Epoch (Transcend Duet #2)(13)

“We did.” She hugs herself, rubbing her lips together and shifting her weight from one leg to the other.

“Okay. Well … glad to hear it.”

“Doing anything exciting this weekend?”

“Just the usual.” Why is she stalling? “You?”

“My birthday is Sunday, so we’re having a family dinner at Griffin’s parents’ house.”

“I didn’t know. Happy early birthday. Twenty-two.” I shake my head. “Enjoy your youth.”

She nods, working the hell out of her lips. Her mind must be racing. I can see it in her tight brow. I can predict where this is going, but she’s conflicted about breaking her own rules. I’m not going to help her out, and maybe that makes me a dick, but I’m so lost right now I refuse to make any assumptions with her.

“You’re not that old. I think a lot of people would say anyone in their thirties still retains a lot of youth.”

I grin at my smiling baby. “Hmm … maybe so.”

“So …” She rocks back and forth on her heels. “Have a good one.”

“You too.”

Halfway to the door she stops and turns. “Jeez, would it kill you to share a little? I know what I said about keeping things professional, but how is it that when I mention my birthday is Sunday you have no natural instinct to say, ‘Oh, really? My birthday is tomorrow.’”

Morgan’s chubby hands reach for my face. I kiss her fingers. “I didn’t know your birthday is Sunday until you mentioned it, but I assumed you might know that my birthday is tomorrow. Sorry. I get a little confused as to when we’re being honest and when we’re supposed to pretend. I went for the honest assumption, but clearly you wanted me to pretend. So, wow! My birthday is tomorrow. How crazy is it that our birthdays are just a day apart?”

Her hands land on her hips. “Now you’re mocking me?”

Easing Morgan to sit on my lap, I bounce my knee a little. “I’d never do that. Thank you for watching Morgan. Drive safely. Have a nice weekend and a happy birthday.” After a few seconds of her not moving, I glance in her direction. The pained expression she has kills me. It’s not my intention to hurt her, just the opposite. My attempt at respecting her wishes by giving her whatever she thinks she needs or wants is to keep from hurting her.

But right now I get the sense that she doesn’t know what she wants or needs. I lay Morgan onto her new play mat, with padded sides that keep her contained, and make my way to the lost girl standing idle like something frozen in time.

Swayze stares at my chest, unblinking. I want to pull her into my arms and make promises that aren’t mine to make.

“What’s your favorite cake flavor?” I murmur, hoping my reverence conveys my sincerity.

“Chocolate.” She keeps her gaze locked to my chest.

“What’s the best birthday present anyone has ever given you?”

She shrugs. “Nothing stands out.”

“Well, that’s sad.”

Her head eases up until I have her full attention. “I miss you.”

I flinch at the pain in her voice because I don’t know how to make it go away.

“I love Griffin. I’m marrying him. I love his family. And they love me. But …” Her jaw works side to side a few times. “I miss you. And I don’t know why.”

My fingers draw into fists, fighting the urge to touch her. She’s not mine to touch.

“I’m here.” I search for a smile that’s reassuring, probably a million miles from hitting the mark because I miss her too. “As your employer. As your friend. As whomever you need me to be.”

She nods slowly, confusion still embedded in her forehead. “I need you to be…” eyes closed, she shakes her head “…an answer.”

Don’t touch her. Don’t. Fucking. Touch. Her.

“What’s the question?”

Blinking a few times, her shoulders lift into a subtle shrug. “I’m not sure yet. But maybe I’ll know soon.”

I can’t decipher that cryptic statement, so I force myself to trust that everything will work out in time. If there’s some divine or cosmic reason for all of this, it will be revealed.

Nothing hurried.

Surrendering to patience.

Ignoring time.

Living for the unknown.

Embracing the unexpected.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, letting her gaze drift to the floor.

“For what?”

“For waking the dead.”

Morgan fusses. I glance back at her, rubbing the back of my neck. “You didn’t wake the dead. You comforted the living.”

Biting her lips together, she nods. It’s more of an acknowledgment nod instead of one that says she understands. We surpassed logic and any sort of true understanding the day she confronted me in the waiting room of Dr. Greyson’s office. My best friend is a twenty-one-year-old woman. There’s no logic to be had.

“Have a nice birthday. Make your wish big. Blow out all your candles. You deserve …” My thoughts drift into the past. “You deserve a long, wonderful life.”

“Long,” she echoes me.

“Wonderful.” I smile.

“Goodnight …” Her mouth opens to say more, brow wrinkled.