you need.”
Mom rolls her eyes, but I can tell the fight is leaving her. “I expect that kind of cheek from Jack. I get it. I’ll try not to order around the woman you’re paying to watch your children.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll be friendlier too,” Dad says gruffly.
I touch his shoulder as I leave the room. It’s more than I expected from him. But maybe it’s time I stop expecting the worst from everyone, no matter how often I’m let down.
It hits me that I’m hardest on myself when it comes to that. Yes, I’m flawed. I’m very, very flawed. And I’m blessed, or maybe cursed, with people in my life who make sure I know that. But what good is knowing about my flaws if I can’t do better and move forward? I see it all the time with businesses that experience a big setback. The owners go into self-protection mode, as if it will allow them to grow without making any new decisions. It inevitably makes things worse. A lot worse. Is that what I’ve been doing to myself? This holding pattern I’ve been in for the past four years isn’t helping me.
I could lose Rosalie whether I choose to make a move or not, and I don’t want to let fear make my decisions anymore. What if I don’t screw things up? What if she’s the best risk of all and I tell her?
The walk down the hall to where Rosalie sits with the kids feels too short. She can see in my face that something’s different, but I just shake my head slightly and go to sit with her; not as close as we were sitting together in the ice cream parlor booth, but close enough that she raises an eyebrow. She doesn’t move away, though.
Wyatt’s getting better with the Otamatone now that he’s had a few minutes of practice. Whatever he’s playing sounds a little bit like a Bruno Mars song. On repeat.
My mother isn’t evil, but she sure dabbles in it.
“What did you do?” Rosalie whispers.
“Who says I did something?”
“Your overly bright eyes. And your hands. They’re fidgety.”
“Who’s looking at who now?” I ask, turning to face her with my overly bright eyes and a death wish. She called me frustratingly appropriate. I think I know what that means. If she’s frustrated with my appropriateness, then maybe I should be a little less appropriate.
Her hazel eyes flash with a warning. “Don’t flirt with me right now, Liam Campbell. This is the worst possible moment.”
Callie comes over to climb into her lap and she reaches up, playing with the ends of Rosalie’s hair. It’s getting long again, or maybe it seems that way because she straightened it tonight. It’s smooth and sleek, despite Callie’s efforts to fluff it up.
“Ro, I’m hungry.”