Just One of the Guys(98)

It’s done. It’s beautiful.

I catch a glimpse of my reflection. My cheeks are flushed, and my mouth is hanging open.

The boys didn’t say a word about this. They must’ve wanted to surprise me. I can’t believe it.

I hear the door being opened and a repetitive clacking noise as Buttercup’s tail begins whipping some poor piece of furniture downstairs. “Hey, gorgeous,” Matt’s voice says to her.

I glance in at Ryan, who is still asleep, picturesquely sprawled on his back. I pause a second, looking at his Adonis perfection, then close the door and go downstairs. “Matt,” I say, my voice thick with emotion, “thank you for finishing the bathroom. It’s beautiful!”

“Oh, yeah? You like it? Cool.” He opens the fridge, takes out a beer, offers it to me. I shake my head. “Actually, I wasn’t the one who did it, so I can’t take any credit.”

“Oh. Lucky then?”

“Trevor, actually. Just came in here Friday morning and got to work. Didn’t take that long, once he got going. It looks great doesn’t it?”

“Yup,” I breathe, sitting in a kitchen chair. “It’s great.”

“So. Is the doc here?” Matt asks.

“Yes. He’s staying over, if that’s okay.”

Matt pulls a face. “Sure.” He grins. “Just don’t make any unnecessary noise, okay? You’re still my little sister, even if you are old enough to be engaged.”

“Ha,” I attempt. “Right.”

“Nice chunk of jewelry he got you,” Matt says, swigging some of his Adirondack pale ale.

“Thanks. You know what? I think I’ll have a beer after all,” I say. We end up playing Scrabble until midnight, Buttercup’s head in my lap, Ryan sleeping undisturbed upstairs.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

RYAN WAKES AT FIVE THE NEXT morning. “What is on me?” he mutters, squinting at the bottom of the bed.

“That would be our little girl,” I say, pulling my own leg free. Buttercup sighs and moans.

“Chastity, this bed is not big enough for the three of us,” Ryan says. “She’s a very, um, pleasant dog, but she can’t sleep here when I’m staying over.”

“This is her bed, Ryan. You sleep here only by the grace of Buttercup,” I smile. He doesn’t smile back. “Not a morning person, I see.”

He finally grins and sits up, kisses me on the shoulder. “I should run back to my place. I need to shower and check my messages.”

Five minutes later, the Mercedes—our Mercedes, dare I call it?—has pulled away from my little house. Because I’m wide awake, I go into my new bathroom and take a shower. It’s glorious. The fan works, the shower head gushes water beautifully, my soap, chosen so long ago, smells like heaven. Thank you, Trevor.

But no. I can’t be thinking about him, and hey, why should I? I’m engaged. He told me to stay with Ryan, and I am. If he feels guilty about shagging me, he should. If it got my bathroom finished, well, bully for me.

I dry my hair, dress and decide to go to Dad’s. Since he was working last night, he should just be getting home. I stop at the bakery and get us some pastries, then head to his house. I don’t even turn my head when I walk by Trevor’s.

“Here’s my baby girl,” Dad says, hugging me hard. When he lets me go, he takes my hand and inspects the ring. “Very expensive,” he says, wiping his eyes.

“Oh, Daddy.”

“I can’t believe you’re getting married,” he says thickly. “At least you brought pastries. Come on, I’ll put on some coffee.”

Dad’s apartment looks a little better than the last time I was here. The boxes are gone and he’s got some curtains up. A few minutes later, we’re eating amiably, drinking from matching coffee mugs. “You happy, Porkchop?” Dad asks.

I’m getting a little tired of everyone asking me that. Isn’t it obvious? “Yes, Dad. Very happy.”

“He seems like a good guy.” I nod. “And it’s good to have a doctor in the family, I guess.”

“Jack would say it’s better to have a paramedic,” I smile.

Dad laughs automatically. “Yes. Well.” He swallows. “Did your mother tell you she’s set a date?” he asks, not meeting my eyes.

“Yes.” I put down my chocolate croissant. Mom’s wedding is looming large, though Ryan had provided a nice distraction. Three weeks, for God’s sake. “What are you going to do, Dad?”

My father takes a long sip of coffee. “Nothing, Chastity.”

“You’re not going to even try? What about retiring? Maybe if she saw that you were really out, she’d take you back.”

Dad sighs. “She’s going through with this, honey. It’s not…I’m too late.”

“She told me you were the love of her life.” My throat is tight. The parallels between my mother and me are certainly not lost. Both of us marrying someone who is not the love of our lives. Crap. I seem to be crying.

“Being a fireman is who I am,” Dad says quietly. “I won’t give that up, not until I can’t do the job anymore. I’ll always love your mother, honey. And we have you five wonderful kids, and God knows how many grandkids, right? We’ve agreed to be very civil about this. I’m happy for her.”