Derek grunted and shoved more food in his mouth before answering. “Don’t suppose I have you to thank for the new pink trim?”
“That was all Rosie. But it looks nice, don’t you think?”
“Nice?” the older man snorted. “It’ll sure add to the time it takes to get the place sold. Christ, what a mess.”
“Sold?” Tom said warily. “Did Rosie change her mind?”
“Well, she had to. Max obviously can’t stay here forever, and assisted living’s damn expensive. Rosie finally said she’d put it on the market after I walked her through the finances. It’s the smart choice.”
It didn’t seem to occur to Derek that Rosie might be both smart and devastated. God, the futility of it all. Three months pouring her heart into the place, only to lose it after all. Tom barely kept his fists from clenching.
You don’t deserve her.The thought was incendiary at the top of Tom’s mind. Not just him, because he’d always thought that, but her family. People like Rosie kept the entire world turning, managed baby showers and home health aides, remembered birthdays and anniversaries. Didn’t they know how lucky they were to have her?
“Do you know where she is?” Tom managed to ask without shouting.
Derek pointed upstairs. “She said she wasn’t feeling well. Hope it isn’t the food. I’ve had about five of these salami roses, and so has everyone else.”
This was so offensive to Rosie. Derek should have dragged Tom outside to yell at him for breaking Rosie’s heart ten years ago. He should have demanded that Tom state his intentions. He should have given Tom a hard time,at least.
“Well, good to catch up,” Tom lied, shaking Derek’s sticky hand again and excusing himself. He didn’t greet any of Rosie’sother relatives, just wove through the crowd of short, round people until he was in the living room, which was dominated by a big entertainment console and a sofa bed with Max’s suitcases tucked behind it. Nobody gave him more than a half-curious look.
Max was seated in a new armchair, one of those zero-gravity seats, but the pained expression on her face didn’t seem to have to do with her broken hip. Everyone else was standing, eyes glued to the preshow. Tom knelt down next to Max’s chair and kissed her cheek.
“Hello Tomasz,” she said, clearing her throat. Rosie had said she was on a lot of pain meds, but she seemed with it enough to be bored watching basketball with her younger brothers and their sons. She rallied her face into a smirk. “Did you come to watch the game too?”
“Definitely,” he deadpanned. “I love how those shorts fit them. Go green.”
He was rewarded with a faint snort and the dramatic roll of Max’s eyes.
“Can I get you anything?” he asked.
“I was supposed to go shopping with one of my girlfriends this past week. To get a new dress for your premiere. But Rosie keeps scheduling these terrible doctor’s appointments instead,” Max complained. “I haven’t been able to go out yet. The play’s not tonight, is it?”
Max looked put together, her hair and makeup done, tasteful clothes, but someone had put a tacky fleece Celtics throw over her lap and pointed her chair at the TV.
“No, in two weeks. I’ll take you,” Tom promised her, hopinghe’d be in a position to do that. He could do this. He could be a Tom who was Rosie’s actual partner.
“You’re a good boy,” Max said, patting in the general direction of his shoulder.
“I’m glad someone thinks so,” Tom said. “Let me just get Rosie. I’ll be right back.”
Gathering all his courage, he went up to the second floor. He still knew the way to Rosie’s former bedroom, the door adorned with holographic stickers of kittens and unicorns and pictures of Rosie in her prom dress, some teenage asshole’s arm around her. Tom knocked, heard no answer, and decided to let himself in anyway.
“Rosie?” he called. “It’s me.”
It was dark and full of storage boxes inside her old room, the only light coming from under the bathroom door. As Tom approached, now even more cautious, Rosie flung the door open. She was wiping her face with a wet hand towel as though she’d just finished crying, throwing up, or possibly doing both at once.
His stomach was a lead ball of worry and dismay, but the wave of surprise and relief that passed over Rosie’s face when she saw him did a lot to dissolve it.
She dropped her towel, ran to him, and immediately locked her arms around his waist. Tom let out a breath he felt like he’d been holding since he’d left the island as she buried her face against his shoulder. He’d been right to come. He was late, but he’d been right.
“You’re here,” she mumbled into the fabric of his shirt, her breath smelling of spearmint toothpaste.
“Of course I’m here,” he said gruffly, pressing his cheek to the top of her head, feeling dizzy with his own relief. He held her tighter, fingertips gripping her like that would really make her his. He bent to kiss her temples, her puffy eyelids, everywhere he could reach without letting go of her. “You’rehere.”
He wasn’t really referring to the bathroom in particular, but Rosie’s face flushed when she glanced back toward the toilet.
“I’m not puking because I’m pregnant,” she said quickly. “My mom forgot I’m allergic to fish, I guess, and she didn’t mention the Worcestershire sauce in the three-bean salad. And I forgot to ask. Oops.”
