8. Mae: Shared memories

Mae – Shared memories

Chapter eight

I roll down the window of Dean's truck, letting the cool air blow through my hair. Right now, Dean's driving us to Bruce's farm, the guy Dwight recommended we visit. Dean called Bruce a couple of days ago, and now we're on our way to get our queen and other ‘worker' and ‘drone' bees. I've learned more about bees over these last few days than my entire time at school. I still can't believe I'm doing this, with Mina's allergy and all, but Dean has been so helpful calling these people, as well as his generally calming presence, that it seems silly not to at least try.

"Okay, just so I don't sound like a complete idiot once we get there," I say, interrupting the comfortable silence. "The workers are the queen's daughters, right?"

"Yes," Dean says, shooting me a smile that is way too charming.

I run a hand over my shirt. It's the first time in days that I haven't been covered in mud or hay. So, if I tried on a couple of different dresses before settling on a comfortable combo of jeans and a blouse, it's only because it's been a while since I had the afternoon off to dress up nicely.

"And then the drones are the males that only show up every once in a while…"

"I think only in the spring," Dean confirms.

"Right. Their whole purpose is to search out virgin queens and impregnate them."

"By George, I think she's got it!" Dean's laugh is deep, and it does things to me.

I sit back in pride, trying to ignore the stirrings of heat in my belly. We're surrounded by beautiful farmland, and the sun glows in the baby blue sky. If we weren't running an errand for our families, this might feel like a date.

"It's so funny. If you had told me that this move would come with such intricate bee knowledge, I would've thought you were crazy," I say.

"It is interesting to see the twists and turns that life throws at you, isn't it?"

I stare at Dean as he drives. The sun is shining beautifully through the open roof of his car, causing the silver strands in his hair to sparkle.

"What is it?" he asks, catching me staring at him.

"Oh, nothing." I try to hide my blush by turning my head to look out of the window.

"Are you sure? It kind of seemed like you were looking at me longingly." Dean's voice is teasing, but his words are hitting a little too close to home. Was I staring at him longingly? Dean Cornel is probably one of the hottest men I've ever known, but it's not like I'm pining after him, right? I'm just enjoying the view.

I lightly punch him in the shoulder. "You wish. I have been wondering about something, though."

"What's that?"

"Dylan's mother. Neither of you ever talk about her."

Dean takes a deep breath in. Suddenly, I feel like I've stepped into something I wasn't supposed to.

"Shoot. I'm sorry if this is too much to talk about." I wave my hand in the air, trying to physically brush off the question. "Forgive me. I'm just nosey."

"No, it's okay. You opened up to us, so I owe it to you to do the same."

"Not if it makes you uncomfortable." Just because I'm at a place to talk about my past and losses doesn't mean he is. I know that not everyone grieves the same. Sometimes, it takes people longer to heal.

"My ex-wife's name is Anna." Dean looks the same as before, casually driving down the country road. But his voice cracks slightly over her name, and something inside me aches for him.

"And she left us. Years ago." His hands tighten on the wheel. "For someone much younger."

"Younger? I mean, you have to be what? Thirty-four?"

The crinkles in the corner of their eyes show themselves as he smiles.

"Thirty-eight."

"Really? Wow. So, only two years from forty. Impressive."

"What is? How hot I still look for an old man?" He shoots me a grin. His smile still doesn't quite reach his eyes, but there's less tension now in his shoulders.

Of course, that's what I meant. But I don't want to admit that.

"No, you just seem so…youthful. Especially with Dylan. I saw the two of you throwing around that football the other night."

"Oh, so you were spying on me?"

"No!" Again, heat rises to my cheeks. "I was just doing the dishes and happened to see you."

"Mmm."

Internally, I'm so confused—I'm both attracted and annoyed by his arrogance.

"But anyway, yeah. That's the story with her."

His words snap me back out of my head. "Oh, and she never comes around?"

"Not really."

"That has to be hard." It was hard for me, too, at first, when I realized that Carlos never intended to stick around and be a father. Over time, I've learned that it was probably for the best. Mina doesn't deserve someone who won't give her one hundred percent.

"Not for me. I mean, her presence only reminds me of the fact that I have failed a marriage."

"Well, if she left, it kind of sounds like she was the failure."

"I suppose we both could take some fault for that."

"Yeah? What did you do?" I've seen how Dean acts around his son firsthand. The ways he steps up to support his family. I can't imagine any woman asking for more than that. I know that's all I would need.

"Well, I wasn't much of a man. A provider, I mean."

I can't help but roll my eyes at that. "Ugh, those gender stereotypes are so archaic. I've done just fine ‘providing' for my family."

"Yeah, but Anna wasn't as independent as you are. She dreamt of being that stay-at-home wife who met me in my suit with a tray of freshly baked muffins at the end of the day kind of woman."

"So, why didn't that happen?"

"I followed a dream she didn't approve of."

"Which was?"

"To be a painter."

A painter? Never in a million years did I see him, Mr. Moneybags, wanting to be an artist. My shock must be written on my face because he looks at me with a raised eyebrow after a couple of seconds.

"What?"

"I—I'm just surprised. That doesn't seem like you at all." And yet, the picture forming in my mind of Dean, in a paint-stained apron, his arms bulging as he carefully strokes his paintbrush across the canvas…

"Well, it isn't anymore," Dean's voice pulls me from my fantasy and brings me right back to the car. "That's kind of the point. After she left with Ricardo, or whatever his name is, I realized I had to step up. So, I finally gave in to the offer my dad had made to me for years about joining his company. Now, I actually run it."

"But are you happy?" I can't imagine development brings him as much joy as being an artist.

"Dylan seems to be."

"That's not what I asked. Of course, our focus as parents is largely on our kids, but you have to think about your own happiness, too."

"Well, I guess…no. No, I'm not happy." Dean lets out a heavy breath. "Wow. I haven't admitted that to anyone. Not even to myself."

"That's great," I say. "I mean, not that you're unhappy, but that you're starting to recognize it."

"Honestly, I can't remember being as excited about anything—other than Dylan taking his first steps and saying his first words—since we started talking about these bees," Dean says, I think to detract us from his admission of unhappiness.

I laugh because, weirdly enough, I'm pretty excited about them, too. But underneath I'm also savoring the closeness of sharing difficult memories and emotions. What is happening to our relationship, I don't know, but I'm being pulled closer and closer to this man. And I think I may have to share THAT soon as well.

But I break off this line of thought with: "And you initially voted ‘nay' to them."

"Hey! So, did you!" He shoots back, a charming smile spreading across his face.

Dean's hand reaches out to give my thigh a friendly shove, and I can feel the heat of his large palm through my jeans. I really, really need to cut back on the late-night romance reading.

"True. But I was just worried about Mina. When Mina came bursting through Dean's door screaming about bees, I nearly had a heart attack."

"Understandably."

"But I read up on that suit that Dwight gave her, and I guess it's helped a lot of people like her successfully manage colonies. Although, I'm still planning to stockpile the farm with epi-pens just in case something goes wrong."

"That's a great idea." Dean seems to genuinely mean that.

"I'm honestly just so proud of her that she even wants to deal with this. I can't imagine what it would be like to have something with a big old stinger that you're allergic to flying around your face."

"I remember when Dylan was younger and after the first anaphylaxis episode, I was so scared whenever he tried a new food."

"I can imagine."

For so long, it's just been Grandpa Bob, Mina, and me that I've forgotten how nice it is to talk to another parent about these things. Sometimes, I feel crazy about how much I worry about Mina. And not just her allergies. Everything. Every time I blink, it seems like she's getting a little bit older. But talking about this with Dean comforts me. Maybe it's knowing that he's facing the same worries, or maybe it's his steady presence and deep, warm voice, but this ride with him today has made me feel calmer than I've felt in ages.

We pull up to Bruce's shop, and I see Dean breathe deeply, relax his shoulders, and close his eyes for a minute. It seems like it's been a while since he's felt comfortable enough to unload on someone.

If I'm right, I'm happy it was me he trusted to help carry the burden of it.

"Ready?" he asks.

"Yep….. nope. Actually, no." I'm not sure why, but I lean over and soundly kiss his mouth. He draws back, eyes wide in what looks like panic. But just as quickly he pulls me back and responds by deepening the kiss, his hands circling and massaging the back of my neck.

It seems like way too soon, but we part and stare at each other until Dean whispers the inevitable question. "Mae, what was that for?"

Talk about a buzz kill, pardon the bee reference, I think to myself. Now I'm embarrassed beyond words. What was that for? It's more like what was I thinking?

"I'm, I'm sorry. I just felt like it was….. Never mind." I jump out and race up the driveway in search of bees. My face is bright red, I just bet. Dean catches up to me with his long strides and again asks. He tries to grab my arm and questions me with a "Mae, wait." But I just pull away and run. How am I going to pretend that didn't happen? I'm so embarrassed. But, my, that was the best kiss I have ever had. Now I need to put it aside and try to carry on like nothing happened. Well, it sounds like nothing did on his end. "What was that for?" he said. Guess it was just a shock to him and nothing more. What a jerk I am.

***

"We've got them!" I call out to the kids and Grandpa Bob once we get back. "Mina! Get your suit on."

She glances over at Dylan and rolls her eyes. But I give her my patented ‘mom look,' and she goes inside. I don't care how stupid she thinks she looks in it. My baby needs to be safe at all times with these bees.

Just don't look at Dean and you'll be fine. Act normal. And for goodness sake, don't get close enough for him to touch you. My thoughts are like index cards, trying to flip their way back to two hours ago when I was holding on to my sanity. I've just got to pretend, no, believe, that the kiss meant as little to me as it obviously did to Dean. Deep breath, Mae. Deep breath.

Gratefully only seconds later, I hear the now-familiar sound of Dwight's old car approaching.

"The bees told me that they were here," he says, after getting out of the car. "I figured you might want my help getting everything started."

Well, I have to admit, it certainly does seem like he has a ‘spidey sense' when it comes to bees. I don't understand it, but I honestly don't think I want to.

"Hi, Dwight," I greet him. "Yes, that would be great. Especially the first time. I want to make sure we don't do anything wrong."

He gets his suit out from the backseat and puts it on.

Dean and Dylan go inside their house, and Grandpa Bob and I do the same before emerging in similar garb. Hopefully, this will make Mina feel less self-conscious about her outfit.

"All right. Let's do this," Dwight says, excitement lacing his voice.

He directs Dean and Dylan to carry the crates we got from Bruce.

As he did before, he gives us an introduction to the supplies we'll be using, but this time, he's able to show us firsthand what to do.

Then, he goes over the upkeep we'll have to do daily. It takes about two times longer than it needs to because Dwight keeps stopping to add in a bee joke or gets off track with bee-related facts. Eventually, he finishes his lecture and tells us he'll be back in three weeks to see if any honey is ready to be collected.

"So, there's nothing else to do?" I ask Dwight.

"Nope, you just wait for them to do their magic."

"Well, all right then," I say. I'm glad that it doesn't seem that Mina will need to spend too much time around the bees.

Dwight leaves, and we all walk back toward the house. Grandpa Bob asks Dylan if he's interested in helping him in the barn. Grandpa seems to have taken a liking to the Cornel boys, but he's always been good about taking in strays.

"Hey! What about me?" Mina interjects.

"We have to shovel poop," Grandpa warns.

"So? I can do that."

I'm so proud of Mina's toughness. But I, on the other hand, cannot stomach such a task. It's already enough that she somehow managed to convince me to let Boris, the giant dog, stay in our house. He more than just stays, too—he curls up with her in bed every night. My only requirement is that she needs to clean her sheets every few days and thoroughly shower every morning. The thought of having a child that smells like dog is more than I can handle.

"While they're doing that…" Dean says, interrupting my thoughts.

"Yeah?"

"How does dinner at my place sound tonight?"

Okay, I am right. That encounter was absolutely nothing to Dean. If I am going to continue to live next door and manage our family encounters, I need to do the same. It is now forgotten. It never happened, Mae. I'm telling myself things I know I cannot do but I'm going to try my best.

So, I answer: "You finally bought groceries?"

He laughs. "You make it sound like I'm some kind of degenerate who can't go to a store and buy food."

"Well, if the shoe fits…"

He gently pushes me away by the shoulder and I casually take a step back. Hope he doesn't hear my groan.

"I'm just kidding. Do you want me to help?" My heart thunders in my chest as soon as I ask the question. It's out of my mouth before I realize it. Our families have been having dinner together more often than separately as of late. I wonder if that's normal for people who have only known each other for a couple of weeks.

"If you don't mind," Dean says. I'm not used to cooking on such an old stove."

"According to Dylan, you don't have much experience with modern stoves either."

He playfully shoves me again, and my heart, racing in my chest, skips a beat.

I go to my house first to get out of the bee suit and take my hair down from the low bun I'd put it in. Shaking it out, I walk over to his place.

"So, what are we making?" I ask, when I enter the kitchen. It's amazing what he's done to the place in the last couple of days. It's bright and, while still very masculine, has a warm, lived-in touch. The boys are still missing some essentials, but once they get fully moved in, it'll really look like a home.

"Placinta cu Branza," Dean says, answering my question.

I certainly wasn't expecting that. "I'm sorry, what? Are you having a stroke?" I get closer to him and pretend like I'm analyzing the symmetry of his face. He laughs, but the joke's on me. Dean Cornel looks even more handsome up close.

"It's my great-grandmother's recipe. She was originally from Romania. I think she told me that it loosely translates to cheese pie."

"Oh. Well, I can definitely get on board with cheese pie. Cheese and pie are two of my favorite things!" Am I talking too loudly? I feel like I am. But Dean looks so relaxed in his kitchen, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows and his silver eyes glinting with mirth, that I can't help but think up other reasons we might be making dinner together. Reasons that end with him and I in an embrace afterward.

"Just to warn you, it takes a while to make, but each step is pretty easy."

"Great. Tell me what to do first."

"Well, there are only four ingredients. Actually, five. If you follow my bunica's recommendation."

"Okay," I say.

"So, traditionally, there's only feta, ricotta, puff pastry, and an egg."

"And what is Bunica's special addition?" I ask.

"Just a little sprinkle of dill."

"Ooh, okay. Yum!" I love dill. "We should do it Bunica's way. Never question a grandmother." Dean grins at my words, and my stomach flips at the way his smile makes his lips curl.

I watch Dean roll out the pastry, and I'm starting to think that Dylan may have been underestimating his dad's cooking skills.

As I'm mixing the cheeses, I accidentally elbow Dean in the ribs as he moves to clean a dish in the sink next to me.

He grunts, so I know that it hurts.

"Oh my gosh. I'm so sorry," I say, stopping what I'm doing and putting my hands on his shoulders. "Are you okay?"

And then his gray eyes look up at me, gaze moving from my eyes down to my lips, and my heart feels like it's going to jump out of my chest. Reflexively, I watch, transfixed, as Dean's eyes shift from silver to black as his pupils get larger. He presses himself further into my space, his head tilting down, and…

"What's for dinner? It smells really good." Dylan suddenly says, as he bursts through the front door. Mina follows soon after. It's like she's become his permanent shadow as of late.

I bring my hands behind my back, like I've just touched something scalding, which I have, and clasp them together as if nothing happened.

"Oh! Bunica's Placinta cu Branza. Nice," Dylan says, bouncing over to us.

"Yeah, buddy. It seems like you may have been underselling your dad's ability to cook," I say.

"This doesn't count. He made this thousands of times as a kid," Dylan pouts, and I can't help but laugh at his expression. He looks like a sad puppy, so I reach over and ruffle his hair.

"Come on, you two, dinner will be ready soon. Go wash up," I say, ushering the kids out of the kitchen. "Mina, can you go tell Grandpa?" My daughter pauses for a second but nods and rushes out the door.

I look over to Dean. He's still in a bit of a hunched-over position, but he nods. A moment later, he straightens up and returns to the dishes. Maybe it's the light of the evening sun coming through the kitchen window, but for a second before he moved, I swear I could see longing in Dean's gray eyes.