We spend a little time chatting around the table, mostly about the impending show and tell, making guesses about what the rest of her classmates will bring and if they’ll be cooler than Astro-bunny or if Macie will ‘win’ the day with the coolest object.
Colt disappears again while I check over my sister’s homework to make sure it’s all been done, reappearing a few minutes later, again, still in his comfy clothes. I stuff the finished homework back into Macie’s backpack and throw Colt a questioning look.
Tilting his head to gesture toward the stairs, he tells me, “Come with me.”
I follow him slowly through the house and up the stairs, and he keeps his own pace slow to match mine. We turn a corner, crossing the threshold to his bedroom and we pass through the room to head into the bathroom.
The lights inside are low, and I can’t decide if it feels more relaxing or romantic – maybe somewhere between both; only made romantic simply because Colt is standing next to me.
There’s a pleasant hint of eucalyptus in the air, wafting over from the sunken bathtub which is filled to the brim, a layer of thick, frothy bubbles resting over the top of it. Colt stands behind me and gently puts his hands on my shoulders.
“You,” he says, “are going to soak for a while. And you’re not going to fight me on it.”
“I have to—”
“Rowan. What did Ijustget done saying?” He laughs. “I’ve got everything covered. Bath. Now.”
He leads me toward the tub, stopping just short of it, then he leaves the room without another word, pulling the door shut behind him.
Admitting my defeat, I shrug off my pajamas and carefully lower myself into the tub, sliding down until I’m covered up to my chin in the warm bubbles, and take a deep breath of the eucalyptus. I still ache, but the weightlessness of floating in this tub feels like a little slice of heaven carved right into the ground.
I let myself soak until I’m worried I might fall asleep, which would have been fine in my tub at home, but in this one, I think I’d probably drown.
Dressed in a fresh set of comfy clothes, I move back down the hallway, looking again at all of the pictures sprinkled throughout. Emmett’s entire life is practically documented here – I wonder if he knows just how proud his dad is of him.
My house had become a tomb, but this place is still very much alive, and the memories spread throughout radiate a still very-present love. I wasn’t even part of these memories, but when I walk past them, I can’t help but cherish them.
I finally get back out to the living room, where Colt sits on the couch. It’s late, he should have been at work at least an hour ago.
“What are you still doing here?” I ask him as I walk around to the front of the couch.
I stop in my tracks when I realize that next to him, there’s a fluffy blanket set out and on the table in front of it sits a bowl of soup and a steaming mug of tea. My heart does a little flip in my chest.
The only other person in my life who has ever taken care of me on days like this was my mom. She would always get me a heating pad, soup, Tylenol. A lot of it was guessing, because we never got any answers as to why I felt so crappy all of the time, but the lovebehind it was helpful in and of itself.
This is so similar in so many ways – the care and thought behind every choice, the desire to help – but it’s also so very different.
Does Colt love me?
He takes my hand and pulls me over toward the cozy spot set up next to him until I’m sitting down. “I’m making sure you stay off of your feet,” he tells me.
Wrapping the blanket around myself, I pick up the mug of tea and curl up against him, breathing in the rich smell of his cologne. We sit in a comfortable silence for a long while, the TV the only sound in the room.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course you can,” he tells me.
“Why don’t you have any pictures of Emmett’s mom?” I ask him. “It’s just that you have so many pictures up, and you’re obviously a sentimental guy…”
He takes a deep, steadying breath and drops his arm around my shoulders before speaking.
“I don’t have pictures of her up because I’m still angry with her,” he says plainly.
“Why are you angry?”
Another breath and a quick nod of consideration later, he explains, “Because she left.” My silence is cue enough that I’m listening, if he wants to tell me more. I hope he knows he doesn’t have to, but if he wants to tell me, I want to listen. I want to know his story.
“We were seventeen and stupid,” he continues. “He wasn’t planned, but when we found out that Anna was pregnant, there wasn’t a second thought if he was wanted. She moved in with my parents and I and we took over the basement so I could get a better job – I was working at a drive thru at the time – and we could save up some money to get our own place.
