Page 79 of The Wrong Track

I nodded. “That’s what she does to you. And now you did it to me.”

“I just wanted to fix it for you,” he said. “I saw how I could help and…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

I hesitated to ask, but I did want to know. “Did she answer? Did Lily write back to you?”

“Not yet. Remy, I’m sorry,” he told me again, and the baby and I made our exit. We listened to him cleaning up our dinner and read together until he came to join us, lowering himself to the floor next to the rocking chair. He put his palm over Ella’s round tummy like I sometimes did when I needed a little comfort. He only listened until I finished the story, complete with the monkey noises that he claimed the baby enjoyed. I had to admit that she did.

We put her down and Tobin lingered before he followed me into our room, where I’d spread the red and white quilt that his grandma had made over our bed.

“Remy, I’m sorry.”

“I know you are,” I said. I got into bed, then remembered I needed to brush my teeth. “I know you’re sorry, but I’m still really, really mad at you,” I told him as I went into the bathroom and grabbed my toothbrush. It felt kind of good, I thought, as I used way too much paste because I could. I could use as much as I wanted, except I wouldn’t go crazy because it was really expensive. It felt good that I could be mad at Tobin, too, because he was wrong about something and he deserved it. I wasn’t scared for us to fight, because I knew that we would make up and be ok.

“I’m really sorry,” he called softly from the other room.

“I know,” I said as I walked toward the bed. I pulled the quilt up around me. It was cold here at night even now, when it was pretty much the beginning of summer.

“I know that was wrong and I shouldn’t have done it. I shouldn’t have interfered.” He paused. “Are you going to forgive me?”

“Not quite yet.” I turned over to look at him. “I’m very angry.”

“Just so you understand why I did it,” Tobin said. “I want to make sure that you do.”

“Yeah, I get it. You think that I can’t handle my own problems. It’s more of the same, like Hazel making those nasty smoothies because she doesn’t trust that I know how to feed myself, and Monica asking me to share my life plan so she can review it, and your mom looking in our refrigerator to see if we have enough groceries. I understand it but I don’t like it. It makes me feel like a child.”

“Like when you leave notes on my plate so that when I come in late, I know how long to put my dinner in the microwave? Or how you put my nicest t-shirts in the front of the drawer so I’ll wear them more? Or that I know you cleaned my car, vacuumed it and wiped down the seats, because you think it’s dirty?”

“It was,” I said, but now it wasn’t because yes, I’d cleaned it.

“Do you know that Haze makes those same smoothies for Hatch? She watches him drink them, too.”

I remembered that he preferred smoothies with ice cream and milk, as did I.

“Did you know that Monica made me a life plan? She and I filled it out together. She was worried about me when my dad died and she wanted to make sure I was on the right track. And my mom has always checked my refrigerator. Before you moved in, she used to drop by with meals, too.”

“You told me before that you cooked your own food,” I pointed out.

“I did. Mostly. Sometimes,” Tobin qualified. “I didn’t want you to know what an idiot I was.”

“You’re not.” Even though I was still mad, I reached to touch his face. “You’re just really, really bad at cooking. It’s like poison.”

“I know. So I try to do other things for you instead, because you do so much for me. That’s why I wrote to your sister. I want to help you, and smooth out problems, and make everything in your life easy, but not because I don’t trust you or I think you can’t do things for yourself.” He moved his forehead to rest against mine. “I want to because that’s what you do when you love someone. I love you.”

“You do?”

“I wanted to marry you,” he said. “Not only for Ella. I wanted to marryyou, because I need you in my life. I need us as a family.” He pulled me close, enfolding me in his arms and legs. “I love you.”

I settled into my spot against his neck. It was pretty hard to be mad when someone said that.

“Can you breathe? Are you crying, Remy?”

“I love you, too,” I told him. “I love you.” And I thought that maybe Tobin might also have been crying. We held each other like that, me tucked against him, until we fell asleep.

The sun creeping through the blinds woke me the next morning. I had planned to make a roman shade with a thick liner for this room but I hadn’t gotten around—

I sat up straight and looked at the baby monitor. It was on, the green light illuminated. But Ella hadn’t cried for the whole night! I slipped out of the bed and to her door, which opened totally quietly due to all the grease that Tobin had applied to its hinges. The baby was in her crib, and when I knelt next to her, I could see her little chest expand with her breaths. She was fine; she was still asleep.

But Tobin was awake when I ran back into our room. He was sitting up and looking at the window and the old clock with the glowing numbers like he was confused. “She slept through!” I said. “She’s sleeping right now!”