Love Me Back – Max McNown

Declan

“Y ou’re not supposed to see this yet,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck.

I feel sick for an entirely different reason now.

This makes me look like a crazy man—one who moves far faster than what’s considered normal.

Her eyes are wide as she slowly steps into the furnished guest room, complete with light pink walls and cream moldings. A white wooden daybed sits in the corner of the room, decorated with fluffy pink and purple pillows and a flower comforter to match.

There’s a small bookcase, full of books Maren and Sawyer thrifted, and a storage bench to store toys over a rainbow-shaped rug. A vanity with a small mirror sits against the wall, and in the final corner of the room, there’s a lilac bean bag chair. Addie runs her fingers along the sheer curtains bracketing the window on the far wall. On the outside sits a window box full of pink and purple speckled petunias.

I stand rooted in the doorway as she surveys the space. It’s too early for her to see this. The girls were right, this is moving way too fast, regardless of whether it feels right.

“Addie, I—” I step forward to explain myself, to make myself appear less insane, but the words fizzle off my tongue when she turns, and there are tears in her eyes.

She flings herself toward me, and I catch her as her arms wrap around my neck and she clings to me. Her breathing is ragged as she hyperventilates against my chest. I guide her to the small bed and sit her down.

Yeah, this was my worst idea to date.

My stomach roils, and I force back the discomfort and crouch down in front of Addie. Her hazels eyes are frantic and she sucks in shallow breaths, cheeks growing red from the lack of oxygen.

“Breathe, Addie.” I take long, deep breaths until she’s calmed down.

“I can take it all down,” I say hastily, “I didn’t mean to freak you out. I wouldn’t have—”

I’m scrambling for a way to explain this all away without her breaking up with me. Two months of seeing each other doesn’t usually mean decorating a room for your girlfriend’s daughter, but it feels right, no matter the speed.

It feels like Nora and Addie belong to me, and I belong to them.

And I’ve only ever felt that once in my life—with Alan.

“Don’t you dare ,” she hisses, features morphing to anger.

Uh…I’m confused. She doesn’t hate it?

Addie clutches a throw pillow tightly to her chest, eyes darting around the room with wonder.

“This is for her?”

“I…um…I wanted her to have a space where she could feel safe. If you ever came over…”

She cries in earnest now, fat tears trailing down her cheeks, staining the pillow a dark pink. It’s the kind of tears where I can’t tell if she’s simply overwhelmed and this is a response, or if she’s reconciling the fact she needs to break up with my crazy ass and she needs to cry it out first.

Needless to say, I think I might puke again.

My palms grow clammy as I take her hand in between mine. She doesn’t rip it away, which is a good sign.

“When I was growing up, I had this dream of what my bedroom would look like if I were adopted,” I admit in a low whisper. “Race car bed and posters of athletes on the wall. An area where I could read The Series of Unfortunate Events . Somewhere I could go to feel safe. I just wanted to offer her the same.”

It’s never been easy talking about my childhood, and the disappointment of each passing year knowing I had no permanent home or family. It wasn’t until Alan that birthdays were something to look forward to instead of dread. It stopped meaning one year closer to aging out of the system, and turned into a celebration.

Her hand trembles as it reaches toward my face and cups my jaw. “You are a good, kind man,” she chokes out between the tears, “She’ll love it.” Addie pauses and swipes a tear away. “We should talk.”

Often dreaded words, but she banishes any worry when he leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to the corner of my mouth. I pull back, and she jerks.

“I’ve been throwing up all morning,” I admit.

I’d love to kiss her, but I can’t promise my breath isn’t toxic, or I wouldn’t spread the stomach flu to her.

“Right.” She chuckles. “You don’t have to do all of this,” she says quietly. “It’s not your responsibility.”

This is her giving me the opportunity to run, but I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life, and even if it were to end, I wouldn’t regret a single choice, because Nora and Addie deserve the world.

“And if I wanted the responsibility and everything that comes with that choice? Would you call me mad?”

Surprise flickers over her features, like she can’t believe I’m voicing the words aloud. Truthfully, it shocks me, too. After years of dating and hoping I would meet someone who would turn my life upside down in magical ways, I never would have expected to be lucky enough to find two people who make me feel that way.

“I need you to understand what that choice means—for all of us. It’s not something you can change without someone getting hurt.” Her words are sure and confident, like she’s thought about this conversation. “It means sacrificing parts of yourself for her to make sure she can get as far in life as possible. It requires making tough decisions, even if she hates them, because it’s what you think is best. Making mistakes and living with them. Arguments about decisions and inevitable fights. If this is what you want,” she gestures to the room, a metaphor for what our lives could be together, “It’s a lifetime commitment, Declan. I need you to be sure this is what you want, because if you sign up only to leave us later, it will destroy us, and I don't know that I’ll be able to pick up the pieces.”

Her last sentence settles heavily in the air between us.

I open my mouth half a dozen times, searching for the right words to soothe her worries, but I can’t. I could say a million different things, but in the end, it would just be words. I’ll let my actions speak for me—prove to Addie I’m not going anywhere, not unless she forces me away.

“I understand,” I say finally. Her shoulders deflate, so I add, “Would you like to see the rest of the house?” She nods and follows me out of the room and back into the large entryway. “The kitchen is through here.”

I lead her down a small hallway, which opens up to a wide, open room. One side is occupied by a large kitchen, complete with sage cabinets and marble countertops. Cream tiles covered in different types of herbs make up the backsplash, and dark wooden stools sit beneath the kitchen island.

“Oh, wow.” Addie slowly walks over to the kitchen sink and the large window sitting above the counter. It looks out to the sprawling backyard, surrounded by old oak trees.

The other half of the room holds a long dining table with enough seats to host each of our friends, plus extras. She’s quiet as we enter the living room, and the new couch I bought comes into view. The large, navy blue L-shaped sectional sits against the wall, covered in cream and green pillows. An abstract piece of art matching the colors hangs on the wall above.

The television is mounted to the wall, and in the corner sits a small table and chairs with a rolling cart. Addie lifts a brow.

“An area for crafts,” I say nonchalantly, and move along to my favorite room of the house. I pull the sliding glass door leading into the enclosed sunroom, and Addie gasps, running to the corner of the room where my porch goose lives.

“I’ve always wanted one of these!” she says, picking up the bird. “Do you have the little outfits?”

“Uh, the last owners left it, so…no?”

“You have to get the raincoat!” she demands. “The yellow one with the boots to match your front door.”

Her smile is wide, and she brings light into every room we enter. She places the goose back in the corner and pats its head before re-entering the house.

“I’ve been slowly decorating since I bought the place in April,” I admit as she surveys the laundry and mudroom. “Hired Deon’s sister, who’s an interior designer, to help, and Maren ordered everything for me.”

Addie tilts her head. “Why did Maren order it all?”

“Her love language is acts of service, and it makes her feel needed.”

I’ve learned all of their love languages.

Her hand grazes my bicep in a soothing touch.

“Why don’t we eat some soup?” Addie suggests.

I nod and pull out bowls and spoons for us to eat. She divvies out between us and sits in the small breakfast nook. She watches like a hawk as I slowly eat, making sure my stomach doesn’t riot at the introduction. Once I’m sure I’m not going to be sick, I finish the rest of the chicken noodle and lean back in my seat.

She plays with the noodles in the broth. “I wasn’t saying I don’t want you to make that choice,” she says, the words barely audible, “because, selfishly, I do. But I don’t want you to resent the choice later.”

I trail a hand along her cheek. “I know.”

She glances down at her watch and sighs. “I have to get Nora from school.”

“Alright.” I walk her to the door, and she collapses in my arms. “Thank you for the soup.”

She nibbles on her lip, then pulls away, walking down the front steps. Halfway to her car, she turns around.

“I think it’s a beautiful dream,” she admits, then slides into her car and drives away.