by Lexi Ryan
Ava
My front door groans as it opens and closes, and I hear someone walking through the foyer.
There are only two people in my life who let themselves into my house without knocking—Ellie Courdrey and Jake Jackson. After this morning’s basketful of awkward with the baby thing, I’m grateful to hear the sharp tap of Ellie’s heels instead of the softer thump of Jake’s boots.
Ellie rounds into the kitchen, a wrapped gift in either hand. “Happy birthday to you,” she sings, a grin on her face as she slides the presents onto the kitchen counter.
I push my papers to the side—work will wait—and walk over to hug my friend. “You didn’t need to bring me anything.”
She shakes her head. “I feel like an ass for missing last night. I’m so sorry.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” I was already at Jackson Brews with the girls when I got Ellie’s text saying she wouldn’t make it.
She looks away. “No. I don’t.” When she looks back to me, her smile is wobbly. I’m grateful that my brother brought Ellie into my life—I barely knew her before she started dating Colton—but I wish he’d grow up a little. Half the time I want to tell her to break up with him because she deserves better.
“I know my brother isn’t perfect,” I say, studying my friend. “You don’t have to pretend around me.”
“I’m no saint either, but we’re fine. I promise.” She nudges the stack of gifts on the counter. “Open these.”
More presents. There’s no topping Jake’s gift, but I’m all warm and fuzzy about being spoiled by another awesome friend. “You really didn’t have to.”
“But I wanted to.”
Grinning, I unwrap the first gift, pulling off the paper and opening the box. Inside, there’s a black teddy made of the softest lace I’ve ever felt. “This is gorgeous.” I try to keep the what the fuck from my voice. The gift is gorgeous, and if I had someone to wear it for, I’d be really excited to show it off. But I don’t, and it’s not exactly the kind of thing you wear to binge-watch Netflix by yourself. Never mind the fact that if all goes according to plan, this won’t fit me in a few months.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she says. “You’re thinking you don’t have a man, so you don’t need this, but I fixed that. Open the next gift.”
“If you got me an inflatable boyfriend, I swear I’m never speaking to you again.”
She chuckles. “I thought about it, but I think we can do better than that.”
I pick up the next gift. The box is light as air, and when I pull the lid off the box, I realize why. There’s nothing inside but a slip of paper. I unfold it and stare in disbelief. “Ellie, you didn’t.”
She beams at me. “I did.”
I’d like to think I’m keeping the cringe off my face, but I’m terrible at hiding my emotions, so more than likely she knows how I feel about her gift. It’s a voucher for Straight Up Casual, a local dating company that hooks up area singles for casual, low-pressure blind dates that have only one requirement: you start your date with a shot of hard liquor to “loosen up.” I always thought the idea was absurd, but since the service introduced Ellie to Colton, I’ve kept that opinion to myself.
“I love that you want to take your life in your own hands,” she says. “I get it. You’re thirty now, and you’re afraid it’s too late for love, but I promise you it’s not. Don’t rush to the sperm bank yet.”
I study the piece of paper, even though it has no new information to offer. “I have different priorities than you do, Ell.” Ellie’s young. She and Colton might get married sometime soon, but Ellie isn’t like me. At twenty-five, babies are likely the furthest thing from her mind. When I was twenty-five, I was engaged. A year later, Harrison and I were newlyweds trying to get pregnant.
Trying and failing.
“Your priority isn’t having a baby,” she says.
“Actually, it is.” Did she miss my whole explanation yesterday morning about how a child is the one thing I’m sure I want from my life? In retrospect, I went about this all wrong. Instead of announcing my plan to my friends, I should have kept the news to myself until the pregnancy test was positive. I don’t even know if I can get pregnant.
“No. It’s not a baby that you want. It’s a family.” She bites her bottom lip. “You can make a family in lots of ways, but I don’t want to see you struggle the way my mom did. It’s hard doing it on your own.”
My mom was single most of my childhood too, but I know what Ellie means. My dad might not have lived at home, but he was still around, and I know our financial situation would have been completely different without him. When I was a kid, Mom was a secretary at a construction company. She didn’t finish her Ph.D. or get her first tenure-track position until I was a junior in high school.
“It can’t hurt to give Straight Up Casual a shot—even if it’s not love, it could be fun. I bought you ten matches.”
My jaw drops. “Ten? Jesus, Ellie, I don’t think there are ten single guys in this town I’d be willing to date.”
“And that attitude is exactly why you’re still single.”
“Okay, for argument’s sake, let’s pretend there are ten guys right here in Jackson Harbor I’d be interested in. I suck at dating,” I say. Ellie knows this. She’s seen the disaster that has been my love life since my divorce.
“That’s why I hired Straight Up Casual to help. They have a way of finding people their matches, and you deserve oodles of fun dates, and if they’re all duds, I’ll personally squirt the spooge up your hoo-ha. You have my word.”
I make a face. “Thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll pass.”
She laughs. “You know what I mean. I’ll support you in any way you need.”
“Thank you,” I say softly.
“So the dates?”
“I’ll think about it.” I want to mean it, but I’m already thinking of calling the company and asking about transferring the dates to someone else. Teagan might be interested. She’s always complaining about how hard it is to find decent single guys in Jackson Harbor, but I don’t think she’s given up on love like I have.
“Yay!” Ellie stretches her arms overhead in victory. “Now, let’s go to Ooh La La! so I can buy you a piece of birthday cake.”
Ava
Everyone knows that the best place to go for coffee in Jackson Harbor is also the best place to satisfy your sweet tooth. Ooh La La! is a coffee shop and confectionary just a block down from Jackson Brews, and also the place Ellie and I became best friends. Two years ago, after she and Colton started dating, she insisted we meet for coffee. At the time, I was in the early stages of my divorce, and I quickly discovered that I needed a girlfriend I could share my heartache with—it didn’t feel right dumping everything on Jake. It turned out Ellie was a great listener, and our friendship blossomed.
The offerings here are so delicious that I have to restrict my visits to once a week. Not only would daily gourmet coffee and a pastry blow my waistline, I simply don’t have room in my budget for such habits, but I figure I can make an exception for my birthday.
“Happy birthday,” Star calls from behind the counter. She owns this place and is responsible for the delicious offerings behind the glass. From handmade chocolates to melt-in-your-mouth croissants to the perfect cup of coffee, Star knows how to make the good stuff. “Did you have fun last night?”
I nod. “Maybe a little too much fun.” I rub my forehead. My headache’s mostly gone now, but the reminder that I overindulged still lingers in the background.
“Nothing a little caffeine and sugar can’t cure.” Star grins, tucking a lock of her curly red hair behind her ear.
Ellie walks up to the glass case and scans the contents. “What kind of cupcakes do you have today? My birthday girl needs a treat.”
Star puts her finger to her lips. “Not much up here but the double-chocolate fudge.”
Ellie gasps. “How dare you speak of anything double-chocolate as not much.”
“It’s not special enough,” Star says. “I’m working on samples for a bride who’s coming in tomorrow, so I might have some options back there. Lance, get their drinks while I’m gone. It’s on the house for Ava’s birthday.”
The lanky teenager nods glumly, as if she just informed him that our drinks were coming out of his paycheck. That’s Lance, though. I know him from my drama club, and he’s one of those kids who takes the Eeyore approach to life—always looking for the gray, cloudy lining to any situation.
“What do you want to drink?” Ellie asks. “I think we should get something really indulgent. Like something with full-fat milk and sugary syrup.”
“What do you recommend, Lance?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I don’t like coffee.”
Ellie rolls her eyes. “How about two of the turtle sundae lattes?”
Lance nods. “Happy birthday, Miss McKinley,” he says, then turns to make our drinks.
Ellie and I flash a grin at each other. Lance might not mean to, but he makes us giggle.
“Let’s sit over there,” Ellie says, pointing to a booth on the other side of the café.
I head in that direction but stop when I see Myla Quincy, one of the other English teachers from my school.
“Go on,” I tell Ellie. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
Myla’s sitting in front of a stack of papers, a large, steaming cup of black coffee at her side. “Beautiful day for grading, huh?” I say, because grading is the plight of every English teacher’s life.
She looks up from the paper and blinks at me. Myla is the coach of our cheer team and is usually a walking cheerleader stereotype—peppy and full of energy. Today, she looks exhausted. “Gotta enjoy it while it lasts, am I right?”
I frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She shakes her head. “I’m just nervous ever since I heard about the layoffs this morning. I have this ache in my gut that won’t go away.”
“What layoffs?”
She bites her bottom lip and studies me. “Didn’t you hear? The Windsor Prep board voted on a new budget. They’re going to get rid of the middle school program and lay off a quarter of the faculty.”
Suddenly, I have no appetite for cupcakes and coffee. In fact, my stomach was in better shape with a fresh hangover than it is trying to digest this news. “Are you sure?”
“I guess the actual number is more rumor than official at this point, but the layoffs are coming.” She rubs her eyes, and I realize she doesn’t look tired. She looks like she’s been crying. “I’m a wreck. I just bought a house.”
I don’t blame her for being worried. She’s the newest teacher in the English department and teaches primarily the middle school students, meaning she’ll probably be the first to go. “I’m sorry, Myla.” I reach out and squeeze her wrist. “I know it’s hard, but try not to worry until we know more, okay?”
Her eyes fill with tears, and she nods. “I know. Don’t borrow trouble, right?”
“Right. We don’t know what’s going to happen yet.” I try to smile, but I’m not feeling it, and I’m afraid my worry is obvious on my face.
“Thanks, Ava.” She takes a deep breath. “I’d better get back to this grading.”
“We’ll talk more on Monday,” I promise as I head to the booth to meet Ellie.
“What was that about?” Ellie asks as I slide in.
“Windsor Prep is going to do a big round of layoffs.” I rub my temples. “The middle school program never grew like they thought it would, and apparently the board voted to get rid of it.”
“Well, shit,” Ellie says. “And the cheerleader chick has her head on the chopping block?”
I draw in a ragged breath. “I don’t know. Maybe. I hope not.” Honestly, the only colleague I’d like to see go is my asshole principal.
“What about you? You teach in the high school part, so you’re okay, right?”
“Maybe. I don’t know how they’ll handle it.”
“I’m so sorry, Ava.”
I shake my head. “Don’t apologize. We don’t know anything yet.” But until the layoffs are done, I know my plans are postponed. Having a child on my own will be tough, but embarking on this mission without a steady job would be nothing short of careless. A weight settles onto me, crushing the joy I’ve been carrying since I decided to launch Operation Pregnancy.
Jake
By the time Saturday night rolls around, I’m kicking myself for agreeing to talk to Ava about her baby plans. There are a lot of conversations I’d prefer to never have. A conversation with Ava about having someone else’s baby tops the list—tied with a conversation with my mom about her sex life. In other words, if I didn’t think this was really fucking important, there’s no way I’d indulge in such emotional masochism.
I leave my apartment and take the stairs down to Jackson Brews. Ava’s scheduled to close tonight. Maybe this isn’t the best place to have such a delicate conversation, but I’m ready to rip off the Band-Aid. At least here we can talk over a beer instead of in the awkward silence of her house.
“Jake!” Ava spots me as I push out of the kitchen. “What are you doing here?”
I shrug. “I live here.”
She rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean. You’re not on the schedule for tonight.”
“Nothing else to do.” That’s not true. I scheduled myself off because I had a date with a peppy pharmaceutical rep who calls me up when she’s passing through town. I canceled after Ava left my apartment this morning. Call me crazy, but after discussing the possibility of making a baby with Ava, I wasn’t up to a date with another woman.
I wander behind the bar to scope the scene. There’s a decent crowd tonight for off-season, with most of the barstools and half the tables occupied, but behind the bar there’s no sign it’s been busy. Ava keeps everything clean when she’s back here. I never have to get on her about scrubbing the coolers or flushing the keg lines. She takes pride in her work, as if Jackson Brews was her own.
Ava’s worked at Jackson Brews on weekends and the occasional evening since her husband left her two years ago. She started for the extra money, but I like to think she stays on because she likes her nights behind the bar with me. God knows the nights we work together are my favorite.
The truth is, despite Ellie’s concern that the life of a single mom would be too hard for Ava, I know without a doubt that Ava would embrace the challenge. And I know she was right when she told me she wouldn’t regret a child. My only concern boils down to the timing. Is this something she’d want to do if Harrison’s wife weren’t pregnant?
“I just wanted to check on things,” I say, unwilling to admit I came down here just to talk about her plans. “I thought I’d see how everyone’s liking my new white stout.”
Her eyes go wide. “Oh my God! I didn’t even know you tapped it.” She grabs a sampler glass and fills it halfway. “Do you mind?” she asks as she brings it to her lips.
“Of course not.”
She drinks half of the sample in one long swallow and closes her eyes. “Jesus, that’s good.”
Reason #2603 I’m in love with Ava McKinley: she gets good beer.
My family’s business is beer. Dad risked everything to start the family brewery. After years of brewing his own concoctions in the garage, he sold his share of his father’s construction company and founded Jackson Brews. My oldest brother, Brayden, is the face of the business now. He’s responsible for marketing and our distribution deals, as well as the ins and outs of turning our microbrewery into the sizable craft beer empire Dad dreamed it could be. I run the other face of the business—the Jackson Brews Brewpub—and am responsible for eighty percent of the new recipes with the Jackson Brews label. I love to toy with beer almost as much as I love to toy with food, so the job suits me, even if it isn’t anywhere near what I imagined I’d be doing with my computer science degree.
“You really like it?” I ask when she opens her eyes again.
; “It’s smooth, but the flavor’s more interesting than the stuff we had from Grand Rapids. Seriously, you wouldn’t know it wasn’t a dark stout if you weren’t looking at it. Crazy!”
“Crazy good or just crazy different?”
“Crazy good,” she says.
Satisfied, I grin and reach around her for a snifter glass to pour my own. This stuff packs a punch at almost thirteen percent ABV—nothing as crazy as a shot of liquor, but strong enough that it should help me through this conversation. “How was your day?”
“Good.”
There’s a hesitation in her voice that makes me frown. “What? What happened?”
She searches my face, then shakes her head. “Nothing. Ellie came over and spoiled me with gifts, then we went to Ooh La La! and consumed irresponsible quantities of sugar and caffeine.”
“That’s what birthdays are for, right?”
“Right.” She drags her bottom lip between her teeth—an old habit that’s always put knots in my gut. “I ran into Myla Quincy while I was there.”
“She’s one of the other English teachers, right?”
She beams. “I’m always impressed that you can keep my coworkers straight.”
“It’s not like there are hundreds of you.” Some days I feel like I should thank her ex-husband for being such a prick. He makes me look like a fucking prince by comparison—not that my princely status ever got me real far with Ava.
“Myla told me the school’s doing layoffs. She was pretty shaken up, worried she’d be out of a job, and honestly, I was at first too.”
“Who can blame you?” I ask. “But you feel better now?”
She grimaces then nods. “Yeah—I mean, better about my own situation, at least. Myla might be screwed, though. I called Francine—the art teacher. She’s been there for twenty-five years and said they’ve always gone by seniority when they’ve had to do layoffs in the past. Nothing’s set in stone, of course, but since I’m the English teacher who’s been there the longest, it was good to hear.”