I hope I don’t end up nervous sweating my way through my T-shirt at this rate. But, somehow, I manage to get the chair and ottoman put together without embarrassing myself too badly.
Then I have her tell me where she wants it and I move it for her, across from the chair that’s already there, off the other end of the couch, and I sit.
Turns out it’s pretty damn comfy.
“Do you like it?” she asks, sounding unusually bashful, for her.
“It’s great, thanks.”
“That’syourchair.” She smiles. “I want you to always feel welcome here.”
Every ounce of strength and will I have in my body diverts to trying not to cry as I choke up. “Thank you,” I finally say when I can speak without sounding like an idiot.
No one’s ever tried to make me feel welcome before.
Except Carter. And now Susa. Oh, she knows some of what I survived during my childhood, but I glossed over the worst of it. Carter knows more than she does simply because I spend more time with him and we talk during our morning exercise routine, which Carter calls PT. I guess that’s physical training, from his Army days, although some days it feels like physical torture. To be honest, during our talks it’s mostly Carter asking me stuff. It seems like every time I ask him something, he manages to turn it around and focus on me again before I even realize he’s done it.
Man’s going to be a fucking amazing attorney. I can see it already.
Speaking of our morning PT, it’s getting easier for me to keep up with him during the faster paces, and I’m noticing my legs are looking firmer. Haven’t dropped much in the way of weight, but I’m not really overweight, mostly sort of soft.
Especially when compared to the toned, hard planes and angles of Carter’s body.
About that time, I hear Susa’s front door open, and Carter walks in.
The way Susa’s face lights up at hearing his arrival shoves away all the good feelings I’d spent the afternoon building up.
She meets him at the end of the entry hallway. “I have something for you.” She goes to her purse, grabs the other key, and proudly presents it to him.
He looks at me, our gazes locking for a long moment before he speaks. “Thank you. I wasn’t expecting this. You gave Owen one, right?”
“Of course. Already gave it to him.” Dimple. “Let me set alarm codes for you and show you guys how to work it.”
Most of the good feelings wash back in as I’m still processing Carter’s question to her. Carter actually thought ofmefirst.
I don’t have the words to express what that does to me. That there’s someone who is literally putting me first. The sad thing is, I can’t remember another time in my life that happened. I never felt like my mother put me first.
Ever.
Oh, I’m sure if someone asked her that she’d take great umbrage at the suggestion that she didn’t put her child first. Which is why I’m not stupid enough to say it to her.
Yet it’s the truth. Not once can I think of a time that my best interests, my needs, myanythingcame first in my mother’s life. I’ve always been an afterthought.
And yet, Carter putmefirst.
Right at that moment, I’d walk across hot coals for Carter, if he asked it of me.
I pull myself out of the chair to follow them back down the hallway, to the alarm keypad. She has us pick our codes, programs them into the unit, then has us test them.
Carter turns to me with a smile and produces my keys. I fish his out of my pocket and we swap, then thread our new keys onto our key rings.
“So what’d you get at IKEA?” Carter asks.
“Oh! Let me show you. Owen just put together his chair.”
Something about the way she says it…
Yeah, I’m a fucking dumbass goner, all right.
