Chapter Eleven
Vance
Dr. Sanders urged me to think about my allergic reaction to feelings. With Machlan crying all day long and Carter being just as noisy, I don’t have the time or energy to think about the assignment. I want to ace it, but how can I think about any of that when all I can hear is a wailing child.
On Monday, Mills finds a great excuse to leave the house—and the town. He needs to go to Portland and spend some time with Arden. I don’t want to interrupt their father and son bonding time, but I decide to offer them a ride. That was, of course, before Darren fucking Russell joined us. I spent the entire trip trying to avoid him, which was impossible.
However, the following day I start my routine an hour early so I can visit Dr. Sanders. I’m thankful that he’s not leaving town until tomorrow. I don’t think he’d appreciate me tracking him down and flying to him.
“Is this an emergency?” he asks when he opens the door.
“Yes?”
“Are you aware that it is six in the morning?”
“There’s this guy,” I start the conversation. “Mills and I were on our way to Portland, and he ruined our day.”
He opens the door. “By all means, let’s talk about this guy and how he ruined your day. Can I start the coffee maker before you tell me about him?”
“Sorry, I just don’t think I can come until later today, and this is—” I stop midsentence because I don’t know how to finish it.
“It’s frustrating,” I say after a long pause.
“There’s more than anger and frustration. Have you done any work around the emotional wheel?”
Is he fucking kidding me? I’m having a bad day, and he wants me to look at that child’s chart so I can what?
“Can you help me?”
He points at the coffee maker. The machine reminds me of Darren, who is trying to find the best machine. Something that will make espresso, but it’s not too hard to clean. He doesn’t want any of those coffee makers that have capsules. It’s bad for the environment. We spent two hours at the mall looking for some of the things that he needs. I don’t understand why he left his coffee maker in San Francisco.
There’s furniture that he’d like to add because he used to have a one-bedroom apartment. Now he has a three-bedroom house, he needs a different aesthetic.
Who the fuck cares about the aesthetic?
He didn’t buy anything, just browsed to get an idea of what he wanted to buy. Who does that? I use my time to plan my future, a battle…not furniture.
“How’s the new baby,” Dr. Sanders asks.
“Noisy,” I answer.
“Ah, the first days are rough for the little ones. Can you imagine having to adapt to a totally different world after spending forty weeks in a womb? The light isn’t intense. The noises aren’t too loud. It’s always nice and warm.”
“It sounds like the beginning of Goldilocks. Too big, too hot, too hard,” I say.
He opens the cupboard, grabs a mug, and then turns to me. “Would you like some coffee?”
“Sure,” I answer.
“Milk, sugar, black?”
“Black is fine.”
After he’s done pouring the coffee into the mugs and adding syrup to his, he sets them on the kitchen table. He grabs a tin from the counter and puts it in front of me. “Here, eat a cookie. It’s too early to prepare breakfast.”
“It’s not necessary. I just…I guess it’s unsettling to have so much noise in the house. I like silence. Machlan is quiet for only a couple of hours. Carter wasn’t that way.”
“Machlan is your other nephew, right?”
“Yes. I’m sure you think that I’m exaggerating.”
“It makes sense that you’re stressed. You don’t adapt easily. You like everything structured. I can see how this new change is affecting you. So yesterday, you decided to take a break, but you say things didn’t go as well as expected? There’s a guy too?”
“I didn’t have any expectations,” I correct him. “I planned on taking Mills to Portland, lend him my car, and have him pick me up whenever he was done. The new doctor wanted a ride.”
“New doctor?”
“Sometimes I feel like you don’t live here, doc,” I say. “He’s been trending on social media since he arrived.”
He chuckles. “If I didn’t like the gossip when I lived in the area, I like it even less now. Why don’t you try to stay away from it?”
“It’s hard to stay away from their radar when you’re all they want to know about.”
“Does that bother you?”
So fucking much.
“Would it bother you if everyone was watching your every move? Everything I say ends up on social media. I feel like I’m in an exhibit. We can’t speak freely because everything we say is posted within minutes. I enjoy the anonymity of a big city.”
“I would hate it. Maybe that’s one of the reasons I decided to go to an out-of-state college. To be away from everyone. Happy Springs is slightly bigger than Baker’s Creek. Plus, everyone is so busy working at the factory they don’t have time to gossip. I guess I’m grateful my parents lived there.”
That sounds so much better. I enjoy visiting Happy Springs, and we never have to worry about anything when we’re there. “Though I wish I could move there, we have to live in the mansion.”
“Because of the will stipulations. How does that make you feel?”
“Frustrated,” I answer.
“There you go with that word again,” he says. “There has to be one positive thing about this move.”
Is there? I can’t think of any because I haven’t been able to sleep well. I wish I could wear soundproof earphones, but I can’t because what if someone tries to break into the house. I have to protect my family. And that might be the answer to his question.
“My brothers and I are finding a way to become a family,” I say.
I picture the house and all the people who live there. It’s not just my annoying brothers. Blaire, Leyla, and Sophia live there too. There’s Grace, and my nephews. I even like Beacon’s bandmates.
“Well, not just between us, but also with their significant others and their children. I might not like that Machlan keeps me awake, but I would give my life for him. Same for the rest of the family.”
“Why do you think you’d do that?”
I blink a couple of times. “What do you mean?”
“Why would you give up your life for them? I’m sure it’s not because you share a last name. There has to be a deeper connection—or a feeling.”
“It’s as if you’re trying to give me clues,” I say, almost laughing. “You want me to say that I love them, don’t you?”
The amusement in his eyes doesn’t go unnoticed, but the only thing he asks is, “Do you?”
“I guess,” I respond.
“Do you need some Benadryl for the hives?” He laughs.
“That’s slightly unprofessional, Doc.”
“Right now, I’m not your therapist. I’m a friend, an acquaintance, or your friendly neighbor,” he says. “Think of me as a father listening to his son after he had a bad month.”