The Sunday Potluck Club

by Melissa Storm

  Amy glanced toward Bridget, who was now lying with her eyes closed and her breathing slow and steady. Out like a light.

  Well, with Bridget napping and the others out to get dinner, this seemed as good a time as any for Amy’s nightly call with Trent. She grabbed her phone and pressed the call button as she climbed the stairs toward Nichole’s library.

  “Hi,” she said, slipping into the private room and shutting the door behind her.

  “Hi,” Trent said back. “It’s funny, but I really don’t think I can go a day without hearing your voice. You’ve already become such a staple in my routine.”

  His routine? Was that all she was to him? A box he had to check off before the end of each day? Because that wasn’t what this felt like to her, not at all.

  “Yeah,” she answered noncommittally as she walked slowly beside the tall bookshelves, running a finger over the spines of each book and wondering if Nichole had, indeed, read them all cover to cover. “We finished everything for the event today,” she told him.

  The kettle whistled on Trent’s side of the call, and she pictured him preparing his tea as he settled in for their nightly conversation. “That’s fantastic. Bridget must be so relieved.”

  She smiled at this. Trent had only met her friends once, and already he seemed to know them so well. “More like exhausted,” she answered with a chuckle. “She’s taking a nap on Nichole’s couch as we speak.”

  “Does that mean you’re free to come over?” he asked deftly.

  Good question. She liked talking with Trent. She liked daydreaming about Trent, but she still had no idea what he wanted from her, or even what she hoped to get from him.

  Perhaps it was the thrill of finally putting the finishing touches on Date-a-Rescue, or maybe, like Bridget, she was tired of not knowing how things would end up. Maybe she was just too tired to properly filter herself. Whatever the case, she decided to ask Trent point-blank about his intentions.

  “Trent, what are we doing here?” she mumbled, immediately wishing she could take the words back. What if this kind of talk scared him away? She’d be so embarrassed if she’d read the situation wrong, and so upset with herself if she was no longer able to mentor Olivia because of her foolish longings.

  “We’re having a conversation,” he answered matter-of-factly.

  Amy sighed and rubbed at her temples.

  “But that’s not what you meant.”

  “No.” The single word echoed between them; then everything grew silent.

  Trent swallowed, and she wondered if it was from nerves or if he was simply drinking his tea. “In case you haven’t noticed yet,” Trent said, then paused again. “I like you, Amy. I like you better than anyone I’ve met in a very long time.”

  “That’s not saying a lot since you spend your day in the company of prisoners,” she joked, then forced a laugh to cover up her awkwardness. She’d had this conversation with men before, but it had never mattered the way it did now with Trent.

  “I like you,” he said again, and warmth spread in her chest. She’d never get tired of hearing those words escape his lips. “But I don’t deserve you.”

  Amy lowered herself to the ground. This seemed like the type of situation where it might be best to be sitting.

  “What do you mean you don’t deserve me?” she asked, stumbling over the strange combination of words. How could he possibly think them? Was there a dark side of himself he’d kept hidden in the shadows, while she let herself fall head over heels for the face he presented to the world?

  “It’s a long story,” Trent said with a sigh.

  “I’ve got some time,” she whispered.

  Fear sent her heart galloping at a rapid clip. Would what he said next ruin everything between them?

  Trent didn’t say anything at all, which only heightened Amy’s anxiety.

  “What did you do?” she asked, her voice small as she waited for whatever big secret he would soon reveal.

  Chapter 22

  The line fell silent for so long, Amy had to check to see if they were still connected. At last Trent whispered, “It’s not what I did. It’s what I felt. What I wished into existence.”

  “I don’t understand.” She glanced toward the old grandfather clock that stood beside the far bookcase. How much longer did she have before Hazel and Nichole returned? Before Bridget woke up? And would it be enough time to finish whatever deep conversation they’d just begun?

  “It’s about my wife, Julie,” Trent tried to explain, but Amy still didn’t understand what any of it meant or what it had to do with their relationship now.

  “You feel like you’d be cheating on her memory?” she ventured aloud. That at least made sense. It was what she herself had thought when she’d first realized she’d developed romantic feelings toward Trent—not that he should feel guilt over spending time with her, but that she had done something wrong by moving in on another woman’s husband too soon after she’d gone.

  Trent let out an exasperated sigh, which she tried not to take personally. Still, was she being dense that she had trouble understanding something that clearly meant a lot to him? She wished she were smarter, that he didn’t have to spend so much time explaining whatever this was that caused him so much pain.

  “No, it’s not that.” He paused again for an uncomfortably long period before finally revealing, “We weren’t happy.” He said this so softly that Amy had to turn the words over in her mind several times before they made any sense at all.

  She sucked in a sharp breath. Nothing felt like the right thing to say in the wake of this admission. She still didn’t know what he was trying to tell her, but already she didn’t like where this was headed.

  Trent’s voice came back a bit stronger, but so full of sorrow Amy wanted to reach right through the phone and give him a hug. “Everyone assumes that since we were together when she died, we were happy. But we weren’t. We fought all the time. And I . . . I used to wish she’d leave me, so I wouldn’t have to be the one to ask for a divorce.”

  His voice broke, and Amy knew then he must be crying. “I wished she’d leave me, and then she did. She died.”

  “No,” Amy said firmly, perhaps too firmly. “You can’t possibly think it was your fault.”

  Trent laughed sadly. “Wasn’t it, though? I wanted her gone, and then she was. My little girl lost her mom because I hated how much she nagged me over the dishes, how we never agreed on anything anymore, how we never enjoyed spending time together unless Liv was there to act as a buffer.”

  “You didn’t wish her dead,” Amy said, her voice shaking now, too. The truth was, she knew nothing about his previous relationship other than the little he’d told her. Still, he seemed so upset now that she had to say something—anything—to make him feel better. “And even if you had,” she added after a beat, “it’s not your fault she got sick. It’s not your fault she died.”

  “It sure feels like it.” Trent didn’t bother to hide his sobs, which broke Amy’s heart into a million little pieces. “And before you think I’m a total monster, I did love her. I never stopped loving her, but it changed. We grew up and grew apart. I thought we’d both be happier as friends and co-parents. I never wanted her to die.”

  “I know,” Amy whispered, even though she didn’t. Not really. “I know.”

  Now that the flood gates had opened, confession after confession spilled from Trent’s mouth. “Liv knew, too. She knew we fought. I think she blames me for it, and that’s why . . .” His voice cracked again. “That’s why she doesn’t like to talk anymore. Her mother left, and I betrayed her. She doesn’t know who to trust anymore.”

  “No,” Amy scolded him again. It was the only way she could think to make him stop saying these terrible things about himself, about things he couldn’t control. “Stop blaming yourself. Nothing that happened was your fault.”

  “She hasn’t even been gone half a year yet, and already with you . . .” He stopped and took in another deep breath.
<
br />   “You don’t have to say it,” Amy whispered. Minutes ago she’d longed to hear him confess his feelings for her, but now? No, it wouldn’t be right. It had never been right.

  Trent didn’t stop, though. “I feel all the things I’d stopped feeling with Julie.”

  “Stop,” Amy said weakly. “Please stop.”

  “I want to be with you, Amy. So much. But it feels selfish to want anything for myself after everything that happened to her. That happened to our family.”

  “Trent,” she said softly, squeezing her eyes shut and picturing those intense eyes flooding with tears. She liked him so much, but neither of them was ready for this relationship. Amy was still healing, and it seemed as if Trent hadn’t even begun the process yet.

  He said he wanted to be with her, but he had so many unresolved issues about his marriage to Julie. Had it just been the two of them, perhaps they could have worked everything through together.

  But there was another very important person to consider. Someone who needed them both to be strong and focused on her instead of on themselves.

  “I like you, too, but this isn’t right,” she said, tears squeezing out from beneath closed eyelids. “Not because of what you wished or because you weren’t happy then, but because Olivia needs to be the priority. For you and for me, too. If our spending time together isn’t—”

  “Stop,” Trent said, echoing her previous hesitation. Neither of them wanted to be the one to end things, but they both seemed to understand what was needed. “Stop,” he repeated. “I know. You don’t have to say it.”

  But Amy needed this to be put into words. She needed to make sure they’d landed on the same page, the one that said, THE END. “Maybe when Olivia is feeling better, and when we’ve had time to feel better, too,” she offered, hoping beyond hope that their measly little love story might have a sequel yet, that one day they’d have a chance to pick this up again.

  The next part was the hardest to say, but also the most important. “Until then, though, I don’t think we should spend time together outside of school.”

  Trent breathed loudly on the other end of the line.

  “Olivia’s a sweet girl, and I still want to help her,” Amy continued. “Do you think she could spend her after-school care hours with me in the classroom instead of at her daycare?”

  Trent still didn’t answer.

  “You don’t have to decide now,” she said, hating herself for letting him down when he’d been let down too often in his lonely life. “But think about it. Okay?” she managed to squeeze out before choking back a sob.

  “Goodbye, Amy,” Trent said. And with that, there was nothing more that either needed to say. It was over, just as fast as it had begun.

  When they hung up, Amy grabbed her knees and hugged them tightly to her chest. This was for the best. It had been too much too soon for him definitely, but for her, too.

  Maybe she hadn’t really cared for Trent at all. Maybe it was all just a way to stop missing her mom so much.

  But even as she thought the words, she knew they couldn’t be true.

  Something special had connected her with Trent.

  Not as a gift, but rather a punishment.

  Chapter 23

  Amy remained hidden away in Nichole’s tiny home library until Nichole herself came to find her.

  Spying the fresh tears on Amy’s face, she shut the door behind her and came to sit beside her friend on the carpet. “Is it Trent?” she asked softly.

  Amy wiped her eyes and raised them to meet Nichole’s. “How did you know?”

  “How many times do I need to remind you what I do for a living?” Nichole answered with a dry laugh.

  “I told him we shouldn’t see each other anymore,” she admitted, searching her friend’s face for any sign of shock, judgement, or disdain. She only found warmth and understanding.

  Nichole kept her face neutral, as Amy was sure she’d been trained to do. “Why not?”

  Amy rested her chin on top of her knee and shrugged. “It’s really complicated,” she muttered.

  “You can tell me if you want. I might be able to see things in a way that you can’t because of how close you are to the situation.”

  That sounded just like what Amy needed, an impartial ear. “He blames himself for his wife’s death,” she blurted out before she could second-guess her decision to share. She trusted Nichole, and besides, Nichole knew her almost better than anyone else. And now that Amy had decided to let Trent go, she desperately needed a friend on her side.

  Nichole tilted her head and puckered her lips as she considered this. After a moment, recognition lighted in her eyes, and she asked, “Didn’t she die of cancer?”

  “Yes, and, obviously, it’s not his fault at all, but he feels guilty because he wanted a divorce before she got sick.” She hated this, hated everything about it. Trent shouldn’t have to hurt like this, and if Amy wasn’t meant to be with him, then why had God sent him literally crashing right into her?

  “Ahh,” Nichole said, nodding now. “So, what else did he say?”

  “He said he wants us to be together, but he doesn’t think he deserves to be happy.” Another tear escaped and raced down Amy’s cheek. Why was she always finding new reasons to cry? Why was it so hard to just be happy and stay that way?

  Nichole sucked air in through her teeth. “Then what he means is he’s not ready to be happy,” she translated.

  Amy rubbed her tears away and sat up straighter so she could look at her friend. “What do you mean?”

  “Some people prefer to wallow. It’s how they punish themselves,” Nichole explained. Amy wondered if she knew this from her training or if instead she might be speaking from personal experience. “They need to feel like they’ve suffered enough, I guess, before they can let themselves move on.”

  Amy shook her head slowly. Talking to Nichole made her feel somewhat better, but it hadn’t offered any solutions. “That’s why I don’t see how we can go on dating each other. How can I help Trent through something like that?”

  “You can’t,” Nichole stated simply. “It’s something he needs to do for himself. It’s kind of like how Bridget needs to be working on something every waking moment of the day to hide from what she’s really feeling about losing her mom.”

  Of course. As much as Amy wanted to help everyone, she couldn’t. Not when they weren’t willing to meet her partway. Did this mean Trent simply didn’t like her enough to try harder? Or was she just like silly Bridget, trying to save everyone, never even realizing that she herself was in danger. “Then where does that leave me?” she asked, begging her friend to have an answer that was easier to accept.

  Nichole wrapped an arm around Amy and pulled her head down onto her shoulder. “Here. With me.”

  They sat together—Nichole holding Amy—until at last the tears stopped coming.

  “Guilt is a terrible, ugly thing,” Nichole said. “It’s one of the worst feelings a person can have.” Again, Amy suspected Nichole was speaking from experience. Bridget and Amy had both made such a spectacle of their feelings these days that no one ever asked after Nichole. Sure, her father had recovered even though the doctors hadn’t expected him to make it through the end of the year. But now Nichole had a strange case of survivor’s guilt. She felt alienated from her friends, and when she’d tried to share that with them, Amy had bitten her head off. Maybe she really did need more time to work on herself.

  “When does it stop hurting so much?” she asked, offering her friend a small smile to show she loved her, that she appreciated her being there now.

  “When does what stop hurting?” Nichole asked with a studied expression.

  Amy thought about this. She still ached from the loss of her mother, and now she’d lost Trent before he’d ever fully been hers. But was loss the thing that caused her so much pain? No, it was something much more than that. Something much bigger.

  “Life,” she murmured.

  They both took in dee
p breaths as they contemplated this riddle, not about the meaning of life but rather the best way through it.

  “Probably never,” Nichole answered at last. “But would you really have it any other way?”

  Amy widened her eyes, not wanting to tell her friend that she was crazy, but definitely thinking it in that moment.

  Nichole simply smiled. “To feel pain is to feel alive. You wouldn’t want to be perfectly content all the time, believe me. You need the lows to appreciate the highs.”

  Amy sighed and shook her head. “Well, I’ve definitely had enough of the lows.”

  “C’mon.” Nichole pushed herself to her feet and extended a hand toward Amy. “Let’s go get high.”

  They both broke apart in giggles as they marched downstairs to join the others. Bridget still lay dozing on the couch exactly where Amy had left her.

  “Poor thing,” Hazel said, leaning against the doorframe. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she slept straight through to the big event.”

  “I hope she does,” Amy said. “Lord knows she needs it.”

  Perhaps they all needed it. A slight break from the pain, so that they could come back stronger the next day.

  The three of them moved to the kitchen, where a stack of pizzas sat waiting for them. They always had to get at least two since none of them liked the same toppings.

  Amy frowned as she remembered the last time she’d had pizza. That had been just less than a week ago. Why did it seem as if that night with Trent and Olivia had happened months ago?

  Again, she ached with the realization that she and Trent couldn’t be together. It felt like she’d lost something special and custom-made just for her. But at the same time, they’d hardly had any time together at all. Maybe her feelings for Trent really were nothing more than displaced grief for her mother.

  Was it possible they’d both built the relationship up in their heads because they each needed the distraction? She and Trent had faced many lows this past year. Were they merely using each other to feel those blessed highs again?