“I totally get it, Christine.”
After Channing whipped up dinner for the three of us, his mother said, “You know, Channing’s father used to love to cook bizarre foods. He used to do it to entertain the kids when they were younger. ‘Guess what Daddy’s making.’ It was sort of a game. Of course, there wasn’t much time with him before he left us. But I think that’s where Channing gets it from.”
He didn’t respond, but I could tell by the look on his face that he was surprised and upset by the discovery of that correlation. That definitely broke my heart. Whether he realized it or not, in some odd way, maybe he was trying to connect with his father or the memory of him through food. The more time I spent with Channing, the more complex I realized he was.
Christine suddenly stood up from the table. “Channing, can you show me to my room?”
“Yeah, Mom. Of course.”
I cleaned up the kitchen while Channing got his mother situated in his bedroom.
The feel of his arms around my waist from behind prompted me to stop drying a dish. He kissed my neck. When I flipped around to face him, the worry in his eyes was palpable.
“She kept asking me questions about what happened with Fred, like she wasn’t sure. She’s confused. And I’m scared shitless.”
I wasn’t sure whether to admit my own experience with her but ultimately decided to tell him.
“Earlier, she asked me what I did for a living after we’d been talking about it for a while prior to that. So, I really got to see firsthand what you were talking about.”
“Yeah. That’s exactly the kind of thing that happens. All of the time.” He closed his eyes momentarily and buried his hands in his hair. “The worst is when she realizes how confused she is, and she just looks at me and tells me she’s scared. There’s honestly nothing worse than that. Nothing, Amber. I almost wish she didn’t realize it.”
“I wish I could do something to help.”
“You already are…just by being here for me.”
Really wanting to sleep with him tonight, I said, “I feel kind of weird making you sleep on the couch.”
“It’s fine.”
“Would you want to sleep with me in my bed?”
A smile slowly spread across his face. He arched his brow. “Do you even have to ask?”
“Well, I wasn’t sure if we were still playing by the rules.”
“My mother is living with us, and there’s a small chance you could be pregnant with my child. I’d say the rules went out the window a long time ago.”
Maybe that should have made me want to cry, but I couldn’t help but laugh.
He followed close behind me as we made our way to my bedroom.
In bed later that night, he spoke against my back. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“Yeah?”
Channing pulled me closer. “The thought that you could be pregnant with my baby turns me on.”
“Really?”
“Don’t get me wrong…I know it would be a nightmare for us right now, but…the idea that I could’ve knocked you up definitely makes me a little crazy…in a good way.”
“What would we do, though, honestly…if I was?”
“We’d figure it out.”
“You wouldn’t be upset?”
“Upset is not the right word. Scared, yeah. But upset? No. Maybe because it’s you.” He paused then squeezed me from behind. “You make me happy, Amber.”
His words left me speechless. The idea that he would actually accept the possibility of my being pregnant with his child was not something that I’d considered.
Turning around and touching my forehead to his, I said, “You make me happy, too.”
I truly was—for the first time in a long time.CHAPTER NINETEEN* * *RORYBoris stocked his shelves ever so slowly while I sat with my feet kicked up on a chair. His hand trembled as he placed a can of Campbell’s Cream of Mushroom soup inside the grainy wooden cabinet of his dated kitchen. With a porcelain sink, Formica countertops, and linoleum floors, Boris’s kitchen had a 1950’s vibe going on. I felt like I was in a time warp.
I’d go food shopping for my elderly neighbor once a week after work. He’d pay me back by pouring me the best glass of Cognac. And I’d get fucked-up. Best part of the week if you asked me.
“One of these nights, Rory, you’re gonna get drunk as a skunk and finally tell me what happened.”
I let out a single laugh. “I know not what you speak of, Boris.”
“Did she die?”
“Who?” I pretended to not know whom he was referring to.
“The pretty girl in the photo on your phone. The one with the smile that lights up her whole face. The one I’ve never seen around here because she’s either dead or long gone.”
I never had the heart to change the screensaver of Amber on my phone. It was my favorite picture of her. She’d been sitting in a pile of dried leaves and laughing. It literally made my heart hurt to look at it, but at the same time I just couldn’t get rid of it.