Page 49 of Say Yes to the Hot Mess
This is a love nest, and my mind is sucked back to that moment in the car when I could have sworn Dex wanted to kiss me.
This is bad. We do not need to be surrounded by romance. It will mess with my head.
“Um,” I say into the stillness, because all other words fail me. At least I can tell Dex didn’t have anything to do with this—his eyes are wide with horror, his jaw hanging open, his face red.
He swallows and then says, “I’ll have a word with my mother.”
My brows shoot up as I turn toward him. “Yourmother? Are you serious? She did this?”
“Undoubtedly,” he says through gritted teeth. He closes his eyes and takes a deep, slow breath before turning a pained smile on me. “She really wants grandchildren.”
I snort in laughter. “Apparently. A little heavy handed though, don’t you think?” Then, because I’m feeling more awkward by the second, I step past Dex and enter the bedroom. I start with the bed, wiping off the flower petals in sweeping, arcing strokes. Then I yank the curtains open—a little more violently than necessary, maybe, but I’m fully aware that Dex is just standing there in the doorway,watching—and let the sunlight stream in the room. Then I whirl on Dex, putting my hands on my hips.
“Are you going to help?” I say, raising my brow at him. “Or are you just going to stare at me?”
He blinks, looking away. “I wasn’t staring at you,” he says, but I’m pretty sure I can see more color rise on his cheeks. “I’m just a little overwhelmed by the lengths my mother will go to.”
“Well, help me get rid of this stuff, then,” I say, nodding at the bucket of champagne. “I’m not much of a drinker, and I’m breastfeeding anyway.” My heart pangs, though, when I realize I won’t be breastfeeding for the next two days.
I wonder what Archer is doing right now. He’s probably napping, or maybe eating, his chubby little body snuggled comfortably in Frank’s arms as he downs a bottle of milk—
And to my horror, I feel my eyes begin to sting. I swipe impatiently at them, turning my back on Dex and listening to the sound of metal and ice as he takes the champagne bucket out of the room.
When he’s gone I turn back around and begin looking for the source of the music. It takes a few seconds before I realize there’s a small stereo behind the bedroom television, but with the jab of a few buttons, I find the silence again.
It’stoosilent. If Archer were here—
“Oh, whoa,” Dex says, reappearing at the entrance to the room. At first I think he’s remarking on the now-unromantic bedroom, but then I see that he’s looking at me with concern, and I realize there are a few tears trailing down my face.
“What’s wrong?” he says, crossing the room in three long strides. “I’m so sorry, Maya. I know this must have freaked you out. But I promise my mother really isn’t—”
“It’s not that,” I cut him off, shaking my head. I hesitate before adding, “Although yeah, she’s kind of intense. But no, it’s nothing.” I wipe my eyes quickly, forcing an unconvincing smile in his direction. “I’m good.”
He narrows his eyes the tiniest bit, looking suspicious. “Okay,” he says slowly. “If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure,” I chirp with more of that teeth-baring smile, even as my heart is aching.
He shrugs casually and nods, turning and walking back out of the bedroom.
As soon as he’s gone, I clamp my hand over my mouth to muffle the cries that escape. Tears stream down my face as a horrible sense of loneliness engulfs me, that feeling of being utterly alone—
“Ah,” Dex says softly, and I jump at his appearance. “I knew you weren’t okay.” He doesn’t sound gloating or triumphant, though—just concerned in that quiet way of his. “What’s going on?”
I frown at him, glancing to the door of the bedroom. “Were you just waiting out there?”
“Of course I was,” he says, sighing. “I could tell you weren’t okay. Now tell me,” he goes on, more gently now. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s stupid,” I say. “But I just miss Archer.” I take a deep breath before sinking down on the edge of the bed, my body sagging as I sit. “I’ve never left him like this before. And even though all he does is eat and sleep and cry and poop, I miss him.”
I feel a little defensive as I say those words, because I’m not sure Dex is able to understand the way I feel, and if he thinks I’m silly for missing my baby then I want to be ready to tell him off. But all he does is nod and then sit next to me, close enough that I can smell his pine-fresh scent. The bed doesn’t even creak, which tells me that it’s higher quality than your average motel bed. This place is really nice.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. He pauses and then says, “What do you think he’s doing right now?”
I smile, wiping my eyes. “I was just thinking about that. He’s probably eating or sleeping.” Then I give a watery laugh. “Or screwing up his little face because he has gas.”
“Yeah?” Dex says, smiling. Then he scrunches up his nose and squints his eyes. “Like this?”
I laugh again. “Yeah, except it’s cuter on him.”
