Page 153 of Dream House
I mean, sure, she’d definitely try to convert her to Catholicism. And she would have strong and vocal feelings about Pen’s occult practices.
But any woman who could get me so tangled up Mom would adore. Because it would give her hope.
Besides that, Stella has Maisy. Yeah, Stella’s not married. Has never been married, but for that fact, Mom would solidly place Stella in the Pro-Life camp, whether or not she actually is. And Mom would love Maisy, too. Like one of her own grandbabies.
Who wouldn’t?
But my mother would also welcome Maisy with open arms because she’d take her as proof that if Stella had one baby, she’d want lots more.
With me.
And if Mom knew I’d already fallen for Stella? And, why not admit it, for Maisy too? That would settle it. She’d be ready to hand over the Bienvenue name to both of them.
I want Stella to be mine, but not that way. Not in that Old World way that makes her change her name, adopt my faith—a faith that is pretty shaky as far as faith goes—promise to raise any children we have accordingly. Including shaming them for the pleasure in their bodies, or how they might identify their gender, or who they might love.
Stella twitches in her sleep as though she’s flinching from some dreamworld blow. A little frown knits between her brows. It’s so adorable, I’m tempted to kiss it. Instead, I press my palm to her back and rub in slow, soothing circles until her brow smooths.
She mutters something that sounds likepancakes.
I grin in spite of myself. Of course, Stella dreams about cooking breakfast. Taking care of us is on her mind even when she’s unconscious.
Her bedside lamp still burns, and I haven’t been able to bring myself to turn it off, but maybe she’ll sleep better if I do. Moving slowly, I reach up and pull the little chain switch, plunging her room in darkness.
When my eyes adjust, I see that her illuminated alarm clock marks the time at 2:12 a.m. I heard voices a while ago, but the house is quiet now.
Still, I know I won’t sleep.
In fact, I shouldn’t be here at all.
Because I know what I’ve done is risky at best. Downright wrong at worst.
Promise me you won’tset up another girl for heartbreak and humiliation like that.That’s what Mom asked of me after she found out Zoe and I had split.Don’t live like man and wife until you’re ready to be man and wife.
I made no such promises, but when I look down at Stella’s peaceful silhouette, I wonder if I should have.
Is she dreaming about pancakes and a Sunday breakfast where we wake up together, make coffee, cook plate after plate of short stacks for the whole family?
Family?
The word shouldn’t fit, but fuck me if it doesn’t.
And if Stella wakes up to find me here beside her, will she see us that way? Will she be another woman humiliated and heartbroken?
The thought churns my stomach.
In the darkness, my will caves and I press a kiss to her forehead and hold her just a little tighter in my arms.
I don’t want to leave her bed.
I don’t want to leave Stella.
But if she wakes up alone in the morning, she’ll never expect more from me than I can give.
Hating myself, I slip out of her bed, dress quietly, shut her door softly behind me, and climb the stairs. A line of light shines under Nina’s door. I make out her muffled voice, followed by Tyler’s lower, slower one.
The rest of the adults in this house probably already know what we’ve been up to, but I have no desire to answer for my actions right now, so like a coward, I step softly down the hall and close my door without a sound.
And for hours, I stare at the ceiling, my insides writhing like snakes.
