Sweet (Landry Family 6)

The knife slips in my hand. I steady myself and then grab the garlic.

“What about you?” I ask, needing the attention off me.

“Yeah. I’d love to have a sibling for Ryder, but the idea of getting married again …” He whistles between his teeth. “But then you think about having a baby while purposely not getting married, and that doesn’t quite feel right either. So I don’t know. I did it once. That’s probably enough.”

Nate was married?

“Who were you married to?” I ask.

He lowers his voice and glances at the doorway. “Ryder’s mom. She overdosed when he was six months old.”

“I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

“How would you?” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “It’s not like I go around talking about it.” He turns back to the stove. “I guess that’s why I’m so uncertain about the actual marriage part. I’d love to settle down, though, and give Ryder the family I didn’t have.”

I look at him and grin. He catches me before I can avert my gaze.

“What?” he asks, the corner of his lip turning toward the ceiling.

“Nothing.”

“No, what was that look about?”

“I just … It was nice knowing that you feel uncertain about some things too.”

His smile slips away, and a look of surprise replaces it. “I’m unsure about everything. Most people are.”

“Are they? Because it doesn’t feel like it.”

“Definitely.”

I smash a couple of cloves of garlic. “I usually feel like I’m behind on things. Plans. Life.” I sigh. “I just can’t get it together.”

“Who says you should have it together?”

I pause, the knife suspended over the cutting board. What kind of answer is that?

He shrugs. “I mean it. Who says you have to have your life together? People like to pretend they have shit figured out, but no one does. That’s the secret right there.”

I hit the knife with the back of my hand, smashing the clove. But my mind is filled with his words.

“Life is like a boxing match, really,” he says, his voice softer. “Every day is a new round. You have to regroup, adjust to what your opponent has thrown at you, and go at it. You have to understand your weaknesses and strengths, but lead with the strengths. Over and over.”

“I’m sure that was meant to be encouraging, but I walk around with two black eyes.” Or that’s how life feels, anyway.

If it’s not getting evicted, it’s struggling to pay rent. If the money parts of my life are fine, then I have a hard time at school. It doesn’t come easy for me. If that’s all going swimmingly, then I have a guy who’s messing with my head or breaking my heart. It’s always one thing or another.

“You know what’s good about that?” he asks.

“No. Please tell me. I’d love to know.”

He looks at me over his shoulder. “Black eyes heal.”

I wait for more of an explanation—some philosophical reasoning behind his simple sentence—but nothing comes.

“That’s it?” I ask. “Black eyes heal. That’s your big revelation?”

“Maybe it’s the only one that matters.”

“Yeah,” I say, lining up the garlic in front of me into a tidy line. “Most definitely keep your day job.”

He chuckles. “What did you do today anyway?”

“I went over to Kinsley’s and hung out. We won’t get to do that much when school starts back up. Talked to my mom. Looked at apartments. That kind of stuff.”

“Really?”

I shrug and head to the sink to wash my hands again. I can’t quite make out his tone, so I ignore it.

“I told you I wouldn’t wear out my welcome. Or maybe I didn’t say that, exactly, but I hope you inferred it through something I did say.”

“Absolutely. I think I inferred that as you were shaking your hips in the white panties.”

I roll my tongue around my mouth. “Touché.”

“What are you going to school for?” he asks, switching topics.

Probably a good choice with Ryder in the next room.

“I’ve changed my majors twice. I’m one credit away from a bachelor’s in communications but changed my mind like the ridiculous person I am and am going for my social work now. I’m really lucky. My parents will be happy to pay for any education I want to do. Books and classes. They’ll never say no to that.”

“Then I’d milk that for all it’s worth. Take all the classes. Read all the books.” He glances toward the doorway and then back to me. “Yourself. Read them yourself. Don’t expect someone to read them to you every fucking night of the week.”

I giggle as I finish washing my hands.

We work quietly around the kitchen while preparing the spaghetti. Nate is very comfortable in the kitchen, and I’m surprised at how quickly the garlic and onions are mixed with the beef, and I love watching him choose the spices to add. Occasionally, we brush arms or bump hips. When that happens, we look at each other and smile.