Lily Love (14 page)

“You are so adorable.” Max laughs as he hands Lily her fork and walks the knife to the sink. He turns back to face me, leaning against the countertop and crossing his feet at the ankles. It’s not fair; he’s the picture of relaxation, while my anxiety is about to levitate me off the ground.

“Don’t mock me.” I pout. I feel like stomping my foot on the floor and marching out of the kitchen. It’s vastly apparent that I can’t regulate myself around Max, and it’s way too early in the morning for this kind of tête-à-tête. I’m comfortable with the friendship boundaries.
Max makes me feel safe and known and lovable. Yet, out of nowhere, he can give me a look or say something swoonworthy that has me questioning his feelings and mine. I haven’t even had a cup of coffee yet. That needs to be remedied immediately, so I march across the kitchen and grab a coffee cup from the cabinet. Max says nothing, but I can feel him watching me from his perch at the sink.

“Mama, Mama, Mama,” Lily calls as she shakes her head and drops a syrupy fork on the table. On a sigh, I abandon my mug and squat in front of her. She looks at me intently, like she hasn’t seen me for days. Wrapping a lock of my hair around her finger, she leans in and places her forehead against mine. “Mama.” She sighs.

“You need your sprinkles, Lily Love,” I croon to her as I kiss her nose and stand. Her morning meds will ease some of the anxiety she’s kicking off. If only I had some grown-up sprinkles of my own.

“I gave them to her right before you came in.” Max’s voice comes from behind me. When I turn around, he hands me my filled mug.

“Thank you,” I mutter, and smile sheepishly over the steam rising from my cup. Max nods and gives me a bashful smile. He takes a breath in to say something, but hesitates and rubs his hand across the back of his neck.

“I’m not used to seeing you this way,” he finally says. My cheeks heat, as it occurs to me that I bypassed my robe in my hurry to find Lily. I look down at my camisole and boxer shorts and shake my head. Why can’t I be one of those girls who sleeps in flirty little pajama sets and wakes up effortlessly beautiful? No, not me. I wake up with sheet marks and crazy hair.

“What, you don’t like my Life is Good boxers?”

He drops his head and chuckles softly. Alarms scream inside my head, warning me that I’m teetering on a line I don’t want to cross. As tempting as Max is, he’s not rebound material. I love him; he’s turned out to be a wonderful friend. If I lost him, I’d never forgive my carelessness.

Like he can hear the siren wailing in my head, his eyes lock with mine. There’s a palpable mix of tension and hesitation in the air. I swallow audibly, and scramble to find the words to tell Max what he means to me.

“I love your boxers,” he whispers, “and I love being here with you and Lily.”

My heart catches in my throat at his confession. I can’t imagine anyone enjoying the predawn madness of our morning routine, but Max’s wistful tone makes it seem like a beautiful daydream. I catch a hint of sadness in his eyes before he veils the emotion from me.

“It’s a nice thought, isn’t it?” He shrugs, like it’s any other passing thought, but the faint smile playing at the corner of his mouth suggests it’s more than that.

“Max,” I start, “I don’t know what to say.” I’m uncharacteristically still. My feet are cemented to their spot on the kitchen floor, as I stare dumbstruck. “You’re so special to me,” I struggle to find the right words.

“Don’t, Caroline,” Max interrupts. “I’m not on a fishing expedition. I’m not asking you for anything. I just need you to know how wonderful you are. Any man would be lucky to have you and Lily. I want you to understand your worth; you sell yourself so short.” He steps toward me, taking my coffee and placing it on the table. Tentatively, he runs a hand from my shoulder to my good hand, holding it gently in the warmth of his own. A tear rolls down my cheek, splashing onto our linked hands. “You’re a prize. I wish you’d see yourself that way.” He cups my face with his free hand, preventing me from turning away.

I see awe, longing, and resignation reflected back, and it floors me. It’s been a long time since anyone’s looked at me that way.

“You can’t say things like that to me,” I say. “I adore you, and it confuses me. You’re my friend, and when you talk about me like that, it’s so hard not to fall for you.” I recoil at my candor, embarrassed that I would profess my heart to the first man to call me “wonderful.”

“Your friendship is a bright spot in my life. I don’t want to jeopardize that, either,” Max promises, as he sweeps a teardrop from my cheek. “What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t try to show you how I see you?” Careful of my sling, he hugs me to his chest, and breathes heavily against the top of my head. “Sweet Caroline, someday you’ll get how great you are. Until then, get used to me reminding you. Got it?”

“Got it.” I’ve got it all right. What I did to deserve it is beyond my understanding. I squeeze Max one final time before I let him go.

“Now,” he says. “Who’s Tate?” He smiles, but it isn’t very convincing.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tease, trying to lighten his mood.

“It’s okay, Caroline, you don’t have to tell me.” He sidles up next to me at the sink, taking the plate I’ve been rinsing and loading it into the dishwasher. “But I want you to feel like you can. I’m still your friend.”

“I know you are,” I say, as I bump my hip against his. We stand side by side, washing and rinsing while I think. “It’s just, I don’t know how to explain who Tate is. I’m not really sure of that myself.” I don’t want things to be weird between us, and the last thing I want is for Max to think I’m hesitant to talk to him about anything.

“Well, why don’t you start with how you met?” Max suggests.

Once I tell Max about how Tate brought my coffee to me, the rest of the story practically tells itself. It’s easy to recall the details of our encounters, since it’s been hard not to think about them all the time. Still, for as simple as it is to remember, it’s more difficult to figure my feelings out.

“The guy from the coffee cart? Huh,” Max says as he dries his hands.

“Huh, what?” I ask. Max spins in his spot, leaning back against the sink.

“Nothing.” He shrugs. “It’s just that any guy who remembers your coffee order the next day is interested in more than how you take your latte.”

I blush. I can’t help it; part of me is really excited that Tate’s interested. The other part is still coming to terms with losing Peter.

“You think? I don’t know,” I reply. “I mean, I’m attracted to him, but I’m just not there yet, you know? My plate is so full, but I find myself thinking about him a lot.”

“Well, what do you know about him? Is he married?”

“He didn’t have a ring on,” I answer. That’s just another bullet point on the list of things I don’t know about Tate. Maybe that’s why I dreamed about him, just a way for my brain to fill in the numerous blanks.

“Fair enough.” Max nods. “Why don’t you take it a day at a time? Get to know him; be his friend. Don’t beat yourself up for being curious; just be careful.”

“Well, when you put it like that, it sounds easy.” I sigh. My phone chirps from where it’s being charged on the countertop. Instinctively, I assume it’s Peter. I do a double take when I look at the screen.

Tate: Good Morning, Sunshine. Watching reruns of SOA . . . couldn’t help but think of you. Coffee? :)

I can’t stop the blush or the accompanying smile from spreading across my face.
It’s barely eight in the morning; I wonder if he woke up thinking about me
. It’s thoughts like these that make me hesitant to reply. I don’t need to be thinking about anyone that way right now.

“Is everything okay?” Max asks.

“Everything’s fine,” I say, but I’m not very confident it is. “Tate was just wondering if I wanted to grab a cup of coffee. He probably assumes I’m still at the hospital.”

“Coffee in the hospital cafeteria is pretty benign, Caroline,” he says. “Why don’t I take Lily to occupational therapy, and you go see your friend.”

He says it like it’s no big deal. I suppose it only is if I make it that way. Max is right: coffee is friendly. Just a cup of joe between buddies.

Oh, good Lord, who am I kidding?

“Wait, how do you know what Lily’s schedule is this morning?” I ask, because I don’t remember telling him. Did I?

“It’s on the fridge.” He points to the calendar on the freezer door, color-coded with all of Lily’s appointments. “Quit trying to think of an excuse and just go. It’s coffee, not a commitment, right?” He’s right. I’m overthinking things.

“You’re right,” I concede. “Are you sure you’re okay with taking Lily?” It’s completely foreign, albeit nice, to trust someone’s help with Lily.

“It’s no problem, I promise,” he says, as he crosses his heart. “We can meet up in the pediatric therapy clinic afterward.” He lets out a heavy sigh as the corners of his lips turn up. “Sunshine, huh? I’m already liking this guy.”

Me: Good Morning to you, too! Meet you in 45?

“I know, Max, me too,” I reply. “That’s what scares me.”

distance

I
t’s a short drive to the hospital, not enough time for me to talk myself out of going, and definitely not enough time for me to relax. My stomach is in knots and my shoulders brush the tips of my earlobes. I’m a total basket case. All I can think about is how quickly Tate is going to politely excuse himself and make a run for it. How could I blame him? The events of the last twenty-four hours are a lot for me to digest, and I’m a seasoned pro. Tate is in the middle of his own drama; the last thing he needs is me with mine. Despite the perfect package that Max makes us out to be, Lily and I are a complicated pair, and one does not exist without the other. Good, bad, or ugly, we’re a team.

Air stutters into my lungs as I park my car. A foreboding sadness crashes over me, surprising me. I really like Tate, and the thought of missing out on the chance to know him better fills me with melancholy.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained
, I tell myself one more time as I adjust my sling and wipe my clammy hand on the front of my dress. Through the fog of my lamenting, I can’t quiet the part of me that is elated at the prospect of seeing him again.

Lord have mercy, you’re a masochist, Caroline!

That’s the last thought to cross the plain of my troubled mind before the hospital doors swing open. Without conscious effort, my feet carry me down the hall to the cafeteria.

There is a group of chattering nurses blocking my view into the seating area. When they pause to stand in line at the coffee cart, there he is. The sight makes me smile; he’s waiting in the booth where we first met, with two cups of coffee arranged across the table from each other. His back is to me, so I take an uninterrupted moment to memorize him. His broad shoulders stretch his T-shirt across his sinewy form. His dark hair is disheveled in a way that tells me he’s been running his fingers through it a lot this morning. My stranger is stressed. Guilt washes over me as I wish for a way to conceal my injury. I’d like nothing more than to offer my comfort without the complications of my life interfering.

I watch as he removes the lid from the cup in front of him. He leans in, blowing at the steam rising from inside. After a moment, he dips his pinky finger and yanks it back out, muttering a curse under his breath. I stifle a laugh at his familiar and endearing trait.

God, I hope he doesn’t bolt.

I fight the urge to brush my hand along his shoulder. The simplicity of that gesture would be a paradox to the intimacy it would convey. The last thing I need is to foster any kind of tenderness with someone who’s likely to flee.

“Is it okay if I sit here and not talk to you for a while?” I ask.

Tate glances over his shoulder and smiles when he sees me. His face is covered with scruff, but his dimples still greet me with their boyish charm. Before I can take my place across from him, he stands and wraps me in a tender hug. I tuck my sling carefully between us, and hold him with my other.

“Caroline,” he whispers on a sigh, “you’re a sight for sore eyes.”

His breath ruffles the hair on the top of my head. Even with my arm between us, I fit perfectly in his embrace. He holds me against
him, and I absorb the feel and smell of him. Committing each one to my memory, I tuck them away for safekeeping after he’s gone.

He tips his head back, letting his arms encircle me at the waist. “What in the world happened to you?”

Tentatively, I step back and slide into the booth, nodding for him to join me. Now that I can see his face clearly, there are shadows beneath his eyes, and it pulls at my heart.

“Never mind me,” I say. “What’s going on? You look like you’ve been up all night.”

“I have been,” he confirms. “It’s my mom. She’s who I’m here for. She has glioblastoma, brain cancer. She had surgery last week to remove the tumor, but they couldn’t get it all.” His explanation comes in staccato-burst phrases.

My chest constricts against his words, filling me with sorrow. I scoot out of my seat and join him on his side. My hand automatically seeks to stroke his shoulder. His head falls forward on a heavy sigh, and we fall into companionable silence while Tate collects his thoughts.

“What happened last night?” I ask.

“When the doctors told me and Tarryn that Mom’s cancer was terminal, her oncologist said it could be anywhere from six months to a year. In the meantime they told us she was a good candidate for the rehabilitation center on the fourth floor. We were going to move her there today.” He shakes his head, trying to process everything, and failing. “In the middle of the night, she had a grand mal seizure.”

My hand stills its soothing. “Oh no.”

“She stopped breathing. I’ve never been so damn scared in my life.” His voice quavers as he fights to control his emotions. “Once she was stabilized, they ran some more scans and the fucking tumor is already growing again. It’s spreading like a spiderweb in her brain. There’s no way for them to treat it.”

“Tate, I’m so sorry.” My heart is broken for him, and I’m helpless to hide the tears pooling in my eyes. My poor stranger.