Knox: Good night, Avery. Regardless if we sweep it under the rug, it doesn’t diminish the chemistry. We want you. Don’t ever forget that.
There are no more dots underneath his name, and my stomach twists all over the place. I turn off my light, but sleep never takes me, and when my alarm sounds at six thirty the next morning, I’m both tired and grumpy because he wasn’t wrong. I’m a woman, and I want them both very much.
I’m hauling my tired and annoyed ass in from my garage, seething mad over my latest line being turned down on account of someone who knows nothing of today’s styles saying it’s too chic and popular. Little girls understand fashion, and all my designs follow the latest trends. Girls don’t want their dolls to look like their mama’s doll collection. I’ve been in this market long enough to know what the fuck I’m doing. And I must be mad because fuck isn’t a word I say, even if I think it in my mind.
I’m stomping into my house, still a little put off by Knox’s honesty at three in the morning. I cross over to my walkway leading to my front door, unlock it, and slam the door behind me.
A loud voice streaks through the house. “Who pissed in your Fruity Pebbles today?” It’s my sister, and sure as shit, I’m not in the mood for her teenage angst. I cross through the living room and grab a bottle of wine from the rack I moved in there a couple of days ago. I’m over the threshold to the kitchen to find not only the scrutinizing eyes of my sister but also the handsome azure blue ones of Rowan and the softer bluish-gray eyes of Knox.
I can’t form the words because Knox’s text has stayed with me all day. I simply reply, “I’ve had a hell of a day and can barely keep my eyes open. I think this will be my dinner.”
I bypass him and Rowan, picking up my red wineglass, the one with the large rim. When I turn around to uncork the wine, Rowan has already done it for me. “Here you go,” he offers, and I grab glasses for them, too.
“Help yourself. I’m going to rest my feet in my favorite room in the house. Come join me if you’d like. Not sure if I’ll be good company, but you never know. With this…” I lift the bottle before I continue, “I just may be.”
Both follow me into the room I coin as my favorite, and my sister somehow disappears, knowing to leave me be.
“So, what was wrong with your day?” Rowan asks, sitting in a chair opposite me.
“Well, first I didn’t sleep very well, but then I went to blows with my bosses for the next line for this particular doll company we’re contracted with. They think my designs are too trendy, but research shows little girls from three to ten know what’s in and out with fashion. So now I’m back at the drawing boards, literally.” They both look at one another, and I don’t give them much time to respond. “I know it’s not fast-paced LA or New York fashion, but my work matters to me, and I’m just as passionate about my job as you two are.” Oh, I’m in bitch mode today.
“No, it’s not that.” Rowan is the first to speak. “Your job is important. You create happiness for kids. You’re a toy maker—our toy maker. We would never disrespect you in this way.”
I’m both a drama queen and a bitch at the moment. “I sound like the world’s biggest bitch. I’m sorry, guys. I’m a little on edge.”
Rowan grabs my fingers. “No, you’re not a bitch. You’re passionate, and we should all be lucky enough to have jobs that provoke that sort of hunger to do what we love.”
I look down at his hands, still holding my own. He stops immediately as though he has more to say. “We wanted to check on you.”
He doesn’t say why, and I understand he won’t. Not with what Knox texted me last night. “And anyway,” Knox begins, “we decided we like eating dinner with you and angsty emo girl. We ordered Thai, and because we know your favorites, it’s on its way.”
Neither man continues any conversation about ménages or committed triads. In my favorite room in the house, we continue to enjoy one another’s company, and I realize it’s fitting since they are easily becoming two of my favorite people I love spending time with.
8
Knox
We scared Ave the other night. It wasn’t our intention, and we haven’t given her time to stew on it because we’ve continued to be fixtures in her life. We’ve learned quickly how to come up with excuses to be in her presence—anything from needing to borrow a stick of butter to sharing a funny joke with her or making sure she’s fed.
But I need more than just a glimpse of her. I’ve asked in a text to save us from a high caloric intake of supper. I’ve made enough lasagna to feed twenty. I’ve not done well at cooking for just Ro and myself, and within five minutes, she returns my text.
Avery: You’re asking me to help you out? Yeah, I can suffer through someone feeding me supper. But it’ll be only me. Whit is out with her best friend. And thanks. I’ll bring the wine.
Avery loves her wine, but I’ve come to know more about her besides this little trait. She bites the top of her lip when she’s embarrassed. She loses her train of thought when Ro and I show affection to one another. It’s as though she’s imagining herself between us. And believe me, Ro and I are imagining ourselves on either side of her, too.
I’ve also noticed a change in Rowan. He doesn’t pull away from me in Avery’s presence. He doesn’t mind touching her; he craves it. And when she places her fingers on him, which she does quite often, it doesn’t make him yank away from her.
Ro and I don’t talk about Avery much even though there’s a need to be with her as often as we can. After I explained her concerns from our texting at three in the morning, he tried to reassure me that she wasn’t saying no forever, but priorities are what they are. It was a simple textbook reason for Ro, but for me, I’ve never been great at delayed gratification.
The door opens from the backyard, our way of coming and going from our home. My head pops up, busy with my homemade Caesar salad dressing, but my stare falls on the long dark mocha brown hair in a skintight red sweater and an emerald green blazer, making her look like the Christmas miracle I believe she is.
“Hey, honey, I’m home.” Her banter and the sparkle of her emerald greens cause my heart to thump as it does when Ro is in the room. And I wished this was her home.
“Welcome home, sweetheart.” My return is light and airy, but the way her four words make me feel causes me to want to bring her in for a hurried kiss, swing her over my shoulders, and run upstairs to ready her for Ro and myself the second he walks over the threshold of our house.
“Heaven have mercy. I swear you’re going to fatten me up, Knox.” She begins to sing with the Christmas carols I have playing in the background, and with “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas”, her voice is beautiful. She keeps on surprising me.
My gaze is fixed on Avery, and I forget what I’m doing. Breaking my contact with her so I won’t freak her out, I casually cock my head to the side and with a shrug of my shoulders, I say, “I’ve been cooking like this for Ro for years. I’ve not fattened him up yet.”