by Cathie Linz
Her smile faded as her mom handed her the silverware. “Here. Help Connor,” she ordered.
Now he was the one smiling as she reluctantly joined him at the dining table.
“Seems we both have bossy mothers,” he said.
Marissa remained quiet.
“The fork goes above the plate,” he told her, moving it.
Something about the way he said that made her want to stab him with the utensil.
She recognized that it was an over-the-top reaction and she didn’t act on it but she’d felt it nonetheless. Just as she could still feel the tip of his tongue on her skin.
Three forks slipped from her grasp and clattered to the table.
“Everything okay out there?” his mom called out from the kitchen.
“Just peachy,” he called back. “I was just telling Marissa to put the fork above the plate.”
“You should let her put it where she wants to,” his mother scolded from the other room.
Connor gave Marissa a look that reflected both humor and heat. “If I let you do that,” he murmured, “you’d stab me with it, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course not,” Marissa said. “I would never do anything so rude. Unlike some people.”
“I only stabbed someone with a fork once and I was five.”
“You were six,” his mother said as she brought in a tray filled with glasses of ice water. “And your brother Logan needed stitches.”
“He started it.”
His mom rolled her eyes.
“I saw that,” Connor said. “I thought you didn’t like eye rolls.”
“Not when they are directed at me,” his mom said. “Luckily we brought some food with us since we suspected that Connor would not have much.”
“If you’d told me you were coming…”
She waved his words away. “We have a loaf of marble rye bread from a wonderful little bakery we found on the way here from Pennsylvania. The bakery also sold butter, which we knew you wouldn’t have.”
His grandmother brought the bread and butter while Marissa’s mom brought the large casserole dish to the table. Connor gathered two more chairs and held them for each woman, starting with his grandmother. Marissa didn’t wait for him to get to her. She could seat herself. But she noted his old-world courtesy.
“Marissa told us she grew up here in Hopeful,” Connor’s mom said. “It must be nice having all your children nearby.” She bestowed another reproachful maternal look upon Connor.
Marissa’s ex didn’t get along with his own family at all. They barely spoke at the wedding, which should have been a big red flag.
She couldn’t imagine Brad putting up with what Connor had today. Her ex would have gotten angry and stormed out. He certainly wouldn’t give his mom a Cary Grant charming smile before scooting her chair in for her.
Hindsight was 20/20.
“Marissa only recently returned back home,” her mother said. “So I know what it feels like to have your child far away. She moved to New York.”
“You poor thing.” His mom patted her mom’s arm in commiseration.
“She’s back now and that’s all that’s important. My Marissa has always been a good girl. I never had any trouble with her growing up. Well, there was one brief period during her senior year in high school when she dyed her hair black and called herself Rissa.”
“But Marissa is such a lovely name,” Wanda said.
“I know.”
Luckily, her mom didn’t know that Rissa the Rebel had hooked up with college hunk Connor.
“Connor went through a similar period,” Wanda said.
“Really? Did he dye his hair and change his name?” Marissa’s mom said.
“No,” Wanda said. “He followed his high school sweetheart here to Hopeful to go to college, abandoning his family and his career path of being a doctor.”
“I never wanted to be a doctor,” Connor protested.
“How do you know if you didn’t even try?” his mother countered.
“I wanted Marissa to try out for the Rhubarb Queen but she wouldn’t even consider it. As a former winner of the title myself, it meant a great deal to me.”
“We’re staying for the Rhubarb Festival,” Wanda said.
“That’s great.” Marissa’s mom beamed. “You’ll love it. They have bake sales and songs and music and of course the beauty pageant.”
“Why didn’t you want to try out to be a Rhubarb Queen?” Wanda asked Marissa. “That sounds like fun.”
Connor’s look said It’s not so much fun when you’re the center of maternal inquisitions, is it?
“I wouldn’t have been good at it,” Marissa said. “I’m not a beauty queen kind of person,”
“She always had her nose stuck in some book. Just like her father.” Her mom shook her head.
“But Marissa, you are pretty,” Wanda said.
“She was a late bloomer,” her mom admitted. “Her sister, Jess, was Rhubarb Queen her sophomore year in high school. She didn’t rebel the way Marissa did.”
“She’s the pretty sister,” Marissa said.
“Don’t be that way,” her mother said. “I never said Jess was the pretty one or that you were the smart one. Both of you are pretty and smart. My younger daughter got her undergraduate degree in philosophy. She’s working in the college admissions office while she decides what subject she wants to focus on for her master’s degree. Marissa got her master’s degree in library science and works at the public library in town.”
“Did she go to college here?” Wanda asked.
“Her father and I wanted her to but she decided to go to Ohio State instead.”
“Connor decided to come back to Chicago after his freshman year at college here.”
“You’re lucky he came back.”
“Luck had nothing to do with it,” his mom said.
Marissa waited, wondering if there had been a family emergency of some kind that had forced him back home. But no, that would have been too easy.
“Connor and his high school sweetheart broke up,” his mom continued, “so there was no reason for him to stay here. She went on to marry a doctor, by the way.”
“So you’ve told me numerous times,” Connor said. “The stew is great, Mrs. Bennett.”
“Call me Linda,” Marissa’s mom said.
Marissa knew what she wanted to call Connor. She wanted to call him every lousy name in the book. He’d told his family there was no reason to stay in Hopeful? As if his time with her was worthless. Meaningless.
Connor suddenly caught her eye and shook his head. For some reason she got the impression that he was trying to tell her something. Was he afraid she’d lunge across the table and spear him with her fork? No, there was something else besides warning in those hard to decipher eyes of his. It was almost as if he was sending her a visual apology.
His grandmother abruptly turned the conversation onto one of her favorite subjects—her homeland of Poland.
“Are you familiar with the music of Chopin?” the older woman asked Marissa.
“I love his piano concertos,” Marissa said.
“They’re much better than the medieval madrigals my husband is always listening to,” Marissa’s mom said.
“Did you know that Chopin’s heart is buried in the Church of the Holy Cross in Warsaw?” Grandma Sophie said.
“No, I didn’t know that,” Marissa said.
“We Poles wanted Pope John Paul II’s heart to be buried in Poland but the Vatican said no and buried him in St. Peter’s Basilica. You know he was Polish, yes?”
Marissa nodded.
“He was born in Krakow and was our Pope for twenty-six years.” Grandma Sophie made the sign of the cross. “He is revered in Poland. Are you Catholic, Marissa?”
Connor interceded. “Enough with the Polish Inquisition.”
“I was merely asking a question, but if it is too personal, I apologize,” Grandma Sophie said. “And I will end with one final brag. Poland was t
he first country in Europe to—”
“—have a written constitution,” Connor completed.
“I’m not baking any kolachki for you,” his grandmother said as she glared at him. “That will teach you to make fun of me. And no pierogies if you roll your eyes one more time. Now be nice or Marissa will never go out with you.”
Marissa wanted to tell the older woman that she wouldn’t go out with Connor but wisely kept that info to herself. His family might claim he got his stubbornness from his dad but Marissa thought that his mother and grandmother were pretty tough customers. But endearingly tough.
Marissa had grown up without any grandparents and there was just something about the twinkle in Grandma Sophie’s eyes, even when she was ticked off with her grandson, that made Marissa smile.
* * *
“Tell me again why you’re hiding out at my place?” Kyle Sullivan aka Sully asked Connor the next evening.
“I’m not hiding out,” Connor said. “Can’t a guy crash at his buddy’s house to watch a ball game without making a big deal about it?”
“Your mom and granny must be something else for you to be this desperate.”
“Do not call her ‘granny’ to her face or she might drop-kick you. She has a temper. And they’re trying to match-make.”
“Is that all?” Sully scoffed. “Big deal.”
“It is a big deal. You don’t know what it’s like.”
“You poor momma’s boy.”
“A momma’s boy mother doesn’t want her son to marry. No woman is good enough. She wants to keep him to herself. That’s not the case here.”
“So your mom is trying to palm you off on someone else, huh? The sooner the better. And that scares you shitless.”
“It does not.”
“For a former undercover cop, you are such a bad liar.” Sully took a swig of his beer. “So who’s the woman they’re trying to hook you up with? No, let me guess. The new librarian in town. Am I right?”
Connor made a growly grumbling noise, which his buddy took as an affirmative answer.
“I heard the two of you moved in together,” Sully said.
“She lives in the same building, that’s all.”
Sully raised an eyebrow and his bottle of beer.
“Okay, so she’s in the apartment next door,” Connor admitted.
“That must be handy.”
“Handy for what?”
“Hanky-panky, as your granny would say.”
“Marissa is still recovering from her divorce,” Connor said.
“That’s good,” Sully said. “Then she’s not looking to settle down. You should be counting your blessings instead of complaining.”
“How do you figure that?”
“Come on. A sexy librarian divorcee looking for a good time? What’s not to like?”
“Who says she’s sexy?”
“I’ve seen her around town,” Sully said.
“Okay, then who says she’s looking for a good time?”
“I do.”
“Like you’re an expert on the subject,” Connor scoffed.
“I’m just saying…”
“You are so full of shit.”
“What happened to ‘full of shinola,’ like your granddad says? Now there’s a cool guy. I like Buddy. When is he coming to visit again?”
“I have all the family I can cope with at the moment. Besides, Gramps doesn’t get along with my mom or GM.”
Sully frowned. “Buddy doesn’t get along with General Motors? He prefers Fords, does he?”
“No, that’s my nickname for my grandmother. GM.”
“Your family is twisted, man.”
“No kidding,” Connor said glumly.
“No worries.” Sully punched Connor in the arm. “You can stay here as long as you want.”
* * *
“What experience do you have with matchmaking mommas?” Marissa asked Deb as they sat in Cups Café sipping their iced coffees. This was the first time they’d gotten together since meeting at the divorce support group a few days ago.
While the college crowd gathered at the local Starbucks, Hopeful’s full-time residents preferred the ambience and prices of the local business.
“Why? Are you looking to be matched up?” Deb asked.
“Not at all. But my mom has that gleam in her eye. I haven’t even been divorced a year and already she’s pushing me to get back out there and start dating.”
“Just tell her that some of the self-help books say you should wait at least a year before reentering the dating world.”
“She’s not the only one bugging me about it. Someone at work tried to hook me up with their cousin who works at the hospital.”
“I heard you and the sheriff were an item,” Deb said.
“What?! That’s not true. Who told you that?”
Deb shrugged. “It’s just a rumor I heard floating around.”
“Why would someone get that idea?”
“Because you live next to each other and you’re both single and sparks fly when you’re together.”
“Those are argumentative sparks, not sexual sparks,” Marissa said. “We have to work together on a special project. Neither one of us wants to but we don’t really have a choice. We’re sort of stuck with each other.”
“Sounds like a relationship.”
“A working relationship, maybe. But that’s as far as it goes.” Marissa took a sip of her iced coffee. “What is it about a divorced woman that makes everyone want to hook her up with someone?”
“I don’t know. I do know that a lot of the couples who were friends before my divorce no longer invite me to their events,” Deb said. “I tell myself it’s because having me would make it an odd number of people to dinner. But it’s almost like they’re afraid that divorce is a contagious disease or something.”
“I know what you mean.” Marissa had had a similar experience when she was back in New York.
“It’s like you become a social pariah,” Deb continued. “My single girlfriends have been really supportive and they try to help but they don’t really understand what it feels like. Yes, some of them have been dumped but it’s not the same thing as ending a marriage, ending a promise, a declaration in front of your family, friends and in your church that this is going to last forever. That you and your spouse are going to do whatever it takes to make it work. The sense of failure is just so overwhelming. You’ve probably read the same self-help books I have. I know that divorce is a grieving process. That there are stages you have to progress through and that there is no one time schedule. Everyone progresses at their own speed and in their own way.”
Marissa nodded. “Logically I know that. The thing with Brad is that he pursued me. I think I was a challenge to him. He really had to go after me because I wasn’t convinced we’d be a good match. But he was relentless and charming. He’d do such sweet and romantic things. He could have gone after other women but he stuck with courting me. And that made me feel so special, so wanted. Those powerful, positive feelings drowned out my original doubt. Even so, something made me tell him that cheating was a deal-breaker for me. When he proposed to me, I made sure he understood that before I said yes.”
“It seems to me that your inner radar was warning you even then that he was a cheater,” Deb said.
“You’re right. Most women don’t say, Yes, I’ll marry you providing you honor our marriage vows and don’t stray.”
“True.”
“I mean, logically, I know there is life after divorce. I know it’s a matter of moving on, of being able to get rid of the baggage you’re carrying.”
“Everyone has baggage.”
“Did you ever see that episode of the CBS sitcom How I Met Your Mother that showed the baggage the characters had and the baggage they were trying to figure out everyone else had? I lie awake at night wondering when I’m going to be able to get over it and throw the baggage away. Incinerate it. Ship it into outer space. Blow it up.”
&n
bsp; “I have those thoughts at night, too,” Deb admitted. “Although it’s usually about doing that to my husband, not to my emotional baggage.”
“Was it an acrimonious divorce?” Marissa asked.
“I wouldn’t be going to a support group if it wasn’t. You know, I really envy people who are able to end things smoothly and calmly. Like your ex, my husband cheated. Unlike your situation, he did it more than once. The first time he pleaded with me to take him back and I did. He was good for a while and then he cheated again. We separated and I almost took him back a third time. But the trust had been broken and I couldn’t see it ever being repaired again. Not after the second occurrence. You know that saying, ‘Ignore what a man says, pay attention to what he does’? My ex said all the right things but did all the wrong ones. It took forever for him to sign the divorce papers. It’s like he saw that as a surrender, as if losing a marriage was a football game or something. That we were in overtime and if he just hung in there long enough he’d score a point and win.”
“Did you have kids?” Marissa asked.
“No. That would have really made things even more difficult. My parents were divorced when I was a kid, and I swore to myself that I would never get a divorce.”
“My parents have tried to be supportive. Well, my mom has. My dad is kind of oblivious to it all,” Marissa said. “He hasn’t said anything, but I feel like he’s disappointed in me.”
“Did he like your ex?”
Marissa shrugged. “He never said. He didn’t say he didn’t like him either.”
“At least you’re not running into your ex all the time.”
Marissa wasn’t running into Brad but she was running into and having to work with Connor a lot of the time. She was so afraid of letting down her guard around him. Okay, so the truth was that she wasn’t just afraid, she was terrified with a generous amount of panic mixed in.
Her life would be so much simpler if he hadn’t returned to Hopeful or if she hadn’t. Or if her feelings for him and the chemistry between them had totally disappeared. But more and more, she found herself traveling into the world of what-if.
What if Connor hadn’t deserted her a decade ago? What if they’d stayed together? Would they still be a couple? Could she have gone with him to Chicago to be a cop’s wife? Could she have dealt with the constant danger to a big-city law enforcement officer? What if he’d stayed here in Hopeful and neither one of them had ever left? Would they have kids by now? In what-if land, there were millions of possible scenarios to explore.