Chapter Seven
Peter walked his family out while I cleaned up the kitchen. Only my nephews and father-in-law had any of the treats, but in true teenage fashion they not only left out the ice cream, but they dripped it all over the island. I didn’t mind the mess. I was glad to have something constructive to do. The night was more . . . just more of everything. More surprising, shocking, revealing, you name it. My head buzzed with the night’s revelations.
This I knew, I was over-the-moon happy for Sam and I was done with Sunday dinners and Peter’s mother. I’d heard her whisper to Mimsy on the way out in between her tears that she was sure we were growing marijuana or cooking meth in the attic. She swore she was never talking to any of us again. If only I could get a guarantee on that. She was crazy, and if ever we had children, they would be better off without her. Not like she would treat them well anyway, because I was their mother.
While I loaded the dishwasher, Peter crept up behind me and brushed my hair away from my neck before his lips rested there.
I took a moment to enjoy the feel of his lips against my skin. “I’m sorry for making you sound like a centerfold.”
He spun me around and held me close. “Maybe that was a little over the top, but it was my fault for inviting them over here.”
“It was the first thing that popped into my head.”
He chuckled against my ear. “Should I be worried about what’s in your next book?”
“Maybe,” I teased.
He kissed my head and sighed. “Tonight was an unmitigated disaster.”
“That is an understatement.” I took a deep breath and let it out. “I don’t think I can do Sunday dinners anymore.”
Peter’s shoulders fell.
“Your mother is never going to like me or accept me.”
“I’m sorry, Delanie.”
“I’m sorry, too. I haven’t exactly engendered her goodwill.”
“You’ve at least tried.”
I sank further into him, letting my head rest on his shoulder. “What about Reed and Sam?” I needed a change of subject. “I didn’t see that coming, though I had my suspicions they were—”
Peter tipped my chin up and kissed me before I could finish my thought. “I’m with James here—Sam is, was, and will always be a virgin.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “Does that make Reed one too?”
Peter kissed my nose. “Yep.”
“I’ll let you live in your fairytale land.”
He gazed into my eyes. “I already do.”
I ran my hand across his cheek while returning his gaze. “Am I really your happily ever after?”
“You are my happy every day.”
“Even when I tell people there are naked pictures of you in our attic?”
“Even then,” he groaned.
I sank back against him.
Peter rubbed my back. “I think this moment calls for some MJ.”
“Not him.”
“Baby, it’s our song.”
“I don’t remember us officially declaring it our song.”
“It was the first song we ever danced to in your kitchen.”
“That I remember.”
“Do you also remember,” he whispered in my ear, “that I told you I was going to marry you that night?”
My stomach still fluttered over it. It was insane, but for some reason it felt so right even though technically we had only been dating for two weeks. But I already knew I was in love with him. “I do. And I told you, you were the only man I would ever consider marrying.”
“It’s the magic MJ, I’m telling you.”
“Now you’re giving credit to Michael Jackson for our union?”
Peter reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He must have had it ready to go because he only tapped on a couple of buttons before, “Rock With You” began to play. Peter placed his phone on the counter before wrapping me up and swaying to the disco classic.
I laughed against his chest. “I can’t believe this is our song.”
“Believe it, baby; I want to rock with you all night long.”
He had me laughing hard while I breathed in his spicy clean scent.
“James always told me if I wanted to get the lady, to play this song.”
That made a lot of sense. James was a reformed lady’s man from the way Avery told it. She wasn’t keen on dating him at all. By all accounts she had turned him down several times. As she put it, he was one of those guys who knew he looked good and could get almost anyone he wanted. She didn’t want to be another notch on his bedpost. The elder brother was no angel. I don’t think Sarah knew, or if she did, she had chosen to ignore it. Even after James finally convinced Avery to go out with him, they broke up a few times. Avery had never said why. I didn’t think she liked to talk about it, so I’d left it alone.
“Speaking of your brother, is he okay? He’s been a bit moody lately.”
Peter stopped swaying for a moment and rested his chin on my head. “I’ve noticed too, but he’s not one to talk about his feelings. Growing up, he’d rather shove me or punch me before opening up. Has Avery said anything?”
“No, but I’m not sure she would. I have a feeling she’s the type who wears her game face as much as she can.”
“Hmm. I’ll try and talk to him tomorrow at work. But for now,” he pulled me closer and began swaying off beat to our ridiculous song, “we are going to share the beat of love.”
My laugh came out more as a bark. He was so cheesy, but I loved him for it. Only he could get me to laugh after such a night. We danced to several more of Michael Jackson’s songs, sharing the beat of love and some heated kisses before Peter whisked me upstairs. There we made our own kind of music.
Peter had this uncanny ability to easily drift off to sleep even when the day was emotion filled. I envied him that talent. Emotionally charged days made my mind race more than usual. With my head resting against my husband’s chest, listening to his pure heart, I wrestled with my thoughts. As much as I hated to admit it, Sarah could get to me. She had me thinking about past choices. I was no angel, unlike the man who held me so close and at times spoke my name in his sleep. I didn’t sell or make drugs like my mother-in-law implied, but I had stupidly tried a few when I was growing up. Thankfully, I hated the way they made me feel and never had any desire to try them again. Peter knew that. He had grimaced when I told him but tried to make me feel better by saying we all did dumb things when we were younger. I knew, though, that my carelessness way outdid his, and I didn’t like the thought of him being disappointed in me. Or questioning his choice—me.
My fingers lightly brushed his smooth chest while I wondered what he would think of his wife if he knew all the things I would go back and change if I could . . . and most especially the one I wouldn’t. A single tear fell on his warm skin, causing him to stir but not wake. At times I ached for him to know all of me, including the parts he might not like. Those parts who made me who I was, the complicated woman he loved in the here and now. The question was, would he still love me? Would he still choose me? Most of me believed he would, but there was enough self-doubt to make me keep pieces of myself in a secret vault. Like the Barbie under my bed when I was younger that I knew couldn’t be inherently bad, yet it would have deeply disappointed Cat and Ron to know I had chosen to be like the masses. It wasn’t that I wanted to be like everyone else; I only wanted to belong. That Barbie made me feel like I belonged with my classmates at the time. It was “normal.”
If I gave Peter the combination to my vault, would he still think I belonged with him after looking inside? Would he see that my choices weren’t inherently bad? That we didn’t see good and bad in the same way? The unknown answer kept me up at night. In these arms was the first time I knew I belonged somewhere. My family wasn’t on the moon, it was with Peter. My past choices shaped me. I would even say they helped me become a better person. Did Peter really need to know everything about me before we met? I didn’t need to know every piece of his past. Was I only trying to justify myself? I took in a deep breath and held it, trying to decide. I let it out slowly.
Peter’s arms tightened around me. “I love you,” he whispered in his sleep.
I squeezed my eyes shut. That was all the answer I needed.