Page 19 of Dearly Unbeloved
P.S. 88 days too many
Iwon’t take my family for granted ever again. The Cannons never fail to surprise me, even though I’ve heard Jazz ranting about her parents more times than I can count. At least she has good in-laws.
Maggie and Cal’s house seems big when you consider that it’s just the two of them living here, but most family dinners seem to end with Eliza and Danisha’s cocktails and everyone sleeping over. I’ve stayed here many times, but this is the first time I’m sharing a room here with Rose. The first time I’m sharing a room with Rose, period, if you don’t count the night we got married, which I don’t, considering neither of us remembers it.
She trudges up the stairs, her shoulders weighed down with the stress of the night. Did I expect her parents to takethe news well? No, but I didn’t expect them to take it out on all of their children. Kyo and I are so lucky to have the parents we do.
As the owner of an interior design company, it’s no surprise that Maggie has impeccably designed every inch of their home, and the attic bedroom she assigned us is no exception. It’s dark and cozy, with soft taupe walls and deep violet accents. The bed is massive, taking up most of the back wall.
I groan as I sit on the plush mattress, close my eyes, and let my body fall back, sinking into the pillowy cloud. I feel the bed sink and turn my head, opening my eyes. Rose is perched on the edge, spinning her ring around her finger. She does it almost constantly.
Her face is hidden by her smooth curtain of blonde hair, but her body betrays how she’s feeling—she’s hunched over, the muscles in her neck taut. If this was real, I would check on her, comfort her. But it’s not real. We’re not even friends. I’m not an asshole—I don’t want her to be upset—but it’s not like she’d care ifIwas upset. It’s all so fucking confusing.
We both look up as footsteps sound on the stairs, and a second later, Cal knocks softly at the door. “Everyone decent?”
“Yeah,” I call back, and he steps into the room, a thick comforter over his arm.
“I couldn’t find a way to get you a second bed without Maggie being suspicious, but I figured separate blankets were at least something.”
My heart falls into my stomach as Rose gets up andtakes it from him, setting it on the bed. What the fuck are we doing? We’re lying to everyone we care about. We’re asking Cal to lie to his wife. I don’t like Rose’s parents, but it was still shitty to blindside them like this, and all it did was make things worse for Jazz and Xan. None of this is fair of us. It’s for a good cause, sure, but they don’t know that.
“Thanks, Cal,” Rose says softly. She sounds completely done.
He eyes her with concern. “I know you’re not really a hugger, but you look like you could use a hug.”
I expect her to immediately decline. I’ve never seen Rose initiate casual affection, and she grumbles whenever Jazz hugs her. She’s quiet for a moment before answering, “A hug would be nice, actually.” Her voice cracks, and I have to look away as Cal pulls her into a fatherly embrace.
I’m not used to seeing this side of Rose. I know her well enough to know she would never willingly be vulnerable in front of someone she hates, which means she’s so exhausted she can’t even fight it right now. There’s a dull pain deep in my chest like heartburn.
I look back at Rose and Cal just in time to watch Rose release a deep breath, a little of the tension falling away from her body. “Thank you,” she murmurs, looking at the floor. “I’m really glad Jazz has you.”
“You have me, too, Rose. I’m not going to say anything about your parents because… well, frankly, I have nothing nice to say, but you’re family. You’ll always have a place with us. Both of you,” he adds, nodding to me, and all it does is make me feel more guilty. “Alright, you two, get some sleep, and I’ll see you in the morning. If you need anything, you know where we are.”
He claps the doorway as he leaves, and it’s such adadthing to do that I can’t help but smile. Until I think about the fact that Rose’s dad probably never did that. It’s hard to imagine him even offering her a hug.
I clear my throat. “I’ll get ready first.”
Rose nods but says nothing as I disappear into the en suite.
Maggie is so organized that she keeps an overnight bag for everyone who regularly spends the night. She restocks them often, adding in things she thinks we’ll like and things to make us more comfortable. There’s a new headband in my bag, the kind to keep your hair out of your face while you do your skincare, printed with an adorable floral pattern. It’s the kind of thing she can’t have just stumbled across—she probably noticed that I keep a similar style in my bathroom at home and went looking for one to keep here. That’s just who she is.
Once, not long after I started working at Michaelson and Hicks, I commented that I felt guilty for everything Maggie did. On that particular day, she sent Cal to work with a box of pistachio macarons for me, with a handwritten note saying she’d seen them and thought of me since she knows I like pistachio lattes. But Cal told me that Maggie just loves taking care of people, and that couldn’t be a more accurate description of her. I try to be thoughtful, to remember the little things about people, but it doesn’t come so naturally to me.
I finish up and leave the bathroom to Rose,making the bed while she gets ready. She’s always cold, even in the dead of summer, so I put the thicker comforter on her side and climb under the soft blanket Cal brought us. It’s still perfectly toasty, but considering Rose sleeps with two extra blankets at home, she’d probably be freezing under this.
She leaves the en suite, her hair in a single braid over her shoulder, and gets into the bed. Without a word, we turn our backs to each other and switch off the bedside lamps, plunging the room into darkness.
There’s no “goodnight” or “sleep well,” because we never wish each other those things at home. But tonight, it feels awkward. Maybe because there’s less than a foot of space between us, or maybe because of the rings on our fingers. Even if the sentiment is fake, the impact is not.
I huff a sigh and turn around. “Rose? Are you awake?” I whisper.
“It’s been twenty seconds since we turned the lights out. How the hell would I be asleep already?” she bites back, and it’s almost a relief to hear her snapping at me like old times.
“Can we talk?”
She sighs and spins around so we’re face-to-face. I blink. I didn’t consider how close we’d be like this. There’s a crack of light shining through a small gap in the curtains, lighting up her hazel eyes so I can see each individual fleck of green and gold. I can also very clearly see the impatience on her face.
“You wanted to talk. Talk,” she says, gesturing at me to hurry me up. Right.
