“I guess you’re right,” she says thoughtfully. “I’m trying real hard not to read into the imagery of snakes and thorny vines you’ve chosen for the cover-up, by the way.”
I laugh.
It’s effortless and natural, like inhaling.
I try not to think about our tree up at Loma Linda.
“Well,” I say as I get up abruptly. “I better head home now. It’s been a long day.”
“Yeah,” she says in a small voice, and I can’t help the warm, giddy joy coursing through me at her visible disappointment.
I take a twenty out of my wallet and put it on the bar, nodding at the prospect.
“Alright,” she says as she gets off her barstool. “I’ll head upstairs as well then.”
She lifts her arms, and for a moment I both fear and hope she will give me a hug, but she merely stretches out her back. I gather my phone and my keys and do my best not to look at her.
The ride home is exhilarating because the vibrations of my bike match the buzz I’m feeling all over my skin. It’s after midnight, but the air is still warm.
Starting next week, whenever I look up from my workstation, I will see Bell. We will be in the same space for hours. Every day for the foreseeable future. It sounds like a fever dream.
Fuck.
Why does that thought make me feel so good?
I walk into the house as quietly as I can, immediately taking my boots off and carefully putting my cut on its hook in the mudroom. I quickly shower off the day’s sweat and the dust from the ride before tiptoeing to our bed in my boxers.
“Fuck!” I yelp as I accidentally kick what seems to be a very loud rattle into the nightstand.
Junior starts crying.
“Sorry,” I whisper to Marissa, who gives me a sleepy smile in response.
“Say hi to Daddy,” she coos to DJ as she lifts her shirt to feed him.
I get into bed with them and absentmindedly stroke my son’s tiny head until he melts back to sleep. When he unlatches, Marissa sighs in relief.
“Why is he in our bed again?” I ask sternly, suddenly overcome with irritation towards her. “We’ve talked about this a million times.”
My tone cuts through Marissa’s sleepiness.
“Shh! He’s going through the big sleep regression; he wakes up every 40 minutes! If I want to get any sleep before I have to be up for work, this is the only way to get him to go back to sleep.”
“Why don’t you just do the sleep training program that Angie did?”
Marissa doesn’t respond.
“He’s going back to his crib now,” I whisper.
“If you’re the one who’s gonna get up and bring him to me every time he cries, be my guest,” Marissa hisses.
She is sitting up now, her arms crossed over her ample chest, glaring at me.
“Fine,” I admit defeat because I’m too fucking exhausted for this back and forth, and she smiles her dimpled smile at me before glancing at the alarm clock next to her side of the bed.
“Why are you getting in so late?”
I get settled on my back, careful not to jostle DJ too much in the process. “We have a new employee, so I had to stay and show her the ropes. Prez’s sister, actually.”
