Close to Home. Deborah Raney
of the building, so it would just be her and Aaron—and Wendy at the front desk, of course. Good. If he said anything about Tuesday, she’d let him have it.
When she got inside, she heard Aaron talking on the phone. She wiped the condensation from his Frappuccino with a tissue and went to place it on his desk.
He looked up from his cubicle and mouthed a “thank you” before turning back to the logistics timeline he was discussing with the client.
She was grateful and a little disappointed at the same time. It would be nice to get this conversation over with. She didn’t want to make “acceptance of my place in the Whitman family” a prerequisite for Aaron or any future boyfriend, but Aaron’s reaction would tell her a lot about where he stood on the topic.
She started to back out of his office, but before she turned, he waved at her, then motioned her to sit in the chair opposite his desk.
He made a lame excuse to the client and hung up. He opened his top desk drawer and slid a five-dollar bill across to her. “Hey, thanks for this.” Taking a long draw from the thick straw, he eyed her. “You said you didn’t want to do Tuesday. Does Wednesday work for you?”
“I didn’t say I didn’t want to. I said I already have a standing obligation.”
He hesitated a second too long. “Yeah, about that. Is that something that won’t ever go away?”
“If you mean am I willing to cancel my Tuesday night dinners with Tim’s family, then no, I’m not. Not yet anyway.” Not ever. “I pick up Tim’s— I pick up CeeCee, his grandmother, every week, and I don’t want to inconvenience anyone else. It’s right on my way . . .” She let the sentence trail, not fond of feeling like she had to explain herself.
Aaron leaned forward. “I like you, Bree. A lot. I think we’ve got a good thing going. But we have enough problems with the whole nepotism thing and—”
“Wait a minute.” She tilted her head, frowning. “Nepotism? I’m not related to you.”
“Okay, Miss Smarty-pants, maybe I used the wrong word. Whatever it’s called when you can’t date someone from your own office.”
“I believe Sallie would reference the non-fraternization policy. Which is nonexistent, by the way.”
He shrugged. “Whatever. That woman makes up policies whenever it suits her. But like I’ve been trying to say, we have enough to deal with given that, but if we also have to count out certain days of the week and . . . probably holidays? I assume you spend holidays with Tim’s family, too?”
“Sometimes. Usually,” she admitted, hating that it felt like a confession. “You know, Aaron, I really don’t think it’s fair that you even ask me to give up my time with the Whitmans.”
He looked at her hard, then shook his head. “You don’t get it, do you?”
“What?”
“How would you feel if the tables were turned?”
“What do you mean?” She was buying time. She knew what he meant.
“If I’d been married before and I still spent time with my wife’s family every week, how would that make you feel?”
She thought for a minute, trying to be honest with herself so she could be honest with him. “I think I’d understand. I know I wouldn’t ask you to give up a part of your life that was important to you.” She felt her defenses rising.
But he had a point. If the tables were turned, she would feel like he was leaving her out of a significant part of his life. She might even feel like he was ashamed of her, or hiding something from his wife’s—well, this imaginary—family. Like you’re doing with the Whitmans. “Would it make you feel better if I invited you to go with me? To the Whitmans’?” She regretted the words the minute they were out. She wasn’t ready for this.
But he shook his head adamantly. “No. That would not make me feel better. Most couples have enough trouble keeping up with two families, let alone three! Besides, how could they not compare me to their hero son? And I’d come up wanting big-time.”
“They wouldn’t do that, Aaron.” But even as she said it, she knew they would. How could they help it? They absolutely would. So where did that leave her? What was she supposed to do?
“If I’m going to be a part of your life, Bree, then I don’t like you having these . . . boxes I’m not allowed into.”
She hadn’t seen that coming. “Aaron, I’m not sure I’m ready for—”
“To let me into your life at all? Or just with the Whitmans?”
“But you don’t want to be let into that ‘box.’ ” She chalked quotation marks in the air. “That’s what I’m hearing you say.”
He stared past her for a moment. “I guess I don’t want you to have that box, period. I want you to be willing to get rid of it to make room for me in your life.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You wouldn’t ask me to abandon Tim’s family, would you?”
He cocked his head. “You make it sound like they’re totally dependent on you.”
“That’s not what I meant at all.”
“What do you mean, Bree? Maybe you need to answer that question before you’re ready to have a relationship—with me or with anybody else.” He held her gaze as he pushed his chair back and rose. “I need to go meet a client.”
She watched him walk through the office. She raised a hand to her cheek and felt the heat emanating from her skin. He may as well have slapped her.
Maybe she wasn’t ready for this after all. When she’d first been able to even bring herself to think about a time when she might fall in love again and remarry, she’d fantasized that any man she could love would have to love Tim’s family. Would have to accept them and understand that they were and always would be a part of her life. She’d forgotten about that in the—was it excitement?—of falling for Aaron. But maybe this was God’s way of showing her she simply wasn’t ready to have someone new in her life. Or maybe it’s His way of saying, it’s time to move on. Away from the Whitmans.
She raked her fingers through her hair. Why did this have to be so confusing?
But maybe it didn’t have to be. Maybe Tim’s family would be just fine with the idea of her dating again. She felt sure they’d like Aaron if they ever met him. Maybe even be excited for her to have found a friend.
Or maybe it would crush them and make them feel like she’d betrayed them all.
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