I nodded. "Yeah." But then, thinking better of it, I asked, "What do you mean?"
He held up a hand, let it fall to his lap. "I mean, he's sucked up a ton of your time. You're always getting calls and texts. Running off to rescue him from himself. Chaperoning his ass all over town." He lifted his hand again. "I want him in the game just as much as you do. That's all."
I stared at the road ahead for a moment, lost in my feelings. There were so damn many of them. None I'd asked for, none I'd invited. But they were here now, crawling over me and gobbling up the air between us. If I had my way, I'd live a happy life without any of this hassle. And I wouldn't devote a single second to wondering whether Cal was wrong about this. Whether he was wrong about me. Whether I was the last stop on his way to finding the woman he was supposed to love. Whether I was the one before The One.
I'd be fine without all of this. Totally fine.
I avoided these feelings and attachments because I didn't want to be left behind anymore. But more than that, I didn't want to have this only to lose it. And that was the problem on my hands now. I had Cal and his bites and his grumbles and his quiet declarations at all the wrong times. I couldn't do without those things now. I had them and I wanted to keep them, claim them as mine—only mine.
Stellllllllllla. Easy there.
I had to hold on real tight, blink back the fear of being passed over, and trust I'd make it through. I would. I'd make it through.
Eventually, I said, "You knocked it out of the park tonight."
"I had a good coach," he replied. "You sent me in warmed up and ready to hit."
I shrugged off his praise because Cal would've nailed it regardless of whether I schooled him on matters of the Madonna of the Bath and dog-children and pricey cheese. My family loved him because I loved him.
I wanted to panic at that. Pull over on the highway, jump out of the car, and shake the love bugs off. I wanted my life back, my happily calendared existence where I didn't have to think or care or do anything but smile my way through. But yet, I didn't. I didn't want that at all.
"The game did go into extra innings," I said, stepping all the way into this metaphor. "I figured the little rookies would've hit the benches sooner."
"The infusion of triple chocolate cake kept them in the game," he said. That cake wasn't on my birthday menu—I favored Dominican cake—but when my mother had the chance to coax a fudgy smile out of Blaine, she went for it. She also liked sending her grandchildren home buzzed on sugar and chocolate because Serina barely allowed either. "It kept me going after your father opened that fourth bottle of wine."
I laughed at that. "My parents were freaking out over the wine. They hung up on me the other night so they could argue about it."
"It is your birthday," he said mildly. "They're allowed to freak out over spoiling you."
That earned him another laugh. "It wasn't me they were worried about. It was you," I replied. "That's why the flower boxes were overflowing and the bathroom ceiling was freshly painted and my parents basically flailed over you for three hours."
"It's still about you, Stel," he replied. "They want you happy."
"Is that what I am? Happy?"
He paused, tilted his head to stare at me from a different direction. "I hope so," he replied.
I stared at the highway ahead. Delivering Cal to his Beacon Hill apartment meant meandering through Chinatown or taking the Tunnel to Storrow Drive. But the exit leading to Brookline's Buttonwood Village neighborhood was up ahead, beckoning us home.
My tiny Cape Cod style house was my sanctuary. A little spot I'd made my own over the years, fixing it up as much as I could, hiring out for renovations when I had the money. It was mine and never anyone else's. No calendar boys. I preferred it that way. I liked that separation of church and state.
I frowned at the exit one more time.
And then I took it.
As we traveled down the ramp, Cal asked, "Detour?"
"Sort of," I said.
We drove the rest of the way in silence, me with my gaze fixed on the road and Cal shooting curious glances at me. I didn't meet any of those glances. I couldn't. I couldn't see the fascination and adoration and love in his eyes without losing my will to do this. To bring him home and give him the last hidden pieces of me. Not yet.
When I pulled into the driveway, I wanted that panic back. I wanted to grab onto it and remind myself of all the reasons I'd reached this point. I wasn't broken. I was not. But I was afraid of breaking. I was afraid Cal would love me and leave me, and I didn't think I could bear that.
But I couldn't reach that panic. I couldn't get it back.
"Do you want to go in?" I asked, finally shifting toward him.
Cal studied the darkened house. "Maybe," he replied. "It depends on whether this is the super-secret lair of Stella Allesandro or you'd like to commit some birthday breaking and entering."
