Page 15 of Worth the Want
I’m not sure what I expected of my first full day here, but moving in next door to the only man who’s ever left me wondering what might have been wasn’t on the agenda. Him not remembering me leaves a bitter taste in my mouth and a lump in my throat.
The sound of my name coming out of her mouth causes my stomach to tighten. A response I’m unfamiliar with—and unwilling to examine too closely right now. I give her a once-over, looking from her short, dark hair down her toned, tan legs. Dropping the key into her hand, I notice her nails. They’re pink, almost the same shade as her pouty lips. The color is so familiar to me, like a song or a scent takes you back to a moment in time. Standing next to her, I realize I’m practically towering over her. She’s so small. Tiny. That word flashes in my mind like an answer that’s on the tip of my tongue.
I nod, not sure what to say to her. Turning to head back into my house, I give Winnie a side hug, telling her I’ll see her at dinner on the way.Wait, Tiny?
Those big, brown eyes. Those pink, puffy lips curving into a smile. Walking to the window, I watch her walk back to her car, playing with Sally and laughing with Winnie. That laugh—that loud, confident sound—knocks loose an imageof her head thrown back in a dimly lit bar.Is that really her? Is she really here?Why would she be here?
I haven’t seen her in years, only thinking of her every so often on long nights that leave me lonely. Turning from the window, I grab Hazel's bag and my briefcase inside, setting them by the door before placing our breakfast dishes from earlier into the sink. I don’t have time right now to piece this out. I’ve got a long day ahead of me, and my head is already spinning with what this could mean—if it means anything at all.
Pushing the growing thought out of my head, I rinse out Hazel’s sippy cup and put some juice in it before getting her up from her morning nap. She doesn’t always take one these days, but this morning, she was up so early that it only made sense for her to take one before we left.
Gently pushing open the door to her room, I take in her sleeping form. She clutches her blanket in one hand, and the other is tossed over her head. “Hey, Hazey, time to get up and go to Grammy’s,” I say quietly. She rolls over, opening one eye to look at me, then the other before giving me a big smile. “Hi, happy girl.”
She opens her arms wide, letting me know she wants me to pick her up. I melt. There’s a part of me that never wants her to stop being this little. Scooping her up, my arms memorize the weight of her while walking into the living room where I have her clothes laid out for the day. Handing Hazel her sippy cup and setting her on the couch, the sleepy look she gives me puts a smile on my face.
“Thank you, Daddy,” she says as she sits back into a throw pillow, drinking her juice.
“You’re welcome, baby. After your drink let’s get youready,” I tell her. She nods with the cup in her mouth. Movement from outside the window catches my eye. Looking closer, I see Winnie and Indiana carrying boxes and bags into the guesthouse.Indiana.That’s her name.
Having never given it to me, I always just thought of her as Tiny. The older but smaller sister from that night out all those years ago. The woman who had me breaking my rules of not asking out women in bars. Then life changed, and I—well, I still wonder about her. If she went to the pizza place, or if she even bothered to show.
I watch a few more minutes as the two women down the road go back and forth from the house to the black car, and back just a couple more times. Sally is down there, hovering, walking up and down the front steps with them. Already finding a new friend in our new neighbor. No one has lived in the old lake house since before it was mine, but as odd as it sounds, I can almost picture her there. In the kitchen, having coffee in the mornings, on the brown leather sofa, relaxing, in the bedroom…and that’s where I decide to stop the picturing.
I get Hazel dressed; luckily, we have just moved out of the phase where she pretends to be a saltwater crocodile that I’m trying to wrestle into tiny clothes. I brush her wavy, dark hair into a bun on her head. One of the few hairstyles I can manage. I learned how to do her hair from the internet—with some help from my mom and Florence. When Hazel’s hair really started growing, I couldn’t get away with just brushing it and putting a bow in like I had before.
After a few hair tutorials, I can now do a ponytail, a bun,space bunsas Florence calls them, and a loose braid—so loose that it falls out almost immediately. It’s a work in progress. I look at her soft baby hairs curling around her face. I never wantthat to change. I can’t believe this tiny human will be three in a matter of weeks.Where has time gone, and how do I get it back?
I carry Hazel’s day bag and my briefcase to the truck, holding her hand, letting her jump off the bottom step before getting her buckled into her car seat. I give her the blanky and sippy cup filled with water this time, and we’re off. My thoughts are already wandering back to the delicate beauty who was at my front door this morning. I had barely had the time to take in her appearance when she fell backward off my porch.
It’s just attraction. I’m attracted to her.
She’s gorgeous—of course I’m attracted to her. You’d have to be blind or a fucking idiot not to be.
There’s no point in exploring it though. I heard the change in her voice at my mention of Hazel. She’ll only be my tenant for a couple of weeks then she’ll be back on the other side of town. Easy to avoid. Maybe I’ll see her around town since she’ll be working at Winnie’s bakery—those two look like they’re already as thick as thieves—but it’s not like she’ll be at family dinners. Unless sheisgoing to be at family dinners.
That thought is a little worrisome, but it’s the next one that has me scrubbing my hand down my face. Thinking of her deep-brown eyes and her legs in those tiny denim shorts.I wouldn’t mind her being there.
Fuck. My head’s a mess.Shaking it, I pull into the driveway of my childhood home, seeing my dad loading up the side by side with a small cooler and a bag that I’m sure contains multiple snacks for Hazel and him. Mom is on the porch in the rocking chair, waving to us. I put my truck in park and quickly unclip Hazel from her seat, setting her on the ground. Sheimmediately runs to my mom, who picks her up, spinning in a circle.
Careful not to forget anything, I grab her bag, sippy, and blanky, walking them over to the porch. Making sure everything she needs has become a mental checklist over the years. When it’s just you, the remembering is your responsibility alone.
“Hey, Mom,” I call.
“Hi Knox, how’s your morning been, hun?” she asks me while swaying Hazel on her hip.
I mull the question over before answering. “Mmm...interesting could be a word for it, I guess.”
“Oh yeah? What was so interesting about it?”
I lean against the porch railing, crossing one leg over the other. “Winnie brought by her new manager this morning—my new tenant.”One I’m having conflicting feelings about.
“Ah, yes. I forgot you offered up your guesthouse for her.”
“Offered upwould be a bit of an overstatement,” I grumble under my breath. My mom laughs but doesn’t comment.
“Well, hello there! Is that my help for the day?” Dad calls from the bottom of the steps.
“Yes!” Hazel yells and claps her little hands. “I’m help! I’m help!” she chants.
