Not What I Expected

by Jewel E. Ann

  “Who’s mowing your lawn?” He blocked the door with his body after I climbed into my Tahoe.

  I fastened my seat belt. “I mow it.”

  “Have you ever thought about paying someone else to do it?”

  “No. Why?” I slipped on my sunglasses.

  “Well, I’d be willing to make the same deal with you on your lawn as I did clearing snow from your driveway.”

  Pressing my finger to the top of my sunglasses, I slid them down to the tip of my nose, eyeing him over the frame. “Oh, yeah?” As hard as I tried to play it super cool, I felt the burning in my cheeks and the prickling along my skin as my breaths struggled to stay even.

  He nodded slowly, that grin killing me as he reached for my face to remove the strands of hair blowing across my lips. “It’s the Christian thing to do.”

  “Funny … I’ve always thought of you as Satan.”

  “I can see that.” He rested his hands on the edge of the roof. His T-shirt slid up and his shorts slid down, giving me a glimpse of his abs and the trail running south of them. “So …”

  Snapping my gaze up to his face, I swallowed hard. “Yeah … so … Friday works. You can mow my lawn Friday.”

  He tapped the roof three times and stepped back. “Friday.”

  I shut the door and held my breath until he was in my rearview mirror. Then I released a harsh breath. “Oh, Elsie … you’re in trouble.”

  Friday

  My hands shook as I tried to thread my needle just after one o’clock. I’d woken up at six that morning, walked with Amie and Meadow, and showered for nearly twenty minutes—shaving, exfoliating, conditioning.

  Lemon water.

  Stared out the front window.

  Read a few chapters of my book—near the front window.

  Quilted by the front window.

  Lunch on the front porch.

  And back to more quilting.

  Amie: Is he there yet?

  Me: No. (crying emoji)

  Amie: Lol. He’ll be there.

  Just as I typed the crying emoji four more times, he pulled into the driveway. Pursing my lips, I blew out quick shallow breaths followed by several deep ones as I angled myself away from the window so I could see him, but he couldn’t see me.

  “Jesus …” My lips parted as he shrugged off his shirt, tucked it into the back of his worn jeans like a rag, and lifted his lawnmower out of the truck bed.

  Over the next hour, I drooled. He mowed, trimmed, and edged my yard. After he loaded everything into the back of his truck, I adjusted my strapless sun dress, rubbed my glossed lips together, and stood idle at the door, waiting for him to knock or just barge in like he’d done so many times before.

  “Breathe, Elsie,” I whispered, closing my eyes.

  They sprang to attention, wide and panicked the second I heard the rumble of his truck starting. I threw open the door as he backed out onto the street and put it in drive.

  “Wait!” I ran down the driveway in my bare feet, toenails freshly painted red, as he headed down the street. “Kael!” I stopped in the middle of the street, releasing my flailing arms to my sides when I realized he didn’t see me.

  Then his brake lights illuminated. He pulled off to the side of the road.

  My phone vibrated in my right hand.

  Kael: Going to shower.

  Me: Kiss me.

  Kael: I’m sweaty.

  Me: Kiss me.

  Kael: Later.

  Me: Kiss me.

  Kael: Soon.

  Me: I’m living in the now. KISS ME!

  Kael hopped out—shirt covering his tan torso again. He ran his arm across his sweaty forehead while walking a straight line down the middle of the street toward me. “Your dress is white.”

  “Kiss me.”

  “People could be watching,” he continued making his way back to me.

  Twenty feet.

  Fifteen feet.

  “Kiss me.”

  Ten feet.

  “You’re such a horny duck.” He smirked.

  Five feet.

  “Kiss—”

  He kissed me.

  My face in his hands.

  My feet lifted onto my toes.

  My heart in the jar on the top shelf—crashing to the ground.

  Epilogue

  After two months of sex—so much sex—holding hands in the town square, flirting over lunch at Spoons, and ignoring the judgmental glances from some of Epperly’s residents, it was time for me to leave for Texas to get Bella settled into her dorm.

  I took my house off the market since it wasn’t getting any lookers anyway. Kael and I agreed there was no reason to live together, even if we shared the same bed most of the time … even if there was an extra toothbrush at his place and mine. Autonomy mattered to us. Space mattered. It not only mattered; it made our time together mean more.

  After my boys moved, they’d come home to visit. And there was this shift. They weren’t home to hole-up in their rooms or hide in the basement; they were home to visit me. We shared more meaningful conversations. Our time together was intentional, not just a convenience of shared space.

  With Kael, we made the choice every day to be alone or be together. Our time together was always intentional, always meaningful.

  “You should come with me to Peru next month,” I said while packing my bag for Texas.

  Kael rubbed Meadow’s belly from their sprawled out positions on my bed. “Have you ever taken a trip all by yourself?”

  “No. I got pregnant in college and raised four kids. I don’t feel like I’ve been going to the bathroom by myself for that long. And honestly … Meadow occasionally follows me in there to watch me do my business. I think she feels it’s only fair.”

  He chuckled. “Then you definitely need to take a trip by yourself. It’s an incredible experience. It’s healing. It’s a confidence booster. It’s the opportunity to let something be only about you. You’ll learn to trust yourself more—to rely on yourself. It will edge you out of your comfort zone. And you’ll get to know yourself in a way you’ve probably never had the chance to do.

  “I took my first solo trip out of the country when I was twenty-four. It changed me. I matured. I found a deeper meaning to my life and learned to create my own happiness. It forced me to make new friends and redefine the meaning of family … and in some ways the meaning or purpose of my life.”

  I zipped my bag. “Either you are a true believer in this ‘solo tripping’ or you desperately want to get rid of me for a while.”

  He sat up and pulled me to stand between his legs. I rested my hands on his shoulders, knowing he meant every word—wondering if my marriage would have ended had Craig valued my emotional health and championed my independence so much. The problem with marriage and most of the vows people made to each other was there weren’t the actions to back them up. It was like my kids apologizing all the time, but their actions didn’t reflect those apologies.

  My wedding vows with Craig should have been more specific:

  I promise to encourage you to take trips by yourself, not burp before kissing you, and always use complete sentences that don’t end in“ya know.”

  “Love, honor, and cherish” were just too broad.

  “I’m not broken,” Kael said.

  “What do you mean?” I glided my hands up to his neck and teased the hair at his nape.

  “I have as much capacity to love as any other human being. My choices don’t reflect my abilities. I’m not bad at love or broken. My feelings aren’t less intense or less sincere. It’s because I love you that I want you to love yourself. People love to quote Richard Bach’s ‘If you love someone, set them free. If they come back, they’re yours; if they don’t, they never were.’ But my philosophy is a little different. To me, the ultimate love is freedom. It’s not releasing someone; it’s respecting their right to never be caged in the first place, never belonging to anyone but yourself. When people so desperately want out of a marriage or relation
ship, that implies they feel imprisoned with a need to escape. I don’t want to ever be anyone’s prison.

  “Stay or go. It should always be your choice, Elsie. It doesn’t mean you can’t have love or choose to be monogamous in your sexual … endeavors.” That irresistible smile overtook his whole face.

  “Are you choosing to be monogamous in your sexual endeavors?” I trapped my lower lip between my teeth.

  “Yes. You leave nothing of me for other women. And somehow you’ve managed to possess my thoughts even when we’re not together.”

  Love was risky.

  Life was risky.

  But they were also exhilarating and meant to be experienced without the crippling fear of getting hurt. I had to risk it. I would embrace my choices and not hide them from my family or anyone else.

  “My heart’s still learning to deal with these new feelings … new possibilities.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Such as?”

  “What if we don’t last?”

  Kael nodded with careful consideration. “I get it because my heart can’t stop thinking … what if we do?”

  * * *

  The End

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  If you enjoyed Not What I Expected, please consider leaving a review and check out Chapter One of Fortuity on the next page.

  Preview of Fortuity

  Chapter One

  Why do the wrong people die?

  The attorney offers a rehearsed smile, as if the cruise ship didn’t go up in flames. “Do you have any questions?”

  My brother and his wife died, and they left me with their ten-year-old son, Gabriel.

  Questions? Yes. I have so many questions.

  Why didn’t they purchase more life insurance? Why couldn’t they have waited eight more years to die? I’m not implying I ever wanted them to die, but there’s something to be said for timing, especially in death.

  “Kyle and Emily wanted you to live with Gabriel in their house. Keep him in the same school. Do as much as possible to not disrupt his life.”

  “My nephew lost both of his parents. I think it’s a little late to not disrupt his life.”

  “Of course.” Her smile slips from her face.

  Pausing my temple-rubbing motions, I ease my gaze upward to meet that of the thirty-something brunette. I don’t know what to say.

  “Her face resembles a wadded up piece of paper. The cringe isn’t a good look on her. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to stay in their house. You don’t have to move to San Diego. Gabriel is ten. I have a ten-year-old son. They’re resilient. I’m sure he will adapt to Boise, a new school, and new friends.”

  This doesn’t feel real. Please let her be nothing more than a bobblehead in one of my crazy, early morning dreams—that I wouldn’t have if I’d just get my ass out of bed instead of giving the middle finger to my Pilates class.

  My brother and his wife took a cruise. How does one die in a fire surrounded by hundreds of miles of water? Just … jump in the water!

  “Or … you don’t have to do this at all. There is nothing that legally requires you to take custody of Gabriel.”

  Just wake the hell up and go to Pilates!

  Kyle called to say goodbye and to let me know I would be responsible for Gabe if their plane went down on their way to Spain. It was an afterthought. A tiny footnote at the end of a long book. That was the first time Brother Dearest mentioned my huge responsibility. I brushed it off with “Wow! You must be desperate to choose me.”

  He brushed it off with a laugh and “Mom and Dad are too old to do it. But don’t worry … we’ll make it back in one piece.”

  Liar.

  “Miss Glock—”

  “Gracelyn,” I correct her.

  Her lips curl into a tiny smile. “Gracelyn, I realize no amount of money can make up for your family’s loss. However, I anticipate the cruise line will pay a sizable sum to settle multiple wrongful death suits. I’m not suggesting your family settle. I just don’t want you to feel like the life insurance is all you’ll have to cover the expenses of raising Gabriel.”

  It’s not the money.

  Okay … that’s not entirely true. I’ve made it forty-one years without an actual career, a husband, children, or a 401(k). Money will be a concern.

  “Of course I’m taking him. I’ll figure it out.” I stand on shaky legs and slip my handbag over my shoulder. It weighs a hundred pounds—or maybe that’s the weight of the world. My chin juts upward; believing and an air of confidence is ninety percent. Right?

  “Okay. We’ll be in touch. In the meantime, call me if you have any concerns or questions.” She hands me her business card and escorts me to the door.

  “Thanks.”

  After a quick stop in the ladies’ room to contemplate vomiting before splashing cold water on my face, I climb into Kyle’s and Emily’s green Land Rover and drive to their house. We buried their remains last week. Emily was an only child. Her father died of cancer five years ago, and her mom, Sharon, has early-onset dementia. Sharon’s caregiver (a cousin) took her back to the assisted living facility right after the funeral.

  “Hey, how did it go?” Mom asks, rummaging through the fridge because …

  So.

  Much.

  FOOD!

  “Fine.”

  She shuts the door and leans against it as I plop my ass into the chair, transfixed by the table covered in food—enough baked goods to give an entire village diabetes.

  “Doesn’t sound fine.” She wipes a tear from her cheek.

  I don’t know what it feels like to lose a child—or even have one for that matter. My tears fell quickly after the news of their deaths. More tears made a proper appearance at their funeral. Today, the reality of my new role replaced the tears.

  I’m … a mom? No. That’s not right. I’m still a fun aunt. Gabe won’t think of me as his mom.

  Fun aunt.

  Maybe his friend.

  An eight year babysitter.

  “I know they thought we were too old to take care of Gabe, but that’s not true. He can come to Great Falls with us. I think he’d like living in Montana.” Mom wears a fairly believable smile on her weary face, but I notice her new wrinkles. Craters of pain that can never be erased.

  I shake my head, snatching a stale chocolate chip cookie from one of the plastic containers. Years ago, I kicked my emotional eating habit, introduced my body to Pilates, dropped twenty pounds, and took a vow of celibacy as a last attempt at self-preservation.

  Maybe I slip up and eat a few too many cookies. No big deal. I’ve inherited a ten-year-old.

  A TEN-YEAR-OLD!

  Really, Kyle, leave me your Land Rover and Emily’s Pilates reformer. But Gabe? I love him … more than the world. I’m just not equipped for parenthood. What if I mess him up? I’ve messed up so much in my life.

  The early stages of menopause tap on my shoulder every day. My unused uterus put in its request for early retirement. After I finish this stale cookie, there’s a fifty percent chance my face flushes and I sweat through my clothes.

  Hot flashes.

  Mood swings.

  Seven p.m. mandatory bra removal.

  No kid, especially not a young boy, needs to witness such a hot mess.

  “Kyle and Emily want him to stay in San Diego. Same school. Close to friends. While I have no desire to live here, I agree with them. The less we have to disrupt his life, the better his chances are of making it through this grieving process and returning to some
semblance of normalcy.”

  With his aunt Gracelyn—Queen Hot Mess.

  “I don’t want you to be overwhelmed.” Mom pulls out a chair and sits next to me, frowning at the baked goods. She’s had her fair share. The emotional eating apple (or cookie) doesn’t fall far from the tree.

  “He’s a great kid. I love him to pieces. We’ll be fine.”

  “You need a job here.” Mom goes for some sort of chocolate drizzled popcorn. It has to be staler than my cookie.

  Yep. She spits it back into the bowl.

  I grin. “I’ll make sure he talks to someone, if he doesn’t want to talk to me. I’ll get a job.” Glancing around at the fancy surroundings, I twist my lips. “I doubt we’ll be able to stay here very long.”

  “Oh … no.” Mom shakes her head. “The taxes and upkeep on this place must be insane.”

  Kyle and Emily splurged on a house they could barely afford when they should have splurged on better life insurance.

  “Sell the house. Use the money to raise Gabe and put some back for his college.”

  I nod several times.

  “Are you sure about all of this?” Mom rests her hand on my leg.

  “Absolutely.”

  No. Not even close.

  Continue Reading

  Acknowledgments

  This book was incredibly hard to write because it exposed my fears and my doubts. It also healed me and reminded me to always be honest about my needs. Tim, I have to thank you first and foremost for marrying me twenty-two years ago and allowing me to bloom and morph, to chase my dreams, to keep my independence. You’ve been my Craig, but in so many ways you've also become my Kael. No one knows what the future holds, but I think we have a good chance at being geese. Love you, always.