Page 15 of Faith Notes
“Shh.” He shoves his fingers against my lips, and, using the crack of light at the bottom of the door, I watch him tilt his head and listen.
“Get off me, you fool,” I say, shoving at his hand. He moves it but drops it to my shoulder, keeping his face grave as he offers me sage advice.
“Don’t use the M word. Ever.”
His voice is barely a whisper, and if someone were to open the door, they would probably get a kick out of two grown men barely squeezed into a corner pantry. But I can’t bring myself to care because if he’s offering advice, I’m taking it—at least on this.
“Okay, but are they?”
“Yes.”
Brooks’s face is so serious you’d think we were discussing a plan for world peace instead of our wives’ attitudes. And yet, I listen just as closely.
“So what do we do?”
“You ride the wave. Her body is changing. She’s growing your baby. You give her grace until she feels like herself again.”
I nod, cataloging everything he is saying. “I can do that.”
“And, Gray—”
“What?”
“Make sure you date her. If there’s one thing I messed up the last time Emryn and I had a baby, it’s that I forgot to keep seeing her as my wife and best friend. Don’t make my mistake.”
Of everything he said, this one hits me the hardest. Brooks told me about his and Emryn’s struggle once. I wasn’t around then, but I know enough to know that I don’t want to go through the same thing with Georgia.
Lifting my hand, I clap Brooks on the shoulder. His hand still rests on mine, and as weird as this feels for me, I turn it into a hug. “I promise I’ll keep dating my wife.”
He hugs me back, and it’s at that exact moment that the pantry door opens.
“Well, I said I wanted my boys to get along, but I can’t say this is how I imagined it happening.”
Our dad stands in the doorway, light from the kitchen shining over his shoulder. He’s wearing a grin that says, “I’m going to tell everyone about this moment,” and has his phone in his hand, taking pictures to prove it.
Brooks and I back out of the hug, making eye contact with each other and having a whole conversation before turning to face our dad.
There was a time when I didn’t know either of these men, but now I can’t imagine my life without them.
“Delete the picture, Dad,” I say, advancing toward him with Brooks by my side.
He lifts his hands, playing innocent, but doesn’t move to delete it.
“Now, you boys listen here,” he says, backing up as we draw closer. “I’m your dad.”
“Delete the picture, Dad, and no one gets hurt,” Brooks says.
Dad chuckles, and then, faster than any old man should be able to, he takes off running with both Brooks and me on his heels.
______________________
“Grayson, why did your dad just send me a picture of you and Brooks hugging in a pantry?”
It’s two days after what I’m deeming “the incident,” and Brooks and I learned the hard way just how scrappy Kip Montgomery can be. I thought we had at least convinced him not to share the picture, but I guess I was wrong.
“Delete that,” I call back.
I’m outside, planning something that allows me to keep my promise to Georgia—or, technically, Brooks.
