by Sarra Cannon
“Oh my word. Chloe, look what you did, you dork,” she says. “Jo, I’m so sorry, darlin’, are you okay?”
I try to say that I’m fine, but everyone is making such a fuss, I can hardly think straight.
Chloe grabs my arm and spins me around. “Here, let me get that,” she says, pressing a cold washcloth on my stomach and rubbing the sauce spots. The water is freezing in contrast, and I bite my lip, involuntarily trying to scoot away.
“Girls, give her some space. You’re crowding her.” Colton’s mom waves her hands in the air and the girls scatter backward. She clucks her tongue. “Oh my, look at that dress. I’m so sorry. Here, come with me a sec.”
She grabs my arm and leads me back to one of the bedrooms. My mind is spinning, and I feel like I can hardly catch my breath.
“Take that jacket off and let me help you unzip that dress,” she says.
“Excuse me?” I ask. “No, really, I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”
“If you don’t get that stain out, that dress is going to be ruined,” she says. She’s digging in her closet and finally comes out with a much larger pink dress. She shoves it toward me. “Put this on. I’ll get the other one in the wash for you.”
Reluctantly, I take the dress. I really don’t want to strip down in front of Colton’s mom less than an hour after meeting her, but she’s just standing there with her hand out. I’m frozen, unsure what to do, exactly.
His mom stares at me as if she has no idea what’s wrong, but then finally shakes her head. “What am I thinking? Let me give you some privacy,” she says. “Just give me a holler when you’re done.”
She walks from the room and shuts the door behind her. I can hear her in the kitchen scolding Chloe for bumping into me, but everyone is laughing and having a good time, teasing each other.
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.
I’m so far out of my comfort zone, I don’t even recognize the zip code. I slowly shrug my jean jacket off my shoulders and unzip my dress. There is no way this pink one is going to fit me, but I guess I can try to make it work.
I slide it over my head and look for a mirror, finding one in the small bathroom.
I stare at my reflection and shake my head. This is awful. I don’t want to be rude, but the dress is about three sizes too big and makes me look like I’m a preteen trying on her mama's clothes. I can’t go out there looking like this.
Someone knocks on the door and before I can even answer, Carol walks in.
She brings a hand to her mouth, trying to hide her smile. “Well, that’s not going to work, is it?” she asks. “Cammie? Come in here for a minute.”
Cammie, holding her newborn baby, walks into the room and begins laughing. My cheeks flush and tears spring to my eyes.
“Oh, don’t cry, sweetheart,” she says. “Are we scaring the crap out of you?”
I shake my head, afraid that if I try to speak, I’m going to collapse into sobs.
“Mama, why on earth did you put her in this old thing?”
“I don’t know, it was the first thing I grabbed,” Carol says. “I’m sorry, Jo, you’re such a tiny little thing, I doubt any of my clothes are going to fit you. Cammie, you’re probably my smallest girl. Do you think you may have something that will work?”
“I’m sure I do,” she says. “Here, why don’t you hold Emma while I go look.”
Before I can protest, Cammie passes the baby into my arms and turns away. Someone in the kitchen calls for their mom and Carol excuses herself, leaving me alone with Emma.
I am breathless.
My heart is tight in my chest. My body shivers.
I sit down on the edge of the bed, unable to hold myself up or trust my knees not to collapse.
I don’t hold babies. I haven’t in years. In fact, I avoid them at all costs. It’s just easier not to think about it.
A tear slides down my cheek and I force air into my lungs.
Baby Emma squirms a little, her tiny pink foot escaping from the blanket. I swallow and stare down at those perfect little toes, kicking back and forth. She coos and pushes her tongue against her lips.
I hardly know what to do with her.
I’m terrified I’m going to drop her or hurt her somehow.
Carefully, I hold her against my chest as I use my other hand to wrap the blanket around her feet again. The baby begins to cry, and on instinct I bounce her up and down slowly in my arms.
“Shh, shh, shh,” I say softly. “It’s okay, Emma.”
She calms, her dark blue eyes staring up at me.
It’s the strangest moment. Our eyes meet and a hidden part of me opens wide, letting her in. This tiny little person. Regret and fear pours over me like a rainstorm, but there is something else, too. Something like forgiveness. Hope.
“Here you go,” Cammie says, rushing back into the room. She hands me a black dress that looks much more my size.
“Thank you,” I say.
She reaches for the baby, and for a moment, I don’t want to give her up. I feel like in the span of two minutes, she’s changed me somehow.
Or maybe it’s time that has changed me. Maybe it’s Colton.
Either way, the pain of my past doesn’t hurt quite as much as it used to.
She leaves me alone in the room to change. I wipe my tear-stained face and pull my jacket on over the dress, all the while feeling like a piece of my past has just rushed back. A memory of what might have been. A sign of what might someday be possible.
Chapter Thirty-Five
When Jo finally comes back out of the house she’s wearing a completely different dress. I thought I saw Cammie running back and forth from her trailer with a black dress, but I had no idea it was for Jo. What did my sisters do to her?
She looks shaken up, so I cross over to her, offering her a beer.
“What happened to the yellow dress?” I ask, eyebrow raised. “Did my sisters do something?”
“I spilled spaghetti sauce on it,” she says, but I know there’s more to that story she isn’t telling me.
I take her hand. “You okay?” I whisper.
“I’m fine,” she says, but there’s an edge to her voice that wasn’t there earlier.
“You can tell me if you’re not,” I say. “I know my sisters can be a little hard to take in a group like this. If you want to go, we can scoot anytime. Just say the word.”
She smiles and shakes her head. “I would never ask you to leave your family’s party,” she says. “You’re the guest of honor. Besides, it’s honestly no big deal.”
“Well, you look beautiful in black, too,” I say, kissing her cheek.
The rest of the night goes off without a hitch. The family gathers around the picnic tables, the fire roaring and the stars above us decorating the sky. Everyone is drinking and laughing and having a good time, and I’m glad to see Jo begin to relax into the evening.
Whatever must have happened earlier with my sisters seems to have left her mind now, and she’s laughing and getting to know my family better with each passing hour.
Eventually my sister Caroline brings out a guitar and begins to play.
My mom stands next to her and puts a hand on her shoulder, their voices mingling in two-part harmony, the only other accompaniment the sound of the fire crackling a few feet away.
Under the table Jo takes my hand and squeezes. She leans against my arm and I kiss the side of her temple. Everyone grows quiet, listening as the women finish out a popular hymn.
Jack brings out his banjo when they’re done and West grabs his drum. I blush when Jo looks over and raises an eyebrow.
“Is it always like this?” she asks.
“On birthdays and special occasions? Yes,” I say. “Should we just go?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says. She snuggles closer, wrapping her arm in mine. “I like it.”
We sit together, swaying to the music as my family sings all our classic songs. It’s a mix of church music, country, and a fe
w classic oldies like The Beatles and Bob Dylan. I realize how eclectic and strange my family must seem to her, but Jo is happy and smiling, her cheeks pink from the cool night air.
There’s a lull in the music and my sister Cammie begins singing an old gospel hymn.
“Just as I am without one plea, but that thy blood was shed for me, and that thou bidst me come to thee, Oh Lamb of God, I come. I come.”
To my surprise, Jo joins in, her voice quiet and soft, like an angel.
“Just as I am and waiting not, to rid my soul of one dark blot, to thee whose blood can cleanse each spot, Oh Lamb of God, I come. I come.”
When I glance over, there are tears in her eyes, as if the words mean more to her than I can comprehend. My mother joins in harmony, walking over to where we sit. She places her hand on Jo’s shoulder and together, all the women sing the song that reminds me of years gone by, hours spent out here by the fire with family.
I think of my grandfather and how I wish he could be here with me this year on my birthday. How I wish I could tell him one last time just how much I love him. How much he did for me growing up.
I don’t feel worthy of this moment. This happiness. What have I ever done to deserve such a good life?
Later, when the singing is done and Jo has once again disappeared inside to help clean away the plates and say goodnight to my sisters, I sit staring at the fire, wondering what my future holds. How long can I really keep this up? This role of the perfect boyfriend, always supportive and loyal and committed?
I want to be my best self, but there’s a part of me that suddenly feels anxious and scared.
Jo fit right in with my family, and they’ve all been so eager to pair me off. To figure me out. They all want me to settle down, and I could see it in their eyes tonight. They believe that’s where I’m headed with Jo.
Only, I’m not sure I’m ready to settle down. I’m not sure I’ve lived my life to the fullest and become everything I was meant to be. How can I commit my life to just one woman when I’m not even sure of who I am or what I want from my life? If I’m not sure I deserve someone like her?
Which is when my dad finally decides to sit down beside me. He’s had a lot to drink and he sort of stumbles to the picnic table, holding himself upright as he clasps the edge of the wood.
“Well, son, another year gone by,” he says. “Happy birthday.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I say, but my jaw tenses. I know he hasn’t come to say nice things. I know he’s going to push me, and I’m not sure I’m in the mood for it.
“That’s one heck of a girl you’ve got there,” he says. “Don’t screw it up.”
“Come on, Dad, don’t do this.”
“Do what?” he asks, rearing back like he can’t imagine what I’m talking about. “Colton, you know as well as I do that nothing that good stays in your life for very long. I’m just saying you might want to be careful. You’ve got someone really special, and I’d hate to see you mess things up with her. She seems to truly care about you.”
“I care about her, too,” I say.
“I’m sure you do. But we both know that you have a tendency to sabotage anything that seems too good,” he says. “That’s why you keep working at jobs like you do, moving from bar to bar without thought about what it means to have a real career. If you really want to hold onto a girl like that, you’ve got to start thinking about your future.”
“I like my job, Dad. How many times do I have to tell you that?”
“Of course you like your job,” he says. “You get to stay up late, sleep in every day, be your normal irresponsible self every day of your life. Who wouldn’t like that? But what happens when you’ve got more mouths to feed? When you’ve got to worry about putting a roof over your head? You can’t count on tips your whole life, Colton. It’s time to grow up.”
I bristle, my hands tightening around the empty bottle in my hand. Why does he always have to do this? Make me feel like I’m nothing. Like nothing I do is ever good enough.
And maybe it isn’t. Maybe I’m no good for Jo or Rob. Maybe I’ll never be good enough.
When the door to the trailer opens and Jo steps out, I stand up, ready to go and be done with this evening. I want to get off this property and be as far away from my father as I can right now.
And the thing is, I know he means well. He truly thinks he’s giving me an inspirational talk about what it means to be a man. But what he never realizes is that I’m doing the best I can. I’m just being me, and for once, I’d love for that to be enough.
“You ready?” I ask as Jo walks over.
She nods. “Sure,” she says. “Goodnight, Mr. Tucker.”
“Goodnight, beautiful girl,” Dad says, kissing her on the cheek. “You come by and visit us again, now, you hear?”
“I will,” she says with a laugh.
I take her hand in mine and wave goodbye to my family not feeling like sticking around to give everyone hugs. Most of my sisters and their husbands are carrying sleepy children back home, anyway, their hands and bellies full.
We get in the truck, and Jo slides up next to me, smiling. But my earlier happiness is gone, clouded by my father’s words. His doubts.
“Where to next?” she asks.
“I thought we’d just go home,” I say. “I’m kind of tired, to be honest.”
“Oh,” she says, her lips turning downward in disappointment. “I have a gift for you in the back. Can we stop somewhere for just a minute? Maybe the beach? It won’t take long.”
“Sure,” I say.
I drive us to a spot overlooking the water and back up so that we can sit on the tailgate and stare out at the ocean. We both get out, and I pull the tailgate down.
Jo pulls a blanket off the hidden package in the back, but it’s not a wrapped gift like I expected. It’s a guitar case.
Tears spring to my eyes. What has she done?
She smiles and brings it over to me. “I hope you don’t mind, but I snuck out to your grandfather’s cabin and got this a few weeks ago,” she says. “I found a place downtown that restores old instruments. They put brand new strings on, polished up the wood, made it look brand new.”
I draw the case up beside me and flip up the latches that hold it closed. Inside, the guitar looks pristine and shiny. Probably better than the day my grandfather brought it home from some thrift store in Alabama.
“I can’t believe this,” I say, trying to hold back my tears.
I run my hand along the grain of the wood, up and down the brand new strings. My grandfather would have been so happy to see his favorite instrument all cleaned up and ready to play like this. How did she know just how much this would mean to me?
“Do you like it?” she asks.
“I love it,” I say, pulling her into my arms. “Thank you.”
“I know you haven’t played in a long time, and you may not be ready to play now, but I thought this way whenever you’re ready, so is this guitar,” she says. “I thought maybe it could kind of be a fresh start for you, letting go of what happened and understanding that your grandfather loved you no matter what.”
I take the guitar from its case and pull the strap over my head. Even after three years, the instrument feels like home. I place my fingers on the strings and strum a chord, half expecting it to be out of tune. But it’s not. It’s perfect. As if it’s just waiting for me to start making music again.
Jo smiles, standing in front of me, watching.
“I’m so happy you like it,” she says. “You look so natural like that.”
“I do?” I ask, finding my smile for the first time in the past hour since I talked to my father. “It feels good to hold it again.”
“Want to play something for me?” she asks.
It’s been so long, but my fingers are itching to play. Something I haven’t felt in years. I try to think of what I might possibly remember well enough to play without practicing.
I smile, thinking of a Beatles song that was grandfath
er’s favorite. He always used to say this was the best song ever written. I play the song, “Something”, for Jo, accompanied by the incoming tide and the blowing of the wind.
My voice is dry and cracked at first, unpracticed at singing solos, but Jo sits next to me, her smile never dropping from her face. I watch her as I sing, realizing suddenly that my father is right.
I don’t deserve her. I’m going to mess this up, just like I mess everything up eventually.
I stop the song part-way through. I’m suddenly freezing cold, my hands numb on the guitar. I’m terrified. It’s as if my whole life has come down to this one relationship and everything hangs on me being the perfect guy that she needs for me to be.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, placing her hand on my leg.
I pull away, quickly lifting the guitar strap over my head and placing it back in the case.
“I don’t know, I guess I just don’t feel up to it yet,” I say. “Come on, let’s go home. It’s getting cold out here.”
“Okay,” she says, but I can hear the disappointment in her voice.
I’m a disappointment. I have been to everyone who ever mattered to me, and I don’t want to watch this whole thing go up in flames right before my eyes. I can’t handle it.
We get back in the truck and hardly say two words to each other on the way home, the air between us tense. And I know it’s my fault. I know I should say something to make her feel better, but I can’t force the words.
It’s ironic, really. I’m the one they call the life of the party. The fun one. But I can’t find any joy in this moment. It’s all gotten too heavy, too fast. Too serious. What am I doing?
When we pull up behind the bar, my heart is tight in my chest, choking me.
“Should we watch or movie or something?” she asks. “Or do you want to come over to my place for a while?”
I shake my head, unable to find my voice.
“Colton, what’s going on?” she asks. “Is it the guitar? Did I do something wrong?”
“No,” I say finally. “It’s nothing you did. The guitar is beautiful. I’m just tired is all. I think I may call it an early night.”