by Hazel Kelly
“So what was the problem?”
“I thought I wanted someone I could be anyone with,” she said. “And he made me feel like that. Like I could be anyone I wanted.”
“Uh-huh.”
“But what I thought I wanted wasn’t what I needed.”
I covered my full mouth. “What did you need?”
“Someone I could be myself with.”
I swallowed my bite of scone.
“You see, life is short if you’re living it right,” she said. “But if you spend your days pretending to be someone you’re not, it can feel very long.”
I took a sip of tea.
“And you can take it from me because I’ve tried it both ways.”
I wrapped my palms around the steaming cup. “Why are you telling me this?”
“To make sure you get it right this time around… And because it crossed my mind, and I’m at that age where I have to say stuff when I think it or my thoughts disappear with the fairies.”
“Right.”
“Speaking of which, will you do me a favor?”
“Of course.”
“Will you remind me I need to update my will this week?” she asked.
“You’re changing your will?”
She nodded. “Just one teeny detail.”
I raised my eyebrows. “What’s that?”
“When I’m buried, I want your grandfather’s urn between my legs instead of up by head.”
I furrowed my brow. “Why?”
“Because it’s been too damn long since he was there.”
Chapter 14: Connor
I let Sarge lick my plate and then stuck it in the dishwasher.
He made puppy eyes at me in a bid for of another lick, but his expression lifted again when he heard the doorbell ring.
He ran for the front door, his paws sliding against the floor as he rounded the corner while his tail wagged so hard I thought he might take off.
“Let’s hope it’s not an intruder,” I said, following after him. “Or you’re out of a job, buddy.”
It looked like Laney’s outline in the blurred glass, but I was worried my mind might be playing tricks on me- like when you think you see a quarter on the ground but it’s just a spot of gum.
But it was her.
“Laney.”
“Hi.” She was holding a plate of scones covered with light pink Saran wrap.
Sarge wiggled out past my legs and planted his paws on her thigh.
“Would you like to buy a scone?” she asked, reaching a hand down and scratching one of Sarge’s golden ears so good he pressed his face against her leg.
I smiled. “Depends on how much they are.”
“One hundred dollars for the plate,” she said. “Or you can have an apology, and I’ll throw them in for free.”
“In that case,” I said, stepping backwards and opening the door wider. “Allow me to make some room for the apology.”
She stepped in the house and looked around. “Wow.”
Sarge kept sniffing the air as if scone crumbs might fall like snowflakes any minute.
I closed the door, letting my eyes fall from her narrow shoulders down to the cropped jeans that hugged her ass in a way I wished I hadn’t noticed.
“I’m ready,” I said when she turned around.
She pushed some stray blonde wisps out of her face. “I want to apologize for the way I treated you this morning.”
“Great. Can I have the scones now?”
“I’m being serious.”
“So am I,” I said, noticing the simple earrings she was wearing. I always liked that part of her just below her earlobe. The first time I tickled that spot with my stubble was the first time I felt my stubble was good for anything. “Besides, it’s not me you owe an apology,” I said, taking the plate from her and walking into the kitchen.
She followed behind me in her bare feet, losing my dog’s attention once I had the scones. “Yes it is. I was rude. And you didn’t do anything wrong.”
I shook my head and pulled a scone out from under the thinly stretched Saran wrap. “No it’s not. It’s Henry, the poor guy. I’ve felt bad for him all day.”
She folded her arms.
I could tell she was trying to focus on the conversation despite wanting to look around and see all the updates I’d made to the place. It was modern and bright and my mom’s collection of painted plates had been replaced by a forty inch TV.
“I already apologized to him,” she said, standing behind a barstool without sitting down. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
I pulled out a small plate and opened the fridge.
“Helly said you should have them with the raspberry jam she gave you, and I can second that since we had scones for dinner.”
I found the jam in my fridge and turned around. “You know he’s all wrong for you, right?”
Her mouth twitched.
“And that’s not coming from some relic of teenage jealousy,” I said. “It’s the truth.”
Her face started to turn red.
“Your whole relationship is a joke,” I said, slicing the scone. “You even did your fake laugh at him.”
“I did not.”
“You did,” I said, spreading some butter on the bottom half. “At least three times.”
She furrowed her brow. “You were counting? What the hell is your problem?”
“How much time you got?” I said, glancing up at her. “All I know is one of my problems isn’t that I’m in a relationship with someone who thinks I’m someone I’m not.”
“Fuck you.”
I dropped some jam in the scone and spread it around.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” she asked. “I haven’t seen you in years-”
“Whose fault is that?”
“And you think you can tell me how to run my life?!”
“No offense,” I said, closing the scone. “But it doesn’t seem like you’re doing a very good job.” When I looked up, her eyes were glassy and her bottom lip was shaking. “Jesus, Laney, I didn’t mean-”
“Yes you did,” she said, dragging a finger under her eye.
“I’m sorry,” I walked around the butcher block to where she was standing. “I shouldn’t have said that. I had no right-”
“No,” she said, her eyes full of pain. “You didn’t.”
I put a hand on her shoulder.
“But you’re not wrong,” she said.
“No, I am. I shouldn’t have-”
“I’ve made a mess of things,” she said.
“What mess?” I pulled out a barstool and gave her a nudge.
She sat on it and put her elbows on the counter, still keeping the tears from spilling from her eyes.
“What’s going on?”
“It’s over,” she said.
“What is?” I pulled out the barstool beside her.
“Me and Henry.”
It took everything I had not to smile, and I felt like a piece of shit for not being able to be more genuinely sympathetic.
“And my job.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Your job?”
“I quit.”
“It was just a job,” I said.
She looked at me for the first time like maybe I did understand, like maybe I was on her side. “You’re right. It was just a job. That must be why I don’t feel worse about it.”
“You couldn’t stay there forever.”
She leaned back. “It was killing me.”
“And I’m sorry about Henry.”
She shook her head. “No you’re not.”
I pursed my lips.
“It’s okay,” she said, catching my eye. “I know you didn’t like him.”
“I didn’t like him for you,” I said.
“I did.” She shrugged. “I liked him a lot. And I liked myself with him.”
She might as well have wiggled a blunt knife into my gut.
“Or the version of myself I was with him, anyway.�
��
“Exactly what version of yourself was that?” I asked.
“The small part of me that’s ready and willing to be an adult.”
I laughed. “Being an adult is overrated.”
She leaned her head back and blinked to absorb her tears. “Overrated but mandatory.”
“You can still keep that side of you if you liked it,” I said. “It’s not like he took it when he left.”
“I don’t know if I want to,” she said. “I don’t know what the hell I want.”
“That’s okay, you know.”
“No it’s not.”
“Everyone’s faking it, Laney. No one has everything figured out.”
“Some people do.”
“I wish that were true,” I said, reaching across the counter to slide my plate over. “Then the rest of us would have something to aspire to.”
“I guess I just wish I could rewind a few steps. Like in a Choose Your Own Adventure Book.”
“So do that.”
“I can’t,” she said. “It’s too many pages back where I took a wrong turn.”
“When would you want to go back to?”
She rolled her eyes up to the ceiling. “How about that day we stole the Disaronno from your parent’s liquor cabinet?”
I scrunched my face. “Can’t we go back to a day when we got our hands on something that was actually drinkable?”
She laughed.
“That was the first time my dad didn’t punish me for stealing booze. He said we did him a favor.”
“Really?”
I nodded.
“Fine,” she said. “What day would you pick?”
Chapter 15: Laney
I watched him chew as he mulled it over.
“Well?”
He swallowed. “There are so many good days to choose from.”
“I didn’t come over here to ask easy questions.”
“And here I thought you just came bearing innocent scones, no tricky questions attached.”
“Tough,” I said. “What’ll it be?”
He squinted, his deep blue eyes inhaling my attention. “Maybe the day I gave you Waddles?”
I smiled. “Why that day?”
“I think that was one of the funniest days of my life. Watching you try to imprint on that duckling was beyond hilarious. You turned into a total schoolmarm.”
My mouth fell open.
“I laughed so hard my eyes watered, and I could feel the stitch I got in my side for two days afterwards.”
“I loved that duck.”
He smiled, little creases springing around his eyes. “She loved you, too.”
“That was the best present ever.”
“Who knew the present of complete adoration could come so cheap?”
“And complete protection,” I said. “Remember when she charged after Dede Vedder’s German Shepherd when it snatched my ice cream sandwich?”
“You did drop it two feet away from him.”
I craned my neck forward. “I was going to pick it up.”
“Yeah, well, the five second rule is no good with a German Shepherd around.”
“Well, I haven’t made that ice cream dropping mistake since,” I said, raising a finger. “Just in case you think I’m not capable of learning from my mistakes.”
“I don’t think that.”
“Good.”
“Sometimes I just think it takes a whole helluva lot longer than it should,” he said. “But you were in the slow math class so-”
“And honors everything else, jackass.”
He rolled his eyes. “I remember.”
“And if math grades were based on how pretty your work was when you had to show it, I would’ve been head of the class.”
“So true,” he said. “I still have no idea why rainbow colored bubble letters don’t make up for incorrect algebra.”
I punched him in the arm, and a lump formed in my throat when I realized how solid it was. It was nothing like punching his eighteen year old arm, anyway, and I felt my whole body go up in goosebumps at how foreign he suddenly seemed. “I’ll have you know I’ve never needed any of that stuff.”
“And I’ve never needed French.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Not even to talk to French Poodles?”
He laughed.
The low sound vibrated in my bones.
“I wish I could talk to my patients,” he said. “That would make my job a thousand times easier.”
“Helly told me you’re pretty good at it anyway.”
“Helly’s biased.”
“Sure, but sometimes she’s right,” I said. “She told me you invented a revolutionary wine stopper.”
He groaned. “It’s not a wine stopper. It’s an artificial foot to help three legged animals walk again.”
I tilted my head. “I thought animals were fine on three legs?”
“They are. But depending on when and how they come to have three legs, sometimes it’s less traumatic for them to get a replacement.”
“That makes sense.”
“I’m still waiting on the patent to come through, though. Could be a game changer.”
“Especially if that game is animal double dutch.”
“Good one,” he said.
“So you like it as much as you always thought you would?”
“I do. But I’ve always known what I wanted,” he said, looking away from me.
I swallowed. “This place looks great, by the way. It’s totally transformed.”
“Only this space is,” he said, gesturing between the open kitchen and the attached living room. “And the master bedroom.”
“Oh.”
“I’ll get to the other rooms eventually,” he said. “But this area needed the biggest makeover.”
“I see you’ve decided to do away with your mom’s plate collection?”
He popped his last bite of scone in his mouth.
I raised my eyebrows. “I take it they weren’t bachelor pad enough for you?”
He swallowed. “No. And you didn’t even see how weird the collection got the last few years.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “Let’s put it this way, I don’t know if she was more into Princess Diana or Muhammad Ali.”
“Are they worth anything?”
“Unless they start literally floating like butterflies and stinging like bees on their own, I’d be surprised if they’re worth the money she paid for them.”
“So you didn’t sell them to help pay for that ridiculous TV?” I asked.
“It’s not ridiculous,” he said. “If I put some visually decadent movie on there, you’d think it was the best thing you’d ever seen.”
“Perhaps.”
He stood up and set his plate on the floor so Sarge could lick a few crumbs and blobs of jam. Then he carried his plate to the dishwasher. “So are you going to stay in Glastonbury for a while then?”
“Looks like it,” I said. “Until I figure out what to do next?”
“And what are your options?”
“Anything and nothing.”
He raised his eyebrows. “So you’re free for dinner?”
I felt my stomach somersault in a way that felt good and wrong at the same time.
“Or did you have your heart set on having scones with your grandma every night?”
“I suppose it would be adult of me to try and make time for some other food groups.”
He lifted his large hands. “I can’t comment one way or the other. I’m not the authority on appropriate adult behavior.”
“Really? Cause it seems like you’ve got your shit together.”
He craned his neck back. “Why? Because I have a roof over my head?”
“And a good job.”
One corner of his mouth curled up. “Now that you mention it, I suppose I am a pretty good catch.”
A sickening wave of regret crashed in my stomach.
He set his hands on the opposite side of
the counter. “Did you want something to drink?” he asked. “I should’ve asked before-”
“No, I’m okay. Thanks, though.”
“Don’t be shy,” he said. “I’ve got just about everything.”
“A good catch would,” I said.
He cocked his head. “Are you making fun of me?”
“Not at all. Just trying to figure out why someone like you doesn’t have a barefoot, pregnant wife creeping around.”
“Maybe I do,” he said.
“Well, she’s very quiet.”
“That’s what I like best about her,” he said. “Even the kids are silent.”
“Sounds like a dream come true.”
His face twitched like he didn’t agree.
“Seriously, though, why are you still single?”
“Why are you?” he asked.
“Because I’m a complete head case.”
“No you’re not.”
“Have you just not met the right girl?” I asked.
“That’s definitely not it.”
“So what do you suppose the reason is?” I asked. “You must have some idea. You’ve always been pretty self-aware.”
He folded his arms.
“Well?”
He fixed his eyes on me. “Let’s discuss it over dinner.”
“Why do you want to have dinner so bad?”
“Because,” he said. “I think you owe me that much.”
Chapter 16: Connor
I let Sarge outside for a few minutes and hid all the shoes in the house. Then I got dressed, keeping it casual but taking into consideration the kind of stuff Laney used to like.
For example, I knew she didn’t care for black shoes and that she thought I looked great in blue. Or at least she once did, though the fact that I remembered which shade was as disturbing as it was surprising.
After all, why wouldn’t something else have moved into my headspace where all those little details about her once lived… like which Spice Girl she liked best, the fact that she liked grapes but not grape flavored things, and the fact that she could never remember Schubert’s name but would be struck still by his music every time, as if she could hear it on a frequency other’s couldn’t, as if it were written for her in a past life.
I didn’t want to remember that stuff.
And still, I pulled on a white and blue collared shirt because my hand wouldn’t let me pick the red one.