by Tara Brent
I crack a smile at one of our customer’s reactions when she hears the news. Her eyes light up, and she looks away as if she doesn’t want to get caught eavesdropping. There’s nothing juicy to eavesdrop on, however. This is just Rosie and I messing around while we work, and I don’t plan on getting married anytime soon.
One thing I love about my best friend is that she’s always been so supportive, even when we both know she’s the one that’s better at nearly everything that I can do. My mom taught me how to garden, and Rosie’s mother handed over the floral shop to her when she turned twenty-two. I can make a mean batch of chocolate chip cookies, but Rosie’s pastry chef father taught her how to prepare the painstakingly perfect batch of macaroons. Growing up, I was always a little jealous of her, but now I’ve come to realize that there’s no point in trying to compete. The best I can do is bask in her undying positivity and enjoy the compliments she gives me.
“You’re sweet,” I say, putting my arrangement in a vase next to hers. “But look at yours, and then look at mine. No debate about which is better.”
Rosie tilts her head, analyzing them. “Honestly, if I could give you all my flower talents, I would in a heartbeat.”
It took me a few years to see Rosie’s true feelings about the shop, but now she’s become much more obvious with them. I know deep down; her heart isn’t truly in this business. She wants to do something else, something more with her life, but there's a part of her that feels obligated to follow through with her mother's dreams. I struggled long ago with my own parents. They never wanted me to "waste my life" working Angel's Bouquets with Rosie. They had visions of me being a doctor like Rhett, my older brother. I remember fights that would last the whole night until I eventually got sick of it and moved out.
Now that they’re gone, it’s hard to not feel guilty about everything that happened between us.
Pushing that negative train of thought out of my mind, I tighten up my apron, crack my neck, and get back to our customers. Before I know it, time flies by, and Rosie and I close down the shop for the night. I grab my bag from the back room and follow her out to the parking lot.
“We should do dinner,” I say, thinking out loud.
Rosie’s smile grows wide. “That’s exactly what I was thinking. Sushi?”
“Sushi.”
There’s a tiny little restaurant a few miles from Angel’s Bouquets that Rosie and I visit, no joke, at least once or twice a week. I don’t know what it is about the restaurant, but something they put in the food, tastes better than any other sushi restaurant I’ve been to and I’ve been to plenty in my life. Their California rolls are elevated to another level, and their fried rice makes me consider spending every last dime of my paycheck on a shipment to be delivered to my house. I want to swim in the stuff, it’s so good.
It’s close to nine when we finally leave the restaurant, so I say goodbye to Rosie and finally head home for the night. I can’t wait to take off my shoes, slide into the bathtub, and finally unwind from the long day. There’s nothing more rewarding than tossing in my favorite lavender bath bomb and grabbing one of my many Harlequin romance novels. Sometimes I even opt in for a glass of something alcoholic as dessert. I don’t drink often, but when I do, I like to treat myself completely.
As I pull into my driveway, I notice the house across the street still has its lights on.
When Rhett became successful, he bought me a house close to Grace Haywood, and when I found out this news, I broke down in tears. I’ve never been more grateful than I was on that afternoon.
Growing up, Rhett's best friend was Logan, and because he was around the house so often, I always considered Logan to be like family. During the summer, we'd spend weeks at a time at his grandmother's house. Grace was Heaven sent. She treated all of us like her grandchildren and finding out I would be living across the street from her, I couldn't contain my joy.
Every now and then, I check in on her and see how she's doing. Occasionally I'll even run errands for her, just to make her life a little easier. She's not as active as she used to be, and she needs help around the house. With everyone else around me gone, Grace truly feels like the only family I have left.
Putting aside fantasies of a hot bath, I ring the bell. A few moments later, she appears her cherubic cheeks pink as she smiles up at me.
"Well, if it isn't my favorite girl," she says, pulling me into a surprisingly tight hug. You wouldn't expect that kind of strength from her little frame, but she's got some muscle to her. She always attributes it to her aerobics videos in her youth.
“Hi, Grace,” I say, squeezing her back. “I just wanted to check in on you and see if there’s anything you needed help with.”
“Nothing right now, but you should join me for a bit of tea while you’re here. I just put the kettle on the stove.”
"What the hell," I shrug. I follow Grace into her home and back to the kitchen where I take a seat at the table. Along the shelves lining the walls, I see pictures of me and the boys when we were kids. Rhett had looked the same, with that same mischievous baby-face, but Logan? Logan looks nothing like he did when he was a kid. The last time I saw him, he was six and a half feet of muscle and masculinity, but when we were younger, he was tubby and short. Part of me still misses him. Where did he disappear to? He always made me feel good about my weight.
“So, how have you been, dear?” Grace asks once she’d prepared two cups of tea. She sits down at the table, across from me, and stirs sugar into her cup.
“I’ve been all right,” I shrug. “Work is work. We just worked with two sisters getting married at the same time, and that was an interesting job.”
Grace nods and smiles. “What about you? Any plans for a husband in the future?”
I try to hold back a weary sigh. “I haven’t been having much luck in that field, unfortunately.”
“You know, I was just talking to one of my girlfriends this afternoon,” Grace says, pausing to sip her tea. “We were talking about this new online dating thing. Have you heard of that?”
“Of course,” I say, smiling at her naivety. My generation practically invented online dating.
“Have you ever considered signing up for one of those sites? I hear you can meet a lot of nice men on there.”
“I don’t know,” I murmur, focusing on stirring my spoon in circles. “Guys on those apps aren’t always the nicest. Especially when you look like me.”
I’ve always been a bit shy about my curves, especially when it comes to men, but I’m not ashamed of them. They’re part of me, parts that have been there my whole life, and there’s no use in hating myself when there are so many more pressing matters to worry about, like keeping a roof over my head. Besides, I know one day there’ll be a guy that comes along and appreciates me as much as I’ve grown to appreciate myself.
“Oh please,” Grace says. She waves her hand. “When I was your age, the guys I slept with loved a little extra weight. They especially liked when I got on top. I may not look like it, but I rocked plenty of worlds back in my younger years.”
My mouth is agape. Grace isn’t known for her cookie cutter grandma persona, but it’s still a shocking, joyful surprise hearing her get this vulgar. “Wow,” is all I can say and laugh out loud!
As we continue to drink our tea, we talk about the usual: money, family, and the soap operas that Grace is obsessed with. She fills me in on the latest kidnapping/hostage story-line on her favorite drama, and after we finish our drinks, I help her clean up and wipe down the counters.
“You have a good night, okay, sweetie?” she says. She pulls me in for another hug at the door, kissing me on the cheek. Her perfume smells like home, and I’m instantly taken back to all the good memories I made with her and the boys.
It takes all the strength I have not to spend more time around Grace, but I know that I have to head home and get ready for bed soon. I had a busy day, and I know that tomorrow will be more of the same. When I return home, I strip down and change
into my favorite pair of pajamas, collapsing on the bed and rolling onto my back.
I blindly reach for my phone and scroll through until I find the folder I created solely for dating apps. Grace asked if I ever considered joining one of them, and I didn’t have the courage to tell her I’m pretty much signed up for all of them. A few years ago, Rosie and I were really into the idea of meeting guys online because of how progressive and millennial it felt, but after a while, I learned that most of the guys on there weren’t after long-term relationships.
They wanted for-nows. They wanted someone to keep them warm in bed for a night and up bright and early in the morning, waiting for their Uber rides. I have nothing against girls that do that, and in fact, I support anyone’s decision to look for something short and fun, but that’s never been my style. I don’t want quick, disposable. I want a man that will be there for me when I need him, not just when he wants to undress me and spend thirty minutes rolling around in the sheets.
I sigh and drop my phone back onto my mattress. If I’m going to meet a guy like that, I doubt it’ll be online. I’ll have to be lucky enough to meet him in person or something. I snort and shake my head. Yeah. Me, lucky. I’ll be waiting for my entire life if I’m holding out for luck to send a man my way.
Chapter 2: Logan
For all the great things that come from having kids, listening to their music is not one of them. The song about infant sharks finally wraps up, and from the backseat, I hear Dustin’s tiny voice saying,
“Again, Daddy! Again!”
Every part of me wants to groan, but I put on a smile and play his favorite song one more time. It’s the least I can do for him given that I’ve just uprooted his entire life. If there’s an ounce of resentment in that little four-year-old head of his, Dustin doesn’t let it show, because as soon as the song starts again, he goes back to singing and doing the hand motions. He’s so fucking pure. Too good for this world and the shit his mother and I just went through.
Thinking about Jessica comes in waves, like a sickness I thought I was cured of. Sometimes I get flashes of the good moments where we kissed at our wedding or we moved into our first home together. And the first time I felt Dustin kick inside of her. The way tears sparkled in her eyes, so brilliant that I found myself overcome with the same swell of emotions.
But then there are the moments when I see our darkness. I see the silent dinners after Dustin's put to bed. I see the long nights she works, all the times she snuck in and crawled into bed without a word. I hear her phone buzz, and I see her turn it over as if I didn't notice. One thing about Jessica, good or bad, she was never subtle. If she wanted something, she made it clear. What she made clearer than that was when she didn't want something.
Up until recently, I was never in the latter category, but life is funny like that, isn’t it?
How easily our lives changed the moment I discovered the truth. At first, she denied it, as if she were trying to maintain our perfect little utopia with our even more perfect little boy. I might have been an idiot to believe she meant a word of her wedding vows, but I wasn’t stupid enough to let her fool me again. She finally broke down and admitted the truth about her new friend. He wasn’t just her friend. She said she was bored with this marriage, with me. She wanted some excitement again. That being a mother was hard work!
I lost track of the things I broke that night. The dishes in the kitchen. The dining room chair. Our wedding picture that always sat in a tiny gold frame above the fireplace. None of it made me feel better, but I needed that sensation. The sensation of something shattering the same way Jessica took our relationship and broke it into pieces.
And after our emotions wore off and all we could do was look at each other, I decided then and there that I wasn’t going to let Jessica fool me again. I sold the house within three weeks. We packed up over the weekend. I don’t know where she is, and to be honest, I don’t give a fuck. The bare minimum I can give Jessica is hoping that she’s not on the streets, and that’s only because she gave me the greatest gift I could ever ask for.
Speaking of, Dustin calls for me again, and like a dutiful father, I repeat the shark song without a word of complaint.
Driving through the streets of Mayberry again feels like something out of a dream. It’s all familiar, and I remember nearly every face I pass by, but everything is different. I’m not the same man I was when I left five years ago. I’m not the kid that ran away from his problems, who lost his best friend and disappeared to deal with his wounds alone. For a moment, I feel like an imposter.
These streets don’t belong to me anymore. I have no right to return after I fled town like a coward. The moment someone hears that I’ve returned, they’ll turn to their neighbor and gossip about how funny it is to see me crawling back after everything.
I remind myself that not only can I take that criticism, but I also have to ignore it for Dustin's sake. I didn't come back here to win the approval of the people I grew up with. I returned to Mayberry to raise my son near his grandmother, and that's more important than any nosy Mayberry citizen could understand.
I pull into the driveway of our new home, impressed even more than I was when I purchased it last week. Though I’d never been to it, I knew that it would be perfect. The large front yard is perfect for having a small garden put in, and the backyard is big enough for Dustin to grow into. It’s the kind of house I grew up in, not too flashy, but still in a nice, safe neighborhood.
I park next to the blue Altima in the driveway, smiling at Brent through his window. Though he was my assistant in Kansas, I enjoyed having him around so much that I upped his paycheck and offered to take care of his first month of expenses if he returned to Texas with me to continue working.
Brent is the dream assistant, and at times, I wonder if he can actually read my mind. He's a busybody by nature, always flitting around, making sure that my schedule is organized and all my appointments are made. He has a surprisingly outstanding work ethic for someone of his age, which is exactly why I didn't mind spending even more money to keep him around. His parents were nervous about their twenty-three-year-old son leaving the state with some strange man and his child, however, when they hear about the six-figure yearly paycheck he'd be earning, they encouraged him enough by helping him pack his bags
Climbing out of the car, I wave at him. “How long have you been waiting here?”
He shrugs and closes his car door as well. “Not very long,” he replies. “I got into town a while ago, but it’s not big deal.”
He’s full of shit, but I don’t call him out on it. I’m sure he’s been here since early morning, just waiting, keeping himself occupied on his phone or the tablet he’s always tapping on. There are times I start to wonder about his dating and social life. When I was his age, I had friends who were just as socially awkward as he is. I always decide against asking him about it, because he’s my employee, and I can already hear my father in the back of my head scolding me for building personal relationships with employees.
On the other hand, the old bastard was so overworked and isolated all the time that it was only a matter of time before the stress he refused to let out through venting eventually gave him a heart attack. So, maybe I will ask about Brent’s friends one day. That’s still up in the air.
“While I was waiting,” he says, pulling his smartphone from his pocket, “I went over your schedule again, and you’re completely free all day. I know you probably want to settle down, so I moved your phone conferences to tomorrow, that way you can relax.”
I shake my head at him, smiling proudly. As I said, the kid's got to be some kind of psychic.
“That’s perfect,” I say, rounding the car and unbuckling Dustin’s car seat. He’s getting a bit too old for it, but Jessica was always uptight about keeping him in the seat until he’s older, and some habits die harder than others.
“Hi, Brent,” Dustin says, waving up at the boy.
“Hey, kiddo!” He squats down so he’s
on eye-level with Dustin, then leans in to examine the toy in his hand. “What’s this?”
"I got it from McNonald's." Dustin proudly mispronounces the restaurant and Brent chuckles.
“That’s so cool! I’m super jealous,” he teases.
“Hey, Dusty, do you wanna see the new house?” When he comprehends my question, Dustin’s eyes light up, and he takes off towards the front door like the Tasmanian devil. Laughing, Brent and I follow after him. I unlock the front door, and with another burst of explosive energy, Dustin zips all over the place, oohing and ahhing with wonder.
It’s pretty threadbare, with only a few pieces of furniture occupying the massive, empty rooms, but Brent assures me that the furniture delivery company will be over tomorrow to set up everything that I ordered. For now, we’ll have to make do with the furniture in the living room and the air mattresses I picked up on our way out of Kansas.
Once everyone is settled down and comfortable, I find a moment to relax alone in my room. This entire trip was so sudden, and I’d completely forgotten how much I hated moving until it was time to do exactly that. I like everything to be organized and planned to perfection, something my father passed down to me. Next to the family’s manufacturing business, it’s the only thing he gave to me that I don’t try to block out. I use it to my benefit, which is exactly why I run Haywood Manufacturing like a shark, ten times better than he ever did.
The afternoon melts into the evening, and I suddenly remember that I haven’t let my grandmother know that I’m back in town with Dustin. I got so caught up in the whole move and finally having a moment of peace that I completely spaced out. Rising from the couch, I pull Brent aside to talk.
“I know you’re about to head out to your hotel, but do you mind watching him for an hour or so? He’s asleep right now, but I don’t want him home alone if he wakes up and I’m not here. It’ll be quick, I just need to run over to my grandmother’s house and let her know I’m here.”