Five years later, we were in the same situation, but this time it wasn’t my virginity. It was my heart. And like five years earlier, I trusted Fisher explicitly to take what he felt he deserved and leave anything he might hurt.
“Fisher …” I whispered in his ear as he kissed along my cheek.
“Hmm?”
“Teach me.”
“Teach you what?” His knuckles ghosted along my other cheek.
“Everything.”
Chapter Fifteen
Fisher showed me how to use the jiggy thing. He showed me how to get things prepped to stain the pieces which we would do at a later time. He even took me through all his tools, giving me a brief explanation of what they did and examples of when he used them. He did have patience, maybe only with me, but that was all that mattered.
Fisher wanted to be with me.
“Hello?” Rory called down the stairs just as we were sweeping the floor.
Fisher squatted to hold the dustpan as I swept the small pile into it. “Down here.”
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Rory made her way down the stairs. “Pizza’s here.”
“Okay. We’re done.” Fisher stood and dumped the sawdust into the trash.
“Maybe you should have been a trim carpenter instead of a midwife.” Rory eyed me as I dusted off my jeans.
“Fisher’s pretty amazing at what he does, but he hasn’t pushed an entire human being out of his vagina. So I’ll stick to my new job.”
“Aaannnd … we’re done down here.” Fisher flipped off the lights, leaving only the light on above the stairway.
Rory laughed and headed back up the stairs with Fisher and me right behind her.
“Hey, babe.” To no one’s surprise, Angie was in the kitchen, setting out plates and napkins.
I really needed a game plan. One that involved telling my mother that she was ruining my life. It was a speech I didn’t get the chance to give her before she went to prison. Rory had no idea, so was it fair to blame her? I wondered if she’d have felt bad had I told her. Or would she have been way too upset with Fisher and me to care about her role in keeping Angie’s hopes and dreams alive?
“Hey.” Fisher had no problem switching roles, maybe because Rose reserved her distrusting scowls for me.
I pulled his pants up, Rose. I pulled them up! Zipped. Buttoned. That was all me.
Angie hugged Fisher and gave him a quick peck on the lips. I’d signed up for The Bachelor. Oh the joys of sharing one guy.
“Reese, you’re setting the bar pretty high for our future kids.” Angie poured herself a glass of wine while Fisher opened a bottle of beer and took a long swig.
“Oh?” I said with caution as I poured a glass of red wine for myself. Just what I wanted to do, talk about their future kids.
“Your mom said you love working in Fisher’s shop downstairs. I don’t go down there. It’s too dusty. But I’m sure he dreams of teaching our kids his skills someday. If they show no interest, he’ll wonder why he didn't get a child like you.”
I choked on my wine, and Rose came to the rescue, slapping my back a little too hard while Rory jumped into the conversation. “Reese has always been curious and hands-on with things. Even as a little girl, she wanted to do everything she saw her dad and me doing.”
“Oh …” Angie’s nose wrinkled. “That sounded weird. I’m sorry.” She slapped her palm to her forehead. “I wasn’t implying you’re a child. That … just …” She set her wine down and buried her face in Fisher’s chest.
He held his good arm, the one holding the beer, out to the side so as not to spill it on impact.
“It’s been a long day.” She chuckled, rolling her forehead against his chest as his casted arm rested gently on her back.
Every thirty seconds I had to remind myself that Angie’s mind remembered everything about Fisher Mann since he was six years old. She felt comfortable in his presence and in his embrace. Not just as a lover, but as a friend of nearly thirty years.
“It’s fine. I knew what you meant.”
Nope. I had no idea what she meant. It was the craziest comparison. But I wasn’t in the business of making people feel bad or uncomfortable. If Angie and I wouldn’t have been competing for the same bachelor, we might have been better friends. I related to her being an only child and losing a parent. For the three years between my dad dying and Rory getting out of prison, I felt like an orphan. Angie loved a good glass of wine and pretty dresses. So did I. And she loved Fisher Mann … and so did I.
I didn’t hate her.
In many ways, I was her.
“I turned on the porch heater. Let’s go out there.” Rory handed Rose her beer and grabbed the two pizza boxes.