“It’s fine, Sloane. We didn’t necessarily part on the best of terms all those years ago, and I’m sure Roanan told you I was moving in instead of asking if I could stay here. I don’t blame you for not being ecstatic that I was moving in with you, but I do appreciate it. The rehab program at the university is awesome. Besides, we all know I’m not a ray of sunshine so it was nice to get a little taste of my own medicine,” he finishes, with one of those gorgeous but rare Liam smiles. I haven’t been on the receiving end of one of those in years. I forgot how powerful they are. And just like that, any questions I had about my feelings for Liam vanish. I’m in deep shit.
Chapter 14
The past week since Sloane made me supper has flown by. Since that first time, we’ve eaten together every night, then sat on the couch together and watched a movie. Or, I watched a movie cuddled with Gigi, and she read on her Kindle. It’s a comfortable routine I didn’t know I was missing in my life.
But our routine is about to change. For the next three days, at least.
Ronan and Cassie are driving in today for a few days. Cassie has to work through Christmas, so they decided to come for a few days before the crazy holiday rush. Not that they celebrate, though. After his wife’s death, Ronan and Sloane’s dad couldn’t find it in him to celebrate Christmas. Since Sloane’s birthday is on the twenty-sixth, they just go all out celebrating her birthday. Both Mr. Callahan and Ronan had the incessant fear that one day Sloane was going to wake up and blame herself for her mother’s death. They thought the best way to make sure that didn’t happen was to go all out for her birthday. Something I recently learned is still happening to this day, since they’re coming here to have an early birthday party for Sloane.
“Do you ever wish you celebrated Christmas?” I ask as I watch her care for her plants in the living room where I’m sitting on the couch with a sleeping Gigi.
“Honestly? No,” she answers before putting down her watering can and turning to face me. “At first, maybe, I did. But that quickly disappeared when I started to notice that my birthday was forgotten by everyone in the chaos of the holidays. All the other kids at school got cupcakes and birthday parties but I never could because everything was just too hectic. I guess that makes me a little selfish, but it was nice having all the attention—not that I didn’t always have Dad and Ro’s attention,” she says with a laugh. “Then, the older I got, and the more I asked about Mom, we started spending Christmas day doing all her favorite things. We’d bake white chocolate raspberry banana muffins in the morning, play Scrabble in the afternoon, watchShark Weekreruns—apparently she was obsessed with sharks—then we’d bring our mattresses into the living room and watch our favorite movies. Ro said he and Mom would do that often. All that to say, though, no, I don’t wish it were different. I got to celebrate something—someonebetter, during the holiday season.”
I wish I was the type of guy that could just hug her. I’ve never heard her talk about her mom, it was always the one topic she shied away from. But before I can do or say anything, there’s a short knock on the door just before it opens and we hear Ronan say, “Honey, we’re home!”
With my eyes still trained on Sloane, I watch her face go from wistful, due to thinking about the mother she never met, to a breathtaking smile, making her entire face glowat the sound of her brother’s voice. I love the relationship they have. I’d like to say I have the same relationship with my four siblings, but I don’t. For some reason, I’ve always shied away from having that close of a relationship with my siblings. Sure, I’m in the family group chat, but I barely participate. I’ve always found myself more at ease in the quiet of the Callahan house than the always moving and loud chaos of my own home.
I slowly get up to meet Ronan and Cassie at the front door, only to see Ronan swinging his sister around in a hug, with her squealing at him to let her down. My eye catches Cassie’s, who’s standing in the doorway behind them. We exchange a shake of the head.
“All right, move it along, you guys,” Cassie says, shoving Ronan my way and away from Sloane so she can give her a tight hug too.
“I see you’ve moved up in the world,” Ronan says, nodding his head toward my cane, before I’m on the receiving end of his bear hug.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, once he pulls away.
“Good. Real good,” I answer him honestly as we move further into the house. What I don’t tell him is that his little sister is at least partially responsible for my feeling good. Everything seemed better now that she wasn’t avoiding me like she had been. Being in her orbit settles me. “Moving to a cane was something, but now that I’ve gotten the hang of it I’m gaining more and more movement and I’ve decreased my meds, so all around, it’s going well.”
“I’m happy to hear that! You’ll be back to running and cycling in no time,” he says, bringing his bags to the basement, where he and Cassie are staying while they’re here. Part of me feels bad that they’re being relegated to the unfinished basement because I’m taking up the guest bedroom. Even though it’s overflowing with plants, it’s very relaxing and comfortable. I bet they don’t have plants in the basement.
“All right, I ordered the pizza before we got here, the bags are in—who’s ready to drink?” Cassie asks enthusiastically, holding up two bottles of white wine, making me shake my head. I’ve known Cassie for as long as I’ve known Ronan; she moved to Vancouver the same year he did. The three of us were glued at the hip, until they started dating in high school. Having gone to high school with Cassie, I know just how quickly she gets drunk and loud with white wine. The fact that she’s holding two bottles, when I know Ronan doesn’t drink it and I can’t worries me.
“Not me,” I inform her. “I can’t drink with the medication I’m on.”
At the same time, Ronan says, “You know I don’t drink that shit,” as he holds up a can of beer. All the while, Sloane is still silently sitting on the couch with Gigi.
“I know you don’t drink much, Sloane, but please tell me you’ll make an exception tonight! Ronan promised he’d make us a huge breakfast tomorrow!” she says, giving Sloane her best puppy dog eyes.
“Waffles with your strawberry syrup?” Sloane asks Ronan.
“Promise,” he says, joining us in the living room with two wine glasses and a bottle opener.
“Fine, but we’re not getting out of hand,” she says, waving a finger at Cassie and accepting a glass from her brother.
I’d like to be able to tell Sloane tomorrow morning that she and Cassie didn’t get out of hand, but I won’t be able to do that. Cassie has been a lightweight since we learned what alcohol was. I figured Sloane might be a lightweight as well, especially if all I have to base my assumption on is that one night years ago . . .
I’m currently watching the third High School Musical, but mostly, I’m watching the girls, who are drunkenly attempting to sing and dance along with the characters on TV. At this point, I’m worried I won’t be the only one needing assistance to walk tomorrow morning. On the other hand, I can guarantee that I have never, and will never, smile and laugh as much as I am right now. I can’t remember the last time I saw Sloane so free. She’s been very uptight, scheduled, and reserved since I’ve moved in, more so since her date blew her off.
What I wouldn’t do to have this uninhibited joy on her face all the time.
Finally, Ronan decides to put an end to it all. “All right ladies! I think it’s time for bed . . . before either of you gets injured!” A chorus ofnos,and being called a “party pooper” by Sloane and an “asshole” by Cassie follows his words. But that doesn’t deter him. He just gets up and swings Cassie over his shoulder as if she weighs nothingand makes his way toward the basement door, leaving me to deal with a drunk and yawning Sloane.
“Come on, Rosie, let’s get you ready for bed,” I tell her, as I turn off the TV and push myself off the couch, wishing I could just throw her over my shoulder like Ronan did to Cass.
“I like it when you call me Rosie. It makes me feel special,” she confesses as she follows me to the bathroom. Her quiet drunk confession hits me right in the chest. Maybe she’s missed me just as much as I’ve missed her.
“Promise to keep calling me that?” she asks.
“Promise,” I tell her as I lean against the vanity and hold out her toothbrush for her to take.
