Minted, p.16
Minted, page 16
Barbara always looks so adorable when she blushes. I think that means she did make it herself, which makes me love it even more.
“It’s amazing,” I say.
“It won’t match your style,” she says, “but after Mom died, it made me feel better to crochet things. And that one reminded me of you.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Because it’s green,” Ricki says. “Like money.”
That makes all of us laugh.
“I think it made me think of those shoes you wore when we first met,” she says. “The ones with the stripe?”
It warms my heart a little, thinking that she was paying attention to me, even then.
“Open the other one.” She hands me the second box.
It’s about the same size as her book box was, and it’s about the right weight, too. I catch her eye so I can watch her reaction. “Did you get me a book this year?”
Barbara looks nervous, for some reason, picking at the tissue and wrapping paper she was ignoring before. Then she starts stacking it all up, like we’re going to suddenly start trying to reuse wrapping paper. “Just open it.”
“So it’s not a book, or you’d be annoyed at my guess.” I shake it again. It’s sliding a bit—and it’s something hard. “Is it a tablet?”
She shakes her head.
“It’s a picture?” I ask. “Or maybe a painting?”
“You’re ruining the surprise,” Ricki says. “Just open it.”
I glare at her a bit, but then I finally do open it. It’s a photo frame—a beautiful, dark wooden one. And inside, there’s a photo of me and Barbara, smiling. She’s wearing her gold dress, so it must have been snapped at the holiday party we just attended. I look up at her. “Was this from—”
She’s blushing. “Their PR team sent it to me, and I just thought. . .”
It gives me hope. Oliver’s stupid words had been rolling around in my head, making me second guess everything. That’s why I hid Barbara’s last present inside the branches of the tree. But this renews my faith. “Look. I got you something else, too.” I reach around her and snag it. Then I set it in her lap.
It’s a small blue box.
With a big white bow.
“It’s the only gift that didn’t match the color scheme,” I say, clearly nervous. “That’s why it was hiding.”
“Is that the only reason?” Nikki asks.
She’s an intuitive kid. I shake my head. “I wasn’t sure whether I was ready to give it to her,” I say slowly.
Barbara has frozen in place, like a beautiful ice sculpture in a garden downtown. “Bentley.”
“But I am, so I want you to open it,” I say. “And don’t get all dramatic.”
She blinks, and her hands move slowly, undoing the bow and lifting the lid. But when she sees the cushion-cut diamond, she doesn’t beam. She doesn’t slide it on her finger, either.
She frowns, which is not promising.
“What is this?”
“It’s an engagement ring.” I stand up, and then I drop to one knee. “I’ve known you for fifteen years,” I say. “And in that time, I’ve gotten to know you really well. At first I was going to ask you to date me, because Barbara Champion, I love you.”
She’s not beaming. “Bentley, I—”
“I know it feels a little sudden, but listen. The more you helped me find someone to date, the more I realized that I only wanted to date you. And then when I thought about dating you, well. You have two little girls you’re fostering—adorable, brilliant, talented little girls. You have a lot on your plate. You don’t need some wishy-washy guy coming over and being like, ‘hey, babe, let’s hang out.’”
She laughs. “So you decided this would be better?”
That’s not exactly the reaction I wanted. “No?” I stand up. “I guess not.” It feels like I’ve been punched in the stomach. Because I don’t see any way that this suddenly becomes the yes I was hoping for.
Barbara stands, too. “Bentley, you date someone for a long time before you propose. Do you know why?”
I shake my head, but I can’t help feeling like a little boy who just got yelled at for sneaking a cookie.
“Because dating and knowing someone aren’t the same. You’re putting the cart before the horse here.” She hands me the blue box. “I don’t think we should get engaged yet, but I would be happy to date you.”
“Kind of buried the lead there,” I say. “But I guess I’ll take it.”
It’s a little awkward as the girls open their Ugg boots, which they blessedly love, and a little more awkward as I insist they take a lot of the food in to-go boxes for tomorrow, but when Barbara finally heads out the door, she stops in the entry and takes my hand. “I’m sorry that I said no.” Her soft smile is kind. “I didn’t want to say no, but I think I needed to, for both of us to have a solid start.”
That gives me a little hope.
Enough hope that I step closer, grab her hip with one hand, and lean down until my mouth connects with hers. And for the first time in fifteen years, I’m kissing the gorgeous, kind, self-effacing woman that I love.
In that moment, I know that she’s wrong. Our start is already as solid as granite bedrock.
But, I’m also okay with waiting for her. I’m alright with her needing to date me first. But I love Barbara Champion right now, and if she’d have said yes, we could be planning our wedding and I wouldn’t be a bit unsure about it. After a very brief kiss that I wish was much longer, Barbara steps back.
At least her cheeks are flushed when she says, “Merry Christmas, Bentley.”
“I love you, too, Barbara.”
She frowns. “I didn’t say—”
I smile. “I know what you meant.”
She’s blushing even more now. But she doesn’t correct me. “It’s going to be a little hard for me right now,” she says. “It’s been a really long year.”
“I’m in a rush,” I say. “I’m not going to lie. But it’s only because I can’t stand seeing you sad, and I love to see you happy. I plan to make that happen as quickly as possible. But I’m okay with waiting as long as you need.”
She nods, but she’s smiling.
“And Barbara?”
She blinks.
“Since you turned me down, I’m giving this to you.” I slide the ring box into the bag she’s carrying.
“That’s not how it works,” she says.
“Actually, it is,” I say. “Because now, when you do want to marry me, you’re going to have to propose.”
She’s laughing when she walks out the door.
I’m watching replays of my favorite football games when my phone rings—and it’s Barbara. My heart races, and I answer. “Hello?”
“Hey,” a small voice says that is definitely not Barbara.
“Who is this?”
“It’s Ricki,” the girl says.
“And Nikki. You’re on speaker. We’re in the bathroom.”
“I’m guessing your—er, your foster mom doesn’t know you have her phone.”
“Definitely not,” one of them says. It’s really hard to tell without even having their faces to go by.
“Without seeing which of you has her hair back, how will I know who’s Ricki?” I realized quickly that was their tell—Ricki’s hair is always pulled back. Nikki’s is usually down so she can hide her face when she gets nervous.
“It doesn’t matter,” one of them says.
The other one says, “We just called super quick to tell you this.”
Ping pong, it’s back to the first. “Look, Barbara just spooks super easy, okay? It’s because of that British idiot, but she really does like you.”
“I know,” I say.
“Oh,” one girl says. “Wait, you do?”
“She told me that,” I say.
“But really, she loves you too,” one of them says. “She talks about you all the time, and when she does, her face gets all weird and she gets all, like, fluttery.”
“Fluttery?”
“Like, when her eyelashes are like blinking and she’s waving her hands through the air.”
I laugh. “And fluttery’s good?”
“Very good,” one says. “Sometimes when your mom dies, you’re just sad, and you need more time to get over it. I think she’ll get over it quick.”
“Wait, you mean she’ll get over losing her mom?”
“Well, yeah, that and her dad and her husband dumping her. It was a bad year.”
“I know,” I say. “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”
And when they hang up, I realize that those girls aren’t going anywhere, either. If they’re calling me to make sure their foster mom is happy, they already see her as a lot more than a person providing them a hotel room and food.
They see her as their mother, at least a little bit, already.
And that means that if I get my way. . .they’ll have a father too. I should be freaking out at the idea, but I’m not. I actually like it. In fact, if Dave weren’t on a cruise right now, I’d definitely be calling him for tips.
Me—a dad, with two adorable little girls.
Imagine that.
15
Barbara
When there’s a knock at my door, I peek to make sure it’s not Bentley again. When it’s Seren, I open it.
“Why does Bentley say you’re avoiding him?”
I sigh.
“Seriously? He proposes, and you say no, but you say you’ll date him. . .and then for a full week, you duck his calls and text him with lame excuses about being busy?”
“Work has—”
Seren snorts. “No way. Don’t even try.”
“Look, it’s been a bad year for me.”
“Yeah, yeah, your mom, your dad, your lousy ex. I’ve heard it. A lot.”
I drop into a chair, happy the girls are at tennis. “It’s all still true.”
“It’s an excuse.” Seren sits next to me. “A lame one.”
“But the thing is, Bentley’s so sure,” I say. “You didn’t see him. He meant it when he proposed, and I have the girls now, and by the way, I called Alice, and she said they found the girls’ dad.”
Seren lurches forward, her hands bracing on her knees. “Barbara.”
“I know.” I sigh. “But it seems like good news. He called the state agency in response to a letter that finally reached him. He’s been asking a lot of questions about how much money they’re making with their Insta account promos, but otherwise seems uninterested in even seeing them. Alice said he’s living in California now, and he told her that he can’t even afford to come to New York. Apparently he just wanted to confirm that they had a home.”
Seren closes her eyes. “That’s still bad. In my experience, people like that, once they see there may be money in something, will often not leave. Didn’t you say they have a national commercial filming soon?”
I groan. “Yes, but maybe we can buy him off before then.”
“You have a lot of money, then, do you?”
Not exactly. “But listen, at least he’s not here, demanding that I hand them over.”
“I guess.” But Seren’s unease makes mine flare. “Bentley does have a lot of money, you know.”
“Yeah, and if that loser knew I was dating him, how greedy do you think he’d get?”
“You’re just looking for reasons to back away from this, aren’t you?” Seren leans back with a heavy sigh. “Do you really not like him?”
“What’s not to like?” I groan. “Of course I like him. I think I might love him.”
“Then why—” Seren cuts off, her mouth closing with a small click. Then she looks around the family room. “You’re sitting in here with the blinds all closed and the curtains drawn.”
“Yeah, but that’s because at night, people can see right in the window, and the apartment complex’s breezeway is right there.” I point.
“There was a time,” Seren says slowly, “when I had to take things one day at a time. Sometimes I took things one hour at a time.” She taps her lip. “So I get it. The great thing about fostering is that it’s always one day at a time. I’ve been there, too. But Barbara, you can’t live your life like that forever.” She walks across the room and throws the curtain back. Then she pulls the blinds up.
A very startled man with a phone to his ear stares right at Seren and leaps away, fumbling and nearly dropping his phone.
“See?” I ask.
Seren laughs. “I get your reasoning, but listen to my point.” She gestures out the window, and at least the walkway’s clear now. “Believing in someone again, after another person has let you down, is scary. It’s terrifying, really. James was a real loser, and he’s worse because he mostly seems like a decent guy.”
“It’s not really all his fault,” I say. “When Mom died—”
“Save it,” Seren says. “He’s a selfish jerk.”
I chuckle. “Fine.”
“You’ve never been the best about believing in yourself, but your mom and your dad were always there, buoying you up. Now all you have is me to believe in you, and it’s not enough. You have to believe in yourself again, too.”
“I don’t need a pep talk,” I say.
“Oh, I disagree. I think you do.” Seren points at the window. “See that? That’s sunlight. Artificial light just isn’t as good. It’s not the same. After my parents died, I was afraid to love Dave. I was afraid to be happy at all. It’s a normal way to feel after losing someone—and in your case, two someones—you love a lot. But Alice told me then what I’m going to tell you now. You need to welcome the sunshine back into your life, and you need to make the life you want for yourself. Even when it feels like sorrow is the only thing you can see, even when it feels like the darkness is where you belong, you can’t wallow forever in it.”
She’s right. “Maybe once I do it, I’ll be good enough for Bentley.”
“Wait,” Seren says. “Once you. . .do what?”
“I’m going to quit my job,” I say. “I never really wanted to do what I’m doing, and I need to take steps to make my life what it should be. What I deserve.”
“Easy there, tiger,” she says. “If you need money to pay this loser dad to go away, I’m not sure now’s the time to—”
But I’ve already dialed my boss, and I’m ready to take action. “Hey there,” I say when she answers.
And then I give her my two weeks’ notice.
“Bonuses are being announced in eight days,” my boss says. “Are you sure you don’t want to wait a bit.”
“Right,” I say. “I might have been acting on an impulse. Can we pretend I didn’t call?”
“Sure.” I can almost hear her smile. “But hold onto that energy. I like it.”
“Alright,” Seren says after I hang up. “Now, if you’re done doing stupid things, how about you call Bentley?”
But I can’t bring myself to do it. Not quite.
“I’ll call him tomorrow,” I say. “I swear.”
Seren doesn’t want to let it go, I can tell, but she doesn’t have a choice.
“I have to go,” I say. “The girls have a tennis match. That’s why I’m off work today.”
“Fine,” she says. “But if you don’t call him tomorrow, I’m going to come over here and dial his number myself.”
“I know.” She loves me, so I believe she means it.
“And Barbara.” She points. “You have to let the light back in, or things will never get better. Do it. Open the windows.”
She’s probably right. “But right now, I have no time.” I gesture at myself. “Look at me. I can’t go to the game like this.”
“Match,” Seren says. “Tennis has matches.”
“Whatever,” I say.
After she finally leaves, I close the windows—not symbolically, but because I don’t like the people walking by being able to peer inside. And then I throw my hair up into a quick and dirty bun, and I change into something that’s not yoga pants, and I head for the tennis match.
I’m barely able to find a seat before it starts.
Only, when I start to cheer for the cutest doubles team ever, someone else behind me is cheering even louder than I am. For a moment I panic. Is it their dad?
But when I turn around, it’s not.
It’s Bentley.
I inadvertently kick a woman in the nose climbing up to the top row of the bleachers—what is he doing up so high?—but when I get there, I’m irritated. “Why are you here?”
“Me?” Bentley touches his broad chest, with clearly visible musculature even under his stupidly fancy sweater. “Oh, I’m just low-key stalking this woman I’m in love with. She said she loved me too—”
“No, I didn’t. I said Merry Christmas.”
But now he’s cheering again.
“They scored,” he says.
I force myself to pay attention to the match, but it’s hard when Bentley’s knee keeps bumping mine. I glance sideways.
“What?” he asks. “Have you ever been a huge guy on bleachers?” He’s whispering, but the woman next to me is staring at him like he’s a famous movie star. “Because it’s not easy. Sorry if I’m accidentally touching you.”
“He can touch me any time he wants,” the lady next to me mutters.
“What?” Bentley asks.
“Nothing,” I hiss. “But listen, I didn’t say—”
“Merry Christmas,” Bentley says, his words so loaded they’re practically dripping, “Barbara.”
Okay. I maybe see his point. “But still, all I said was—”
“You said we could date,” he says. “You said I could take you out. That I’d be your boyfriend.”
The woman next to me has eyes as round as tennis balls. “That’s your boyfriend?”
I roll my eyes.
“Because he’s a real upgrade.”
“Excuse me?”
“It was the British guy before, right?”
Who is this woman? “I’m sorry,” I say. “Do I know you?”
“You’re Killian’s aunt, aren’t you?” The woman blinks. “I thought I’d seen you at the high school games.”
I forget, for a moment, how many kids’ things I’ve been to over the years. “Oh, no, that’s me.”
