Regretting You(62)

“I would love to.”

Miller grins and kisses me. I kiss him back with a smile, but I can feel part of myself sinking.

Aunt Jenny would have loved this story.





CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE





MORGAN


My kitchen might be cleaner than it’s ever been. I’m not sure if it was because Jonah is an excellent cleaner (he cleaned the majority of it) or if it’s because he’s trying to erase any proof of that near kiss in the kitchen so that we don’t have a single reminder of it.

My guilt has been palpable since Clara left to go to the movies. Jonah must feel the same, because neither of us spoke as we cleaned. And as soon as Elijah began to wake up, I offered to feed him because Elijah is the only thing I feel like I’m doing right in my life. It seems he’s starting to recognize me because he smiles when he sees me.

I’ve been keeping him occupied in the living room for an hour now. Jonah cleaned the entire kitchen. I didn’t expect him to, and even told him not to worry about it at one point, but he kept cleaning. I would have done it, but I was honestly relieved when Elijah woke up. I’d rather not be in the same room as Jonah right now.

Elijah is getting stronger. I’m sitting back on the couch and holding him up while he pushes his legs against my stomach. I’m making baby sounds at him when Jonah carries my kitchen door to the garage.

Elijah yawns, so I pull him to my chest and pat him gently on the back. It’s past his bedtime, and despite the thirty-minute nap he took while Jonah and I destroyed the kitchen, Elijah still seems like he’s ready to pass out. He grows limp against my chest as he begins to fall into slumber. I press my cheek to the top of his head, wishing more than anything that I didn’t grow sad when I think about the hand he’s been dealt.

He’s lucky to have Jonah. A man who stepped up, knowing there’s a huge possibility he didn’t father him. I hope, for Jonah’s sake, that Elijah doesn’t resent him if he ever finds out. I hope it makes Elijah appreciate Jonah even more.

Jonah walks into the living room and smiles when he sees Elijah asleep on my chest. He sits down next to us on the couch and rubs a hand over Elijah’s back. Jonah releases a quiet sigh, and when I look at him, he’s staring back at me. He’s sitting so close our legs are touching.

The feelings that came about unexpectedly in the kitchen earlier are being shaken awake. I was hoping that was a fluke and that this reaction Jonah elicits from me would remain dormant from here on out.

“Scoot over,” I whisper.

Jonah’s eyes squint, as if he doesn’t understand my direction.

“You’re too close. I need space.”

Jonah understands that. He almost seems a little surprised by my reaction. He moves to the other end of the couch in a dramatic display. Now I feel like I just insulted him.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m just . . . confused.”

“It’s fine,” Jonah says.

I crane my neck and look down at Elijah. He’s limp enough that I can probably move him back to the bassinet. I do that because I need fresh air. After placing him gently onto the mattress, I wait to make sure he doesn’t wake up; then I cover him up.

I don’t even make eye contact with Jonah as I make my way to the back patio. I’m sure he’ll follow me, whether I ask him to or not. And honestly, we need to discuss what almost happened in the kitchen because the last thing I need is for Jonah to think there’s any kind of possibility there.

Jonah slides the glass door shut after he follows me out. I’m pacing the back patio, staring at the stones beneath my feet. Chris installed them a few years ago. Jenny and I helped him, and I remember how much fun we had. We kept making fun of Chris because for some reason, he listened to John Denver while doing yard work and would sing at the top of his lungs. He never listened to John Denver any other time. Only when he did yard work. Jenny and I ridiculed him the entire time we were helping, so he locked us out of the backyard and finished the patio without us.

I wonder if their affair started before then.

I wonder, more often than I should, when it did start. I don’t know why I keep hoping it’s more recent. The idea that it’s been going on for years makes it feel even more personal. I guess if I work up the courage to read the letters we found earlier, I might find out some of the answers to all the questions I have.

Jonah takes a seat in what used to be Chris’s favorite chair. Jenny bought it for him.

My God, how can I be so stupid? What brother-and sister-in-law get along as well as they did? Why did I never see it?

“Sit down,” Jonah says. “It makes me nervous when you pace.”

I flop down into the chair next to Jonah. I close my eyes for a moment, trying to push all the memories back. I don’t want to think about all the things in this house that tie Jenny and Chris together. I’ve already destroyed the painting. I don’t want to have to destroy the patio furniture and anything else I actually use.

When I open my eyes, I look over at Jonah. His head is resting comfortably against the back of the chair. It’s tilted in my direction, but he doesn’t say anything. He thinks a lot, but he doesn’t verbalize a lot.

I don’t know why the silence is irritating me right now. “Say something. It’s too quiet.”

As if he already had words on the tip of his tongue, he says, “If you never would have gotten pregnant with Clara, would you have left Chris?”