“Just the stars.” I smile, and his fingers dig into my sides, making me laugh. Then I whisper, “When I left, I would sometimes lie outside at night and look up at the stars, wondering if you were doing the same thing.”
“Every chance I got,” he says, causing tears to sting my nose. “But now, I have you here with me, so I don’t ever have to wonder if we’re looking at the same stars again.”
“You’re gonna make me cry,” I complain, and he kisses my temple then wraps his arms tighter around me. “Are you excited to see your family?” I ask as he leads me inside and back up to bed, where he drapes me across his chest.
“Yeah, since they all moved, I don’t see them enough.”
“Have you ever thought of moving closer to them?” I ask, tracing random patterns onto his skin.
“No, I love this town and I love this house. I don’t ever see myself leaving.”
“Oh.”
“Are you having second thoughts about being here?” he asks quietly, but there is no mistaking the worry and agitation in his tone.
“No.” I run my hands over his arms that have tightened almost painfully around me, trying to relax him. “It was just a question,” I say, smiling as he grunts loosing his arms. Laying there I listen to his breathing even out as he falls asleep, and then I do the same.
*
What I wouldn’t give to go back to last night, lying in bed with Austin. Really, I would rather be anywhere, even jail, than sitting at Austin’s beautiful new dining table with his mom, dad, his sister Bre, and her husband.
Uncomfortable is an understatement for what I’m feeling. Since the moment I arrived thirty minutes ago, there have been few words spoken, but I guess you really don’t need words when you can see every single unsaid statement written on each of their faces.
Shawn, Bre’s husband, looks about as uncomfortable as I feel, as he keeps his head down and his eyes on the plate in front of him. His wife hasn’t taken her eyes off me for more than a few seconds, like she expects me to either wig out or disappear into thin air in front of her eyes.
Austin’s mom, who greeted me with a very quiet ‘hello’, which felt more like a dismissal, has been looking at her son like he invited the devil to dine with them, while Austin’s dad has attempted to keep the mood light with small talk.
“Austin said you bought Larry’s office space. Is that right?” Bruce, Austin’s dad, asks, taking a drink from his beer.
“I close in a week, if all the paperwork goes through” I explain lightly, hearing a hum from Shayla, Austin’s mom.
“Are you sticking around this time?” she asks after a moment.
There it is—the giant elephant in the room has just sat down at the table and joined us for dinner.
“That’s the plan,” I say quietly, feeling Austin’s hand on my thigh tighten almost painfully, like he also expects me to run away.
“Hmmm,” she hums again, looking between her son and me.
“That’s new for you, the whole sticking around thing, isn’t it?” Bre asks, while her husband turns to look at her, muttering something under his breath.
“It’s just a question,” she replies, frowning at him.
The urge to get up from the table is so strong that my muscles bunch in anticipation. I fight it back, taking a drink of my wine, trying to avoid gulping the whole glass down. I don’t need them to think I’m a lush, on top of being a flake.
I know they have a right to be concerned, but I still hate feeling the way I do, like every fear I ever had at eighteen, every choice I made, even unselfishly, has caused this.
“Watch it,” Austin growls as I set my wine glass on the table, trying not to let them see the way my hand is shaking.
“It’s okay,” I say, resting my hand over his on my thigh and intertwining my fingers between his. “I love your son, your brother,” I say, knowing that it’s stupid to say it to them, when I haven’t even told Austin how I feel about him. But I feel stuck and hope that if I lay my cards on the table, they will understand just how much he means to me.
“I know I acted foolishly when I left, but I was young and never wanted him to have to choose between me and the rest of his life. I was afraid that one day I was going to wake up and he wasn’t going to be there, either in following his path for the future or having that dream rip us apart, because I forced him into a life he didn’t want to have.” I lower my eyes to the table, mumbling quietly, “I’m sorry for hurting him.”
His hand on my thigh tightens almost painfully and I feel tears spring to my eyes. “Sorry,” I whisper, get up from the table, and pass the couches that Austin’s parents delivered. The dark blue velvet material looks amazing against the backdrop of the view, but I don’t see it as I storm by, because my eyes are full of tears.