“She’s different.”
“How so?” I’ve almost caught up to where Sunny left off. Liam is slow.
“I don’t know. You brought her home, for starters.”
That’s true. I don’t bring anyone home. Cassidy was the only one, because things actually got serious. After her first visit she avoided my parents’ house like it was a construction site porta potty.
Liam continues, “She’s normal. Super cool, actually,” he says with a grunt. His voice echoes through the bathroom and I wish he was capable of a lower volume. He’s not. “And she’s an absolute smokeshow, but like in an authentic way.”
“She can move her face,” Josh adds, distracted by whatever is on his screen.
“Facial movement. I didn’t know the bar was so low.” I'm vigorously scraping the thinset off the concrete now.
“You know what I mean. And you act differently around her. It’s obvious that you respect her. You listen to her. Watch out for her. You’re not so dang self-absorbed. You’re like… pre-Hollywood Anders.” He’s really huffing and puffing over there.
“Hmm.” I place a sheet of penny tile that connects with the area where Liam has been working, lightly pressing it into the mortar. This will need to dry overnight before we can grout tomorrow. We’ll probably finish just in time to hop on the plane for Utah. The process has gone smoothly with Sunny’s help. We avoided the slowdownscaused by our usual mistakes in these projects our mother saves for us.
Speak of the devil. My mom walks in, looking every inch the retired elementary school teacher she is. I remember her embroidered denim jumper from before I moved out. It’s kind of comforting, actually. This place is like a time capsule. “How’s it going in—oh, it looks so good. I think I’m going to cry!”
“No. Don’t cry, Mom,” Liam begs. “There are men working here.”
“You cry if you want.” I shoot Liam a pointed look. I don’t blame her. This tile is a big step up from the 90s-era linoleum that my dad pulled off the floor in preparation for our visit.
“Thank you, boys.” Her eyes are red-rimmed and blinking. She gets weepy every time we come home. Then she makes a 90-degree turn in the conversation. “That Sunny is a real gem, huh?”
Here we go. I know she’s been biding her time, waiting for the opportunity to catch me alone for the interrogation. Not that I mind. She loves me and means well. I’ll take this over Oliver’s interrogations any day. At least with my mother I know she’ll encourage me to go after what I want—Sunny—instead of pushing her away.
Wait.
The realization that I want Sunny finally registers in my neanderthal brain like I just discovered fire. Not “want” like I need to devour her with kisses, although I do want that. I’m human. But the kind of “want” I’m feeling means roots. I want our roots and lives and everything to tangle together until it’s impossible to separate. I want to belong to her and I want her to be mine. This is the feeling that started at the emergency clinic after Immy’s skateboard accident. The rightness of it courses through me like the lifesaving heat from my neanderthal fire.
Immy called it.
Last week when she was freaking out on set, I’d been desperate to calm her down. In what I’ll own was not my finest parenting moment, I bribed her.
“I’ll give you whatever you want if you stop yelling and go back to the suite with Sunny.”I whispered in her ear. I knew it was terrible parenting. Desperation will do that.
“I want you to marry Sunny so she can live with us all the time,”she whispered back.
I almost fell on my butt, but I played along because it wasn’t my first hostage negotiation.“What if Sunny doesn’t want to marry me? She just met me.”I felt the dagger-like stares of the entire crew pressuring me to speed this along.
“Just so you know, Sunny loves you. I can tell. Just ask her, okay?”
So, I did the only thing I could do. I told my daughter I’d try my best, then I kissed Sunny in front of everyone. I had no choice. I didn’t want any other choice, and it was an excellent kiss.
“Oh, my.” My mother’s fading Swedish accent drags me out of my memory of Sunny’s lips. “Boy, you are in so deep.”
I know. I can’t go on denying what I feel for Sunny. I can’t act like it’s a meaningless crush and I’m only messing around, because it isn’t and I’m not. This is different from anything I’ve ever felt. My brain is rewiring, with Sunny and Immy at the center of it, and I want matching pajamas and rings in our future. “I’m—”
“You’re not being your usual self. I can see it. You’re being real.”
“Yeah, and… I think I love her.” I feel naked admitting this in front of my brothers, but I also realize I’ve got myself in a predicament. I need my mom’s help more than I care about my brothers’ judgment. “I love Sunny.” The more I say the words, the more that warm feeling moves through me.
“You can’t fall in love with the freaking nanny, you moron.” Liam grunts from his corner of the bathroom. “You realize the situation you put her in. You provide a paycheck. You’re in a power position. It’s totally screwed up, man.”
I glare at my brother. “Thanks, Dr. Phil. I know. I didn’t plan on this.”
“What did you think would happen? Come to think of it, that’s the problem. You don’t think. We’ve all seen how you go after women,” he barks in his stupid, booming voice. “At least this time you seem for real. You actually love Sunny?”
