Someone Like You

“Are you also saying I should approach Veronica and see if what I thought we had in the past could be rekindled? Bring the fire back to life?”

Teddy forcibly controlled her urge to move out of his arms. “If that is what you want,” she whispered.

“That’s not what I want.”

She raised her eyelids and stared directly at him. She knew she shouldn’t ask, but she had to know. “What do you want?”

“Right now? Right this very moment?”

“Yes,” she said, drawing the word out as if it had several syllables.

“I want you.”

* * *

“I want you” wasn’t the same as “I love you.” Adam knew that. He wanted to say it, wanted to let Teddy know that she meant more to him than any woman ever had, but he couldn’t get the words out. So he retreated, retreated into what any man would do in his situation.

He kissed her.

Teddy didn’t protest. She was pliant in his arms. He wanted her there, wanted to tell her everything she wanted to know, but he’d been burned before.

* * *

It was hard to think there was hunger in the world when Teddy looked at all the food on the tables in Dr. Sullivan’s dining room. She said “tables,” since there were at least three. They were covered with turkey, salads, sweet potatoes, green bean casseroles, corn bread dressing, pies, cakes and even more dishes, all smelling delicious and making her stomach growl.

Just as both mothers were trying to get their offsprings married, both mothers were outdoing the other with the amount of food they cooked and delivered. Her sisters Sienna and Sierra brought their signature dishes. Emory, her brother, was exempt since he’d proven years ago that cooking wasn’t something he would excel at. Teddy arrived with a dish of macaroni and cheese.

“Who do you think will win?” Galen whispered in Adam’s ear.

Adam glanced at the football game on the big-screen television, but he knew his brother wasn’t speaking of the game.

“You don’t even want to go there,” Adam said. “It could get bloody.”

“Just remember,” Quinn joined in. “Everything is delicious. Nothing is better than the other.”

“They are all equally great,” Adam and Galen said in unison.

“Obviously you three have gone through this routine before,” Teddy said.

Quinn nodded. “And we learned early not to play favorites.”

“Remember that time everyone made the green beans and wanted all the cousins to judge them?” Quinn asked, laughter in his question.

Galen frowned. “That year I was sure someone would die.”

They were all laughing at a shared memory. Teddy knew from her own family that the rivalry was all in good fun. She hadn’t made a green bean casserole. Her dish was macaroni and cheese, which sat on a warming plate in the dining room. Teddy was free to join the others and enjoy the game. Dr. Sullivan had already refused any additional help in the kitchen.

“So,” Galen said, looking at Adam, “when are you two getting married?”

The room went quiet. Everyone stared at Galen.

“What?” Galen asked, spreading his arms in innocence, one of them holding a beer. “You’ve been going out for months. This is the second family dinner you’ve appeared at.” He glanced at Teddy. “It must be time for marriage.”

“We’ll set ours when you set yours,” Teddy told him.

“Me?”

“Yes, I have a sister and I see how you look at her.” Teddy checked that her sister Sienna couldn’t hear her. “I’ll point that out to your mother. Then all we’ll need is one more dinner and it can be a double wedding.”

Again, the room stared at the youngest Sullivan son.

Finally Quinn laughed and, pointing at his brother, said, “She got you.” Everyone burst into laughter.

Obviously embarrassed, Galen was the first to stand up when his mom announced the meal. The dining room didn’t have the same dimensions as the restaurant where their anniversary dinner was held. Instead of a U-shaped arrangement, two parallel tables had been set up. Adam steered her to one the farthest from both their parents.

For the next twenty minutes, food was passed around, plates were filled, and the only sounds in the room were those of the dinner forks and “Mmm, mmm” of appreciation.