“Let’s go,” Matthew urges, slapping my father on the shoulder. “I saw that look Allison gave you. You need all the time in the world to make it up to her.”
My father looks over at us and just nods before turning and walking out. The door opens, and we look at each other, wondering who else is coming back when Mac runs into the room back from his afternoon walk. The dog walker leaves his leash at the front and then leaves, slamming the door.
My head hangs forward for just a second, and I close my eyes. The tension finally leaves my body, and I’m not the only one. “I need a drink.” I open my eyes and watch Dylan walk into the kitchen and go get the bottle of scotch I keep right over the fridge. He unscrews the top of the bottle and takes a shot straight out of the bottle. He hisses and then looks at me and holds up his hand, offering me the bottle.
I shake my head and walk over to the couch. Sitting down, I put my face in my hands. Mac comes over and sits down beside me, putting her head in my lap. I rub her ears and then look up at Dylan. “Did that just happen?” I turn and look back in the kitchen as he takes another shot and then puts the bottle back.
“That did just happen,” he confirms, walking to the living room and sitting on the couch, dropping his head back.
“But how?” I ask him, confused.
“I told your father after practice,” Dylan says, and my mouth just hangs open.
“What the hell?” I get up, and he grabs my hand, pulling me back down beside him. “Why would you do that without telling me or at least warning me?”
“It was a spur-of-the-moment type of thing,” he says to me. “I hated it being a secret, and I just thought the longer we didn’t tell anyone, the worse it would be.” I know he’s right, and with that, I sink into the couch beside him. I turn toward him, putting my arm on the back of the couch, and he reaches out and grabs my feet, putting them in his lap. “We need to discuss a couple of things.” Mac gets up and walks over to her pillow in the corner, spinning in a circle before falling down.
I lay my head down on the back of the couch. “I think there are a lot of things we need to discuss.” My stomach fills with all the flutters, but this time, it’s not because I’m afraid. This time, it’s because the things we need to discuss have to do with us being together.
“Well, the first thing we should discuss is where we are going to live,” he decides, rubbing my feet as he looks at me. “I just signed a contract for the next seven years.”
“So we have to live in Dallas,” I conclude, not upset by this because it has slowly become my home. “I’m okay with this.” I smile at him as he smiles back at me. “Check number one off the list. Next.”
“What do you think about this house?” he asks, and I look at him confused and then look around the room.
“I love this house,” I say to him, seeing the pictures of the both of us scattered all over the place. “Do you not like it here?”
“No, I do,” he says, smiling. “To be honest, wherever you are is home.”
“If I didn’t love you as much as I do and someone else said that around me, I would roll my eyes and fake vomit.” I lean in to kiss his lips. “But that was a good one.” I kiss him one more time before going back to my previous position. “Now, what were you saying about the house?”
“Well, how many kids are we going to have?” he asks me, and I laugh.
“We haven’t had sex yet, and you are already trying to knock me up?” I laugh, and all he does is shake his head and smirk.
“I’m just asking because if you plan to have five kids, we need a bigger place,” he explains as if we are deciding if we are eating pizza or burgers instead of getting a bigger house and having five children.
“I never thought about how many kids I would have,” I answer him honestly. “I was just going to go with one and see.”
“We are having more than one,” he tells me matter-of-fact.
“Noted,” I say, not bothering to argue because there is no way I could have just one child. “I called Julia today and started the process of becoming an emergency foster parent,” I relay, my nerves filling my stomach because if he doesn’t agree, I’m going to have to make a decision that I’m not ready to make. “I know we should have spoken about it,” I continue, my voice cracking as I think about not being able to help whoever it is. “But”—I shrug—“I couldn’t not help.”