I laugh at that; my insides flood with gooey happiness. Being in a relationship with someone proud to be with me is new, and it feels so good. Like an emotional orgasm. Seriously.
“Yes.” We’re silent, and I think that’s because we’re both grinning. “Did you just leave?”
“When I called you, I was just pulling onto the highway. It took me an hour to get here, but that was right at five. Now that it’s a quarter after six, I should make better time.”
I look down at a very sleepy Jett. He’s teething and had gas last night, so an early bedtime is in store. I twist my lips to the side, letting out a contemplative noise.
“What?”
“Well, Jett needs to go down a little early tonight, and I’m afraid if you don’t get here until seven thirty, he’ll be asleep.”
Beau’s tone is much sadder than I expected, even though I did expect him to be bummed. “I know you can’t keep him up for me.” He blows out a frustrated breath. “I should have gone to your place after work and spent time with Jett instead of going to seehim.”
“Let’s talk about how it went when you get here,” I say soothingly, “I don’t want you driving if you’re upset.”
I can feel his nod as he says, “okay.”
“I’ll try to keep him up,” I say, glancing at my watch. If I bathe him a bit later and feed him a bit later, there’s a chance Jett may still be awake when Beau arrives. “He’d love to see you too.” While I do want to make him feel better, it’s also true; Jett lights up when he sees Beau.
“I’m fine, but… alright.”
“I’ll leave the door unlocked. I may be getting him down, and I don’t want you to wait outside.” A thought bounces around my brain, and I allow myself a second to think before rushing out to ask–does he want a key to my house? Am I offering because I think that’s what's best for Jett and myself, or am I offering because I want to lift him up when he’s clearly down?
Both, I think, and that’s the answer I needed.
“We need to get you a key. That way, I can keep the door locked, and you can come and go…whenever you want.”
The road whips around him, and it’s all I can hear because we’re both silent. He must have the windows down, trying to catch his breath and center himself. I give him the silence he needs until he’s ready, and just a moment or two later, he says, “I can’t wait to hold you tonight.”
Goosebumps spread along my skin, and I can’t deny the way my body reacts to his words.
“I can’t wait either.”
“See you soon, baby.” He ends the call.
Walking down the hall, I knock on the door of Goldie’s room, the third room in my new house. “Hey, aren’t you going to my parents’ house soon? Beau’s coming over.”
The door swings open, and a rush of Michael Kors perfume puts me in a chokehold. “Jesus, you put that much perfume on for Jeopardy night with my parents?”
Goldie smooths her hands down her long, shiny hair. She’s wearing a sweatsuit–designer, no less–and is decked out with a full face of makeup. Lashes included. Tonight, her beauty doesn’t make me insecure or have me rushing for my makeup bag. I’m not really even focused on how I look. All I can think about is getting Beau here, letting him unpack his burdens, and making him feel heard and supported.
Goldie dances her brows. “Carl’s bringing someone.”
I squint my eyes at her. “You’re meeting a friend of my dad’s at my parents’ house to watch Jeopardy at 7:45 on a Friday night?”
She considers the way I’ve recounted her night, tapping her chin as she rolls her glossed lips together. “Yeah, that sounds bad, but,” she shrugs, “that’s where I am. Unemployed and excited to watch Jeopardy with a bunch of sixty-year-olds.”
Jett pulls himself to standing, gripping my calf. Goldie points, wiggling her finger madly with a squeal that could break glass. “He’s standing!He stood!”
Reaching down, I scoop him up.
“Mama,” he says plainly. He started that and standing this week. A big week for us.
“I know,” I reply, taking his sticky little hand in mine. Babies’ hands are cute and squishy but almost always coated in slobber. “He started doing that this week.” I hate that my mind goes to Dustin. That I even think about all the things he’s missing that he’ll surely regret. He’s missing them by choice, and I need to remember that.
“So cute!” Goldie boops his nose and smooths his hair, then turns back to the mirror on the wall next to her door. “How do I look?” she asks me while staring at her reflection.
“Beautiful but… who is my dad setting you up with?” I ask because I’ve seen my dad’s friends. They are…like my dad, old guys in New Balances who listen to Eric Clapton’s Layla while finger drumming on their steering wheels and asking grocery store employees if they’re“workin’ hard or hardly workin’.”