by Tara Sivec
If I didn’t feel so guilty right now, I’d find it incredibly cute my sister is excited for me, thinking the celebrity pro baseball player Shepherd Oliver stopped by the Dip and Twist to see little ole me. I swat Birdie’s hand away when she leans over the counter and grabs my shoulder to try to look at the back of my shirt.
Too bad celebrity pro baseball player Shepherd Oliver didn’t stop by the Dip and Twist tonight. Just a guy who really meant something to me, who made my stressful days at work go by faster, and who made the lonely nights after Owen went to bed or when he spent the night elsewhere ones filled with laughter and a lot less loneliness. I lied to him about watching him play on TV, and I lied about how big of a fan I was and just how much I knew about baseball, but I didn’t lie to him when I told him I honestly always forgot he was a big deal unless he brought it up. He was just Shepherd to me. Someone I could be myself with, someone I didn’t feel like I had to mother, and just someone who cared about me other than my family.
Or so I thought.
Since I don’t have enough room in my brain right now for one more thing to add to the WTF section located right over the nerve that makes my eye twitch, I decide to worry about why the hell Shepherd came here a few weeks ago, mentioned me to my family, and then left without even talking to me until tonight. Not wanting to put this off any longer, I take another couple of huge sips of my wine before setting the glass back down and calmly folding my hands together to rest them on the counter. As quickly as possible, I give my sister and Tess the CliffsNotes version of my yearlong… whatever with Shepherd Oliver before he stopped talking to me with no explanation last year, until I saw him again tonight.
God, his lips are perfect. And that extra muscle on his lean frame is just glorious—
Nope! Focus, Wren! He’s a jerk who doesn’t give a crap about you.
“Shit. She ain’t lyin’,” Tess says.
Birdie is still scarily quiet, and I look away from her wide eyes locked right on me to see that Tess is scrolling through something on my phone. I lean over and see she’s pulled up my Instagram and is currently looking through all of Shepherd’s and my private messages.
“Oh my God, Tess, boundaries!” I scold her, snatching my phone out of her hand. “You don’t just take someone else’s phone and start reading their messages.”
“There are no boundaries when I see a conversation in there about a forty-minute blowjob with Shepherd Oliver!” she fires back, right when my phone rings in my hand, and I look down with a sigh of relief when I see Emily’s name flashing across my screen.
“It wasn’t a blowjob with him. He was just in the same…. You know what, it’s none of your business, and this is exactly why I didn’t say anything,” I tell her, answering Emily’s FaceTime call and not even bothering to give her a smile in greeting as I hold the phone up in front of me when her face comes on the screen. “I told them about Shepherd, and by the way, he’s here on the island. He stopped by work to see me, and now I’m going to drink myself into a coma.”
There’s a beat of silence and a shocked blink from Emily from the couch in her apartment in Beverly Hills. Right when she opens her mouth, most likely to give me some sort of encouraging words, my sister finally remembers how to speak again. Both she and Tess scream at me so loudly Owen is definitely going to come out here and yell at us.
“You told Emily and you didn’t tell us?!”
My kitchen then turns into an episode of Jerry Springer while Emily, Tess, and Birdie argue amongst themselves about me while I’m standing right here, multiple “stupid twat”, “don’t talk to me like that, motherfucker”, and “eat shit” comments flying around the room with ease as Birdie grabs the phone out of my hand to hold it herself.
I pour myself more wine.
It doesn’t take long before I hear an ear-piercing whistle come from my phone, and all arguing about who should have told who about what is instantly cut off. I glace over at my phone in Birdie’s hand and smile at Emily when she pulls her thumb and forefinger out of her mouth after effectively shutting everyone up.
“Yes, Wren told me and only me, because I’m her ride or die,” Emily explains in a calm, clear manner to the other women in my kitchen. “Just like Birdie told Tess all about how she never felt like she was enough for Palmer and Wren didn’t find out until later, and just like Tess told Birdie she thought she was falling in love with Bodhi and didn’t admit it to Wren until she overheard Tess on the phone.”
I point my wine glass at both of them just to wordlessly give my support for what Emily is saying. I was a little sad neither one of them came to me first with such important things, but I understood the type of bond the two of them have.
“This is just… a really big shock,” Birdie says, shaking her head back and forth at me, still unable to believe I hid a yearlong… whatever, with Shepherd Oliver and never told her. “The jock of all jocks, homecoming king and prom king, most popular guy there ever was at Summersweet High, and the guy you had such a massive crush on that you learned everything there was to know about baseball back in middle school, talked to you for an entire year, and you never said a word. I thought something was up with you a few years ago, but I figured I was just hallucinating. I mean, Wren! This is like all your high school and teenage fantasies come to life in an explosion of magic and wonder! Like an episode of Sabrina, but without the Satan worshiping and sacrificing of human souls. And you’re just sitting there drinking wine like it’s no big deal!”
“Speak for yourself,” Emily pipes up from the phone. “I just sacrificed a human soul over lunch yesterday before my mani-pedi. And I’m pretty sure it’s a big deal.” She gives me a sympathetic smile from the screen. “You can scream. I know you want to.”
God, I miss her so much.
“I’ll go outside and do it on the empty beach like a civilized person later,” I tell her, trying to smile but realizing it hurts too much as I glance at Tess and Birdie.
“We were… friends. Or something,” I tell them. “As much as I always forgot that he was famous and a big deal, I still saw the women he took to parties and the ones on his arm for events. He wasn’t sitting around pining for me or anything, so I just enjoyed the fact that I had someone in my life I wasn’t related to who seemed to care about me and how my day went. Or so I thought. He private-messaged his way into my life, made himself such a big part of it until my day didn’t feel whole unless I talked to him at least once, until I trusted him and depended on him, and it felt so good having someone else help me make decisions about Owen for once. And then he ripped it away without so much as an explanation, stopped replying to my messages, and never spoke to me again until he showed up in the back room of the Dip and Twist tonight.”
I’m pretty sure I know why he stopped talking to me that week of all weeks, but I am in no way mentally prepared to discuss that with everyone right at this moment. It’s bad enough I still remember how hard it was to try not to vomit or cry myself to sleep the multiple times I was watching ESPN and had to see the replay of a woman who looked like a Victoria’s Secret model profess her undying love for him right on home plate. And I can’t even think about how close I came to booking a flight to Washington the day after his injury. I was typing in the expiration date on my debit card before I realized how stupid it was.
I hear a click, and suddenly there’s a small flame waving back and forth in front of my face.
“I can make one phone call and find out what cottage he’s staying in,” Tess says, the fire from her BIC lighter flickering when the breeze from the ceiling fan above us hits it. “I know from previous experience that baseball hats go up fast. Just ask Palmer.”
“He’s still pissed you burned his lucky hat,” Birdie complains as I gently take the lighter out of Tess’s hand, the flame extinguishing when her finger slips from the button. I set the pink lighter down on the counter then think better of it and push it farther out of Tess’s reach.
“As tempting as it sounds, we’
re not lighting his stuff on fire.”
“So, you’re going to give him hell and the silent treatment? Excellent. I used to like the guy, but he’s on my shit list now. I’ll start practicing my resting bitch face. Is dickhole still a good insult, or did we find something better yet?”
“I’m partial to limp dick. It’s funny whether it’s true or not.” Emily shrugs.
“Go with fuck wagon,” Tess helpfully suggests. “It’s aggressive and makes you think of a mom from the ’70s, a Virginia Slim hanging out of her mouth while she flies down the highway, reaching into the backseat of her station wagon to beat her kids who won’t stop fighting.”
“We’re not going with any of those things,” I interrupt them. “I’m a thirty-four-year-old mother of a teenage boy and a business owner, who needs to set a good example. I stormed away from him without saying anything to him because I was in shock, and I just needed to get away from him to clear my head. I deserve answers, and I’m going to deal with him. Just not right now. I need some time to get my head together first.”
Birdie reaches over the counter and rests her hand on top of my clasped ones, and Tess reaches over and rubs her palm against my back.
“You got this.” Emily winks at me from my phone screen that Birdie is facing in my direction. “You’re a strong, independent single mother, who sometimes lets people take advantage of how incredibly nice and giving she is, but still a badass bitch.”
I smile at her, knowing she’s right, about both things, when Tess leans closer to me.
“When you say you stormed away from him, please tell me you didn’t do it quietly.”
“Oh, I absolutely called him a pile of human garbage before I walked away.” I nod seriously.
Everyone barks out a laugh, knowing that is not like me at all. I’ve never told Kevin how I feel about him in fifteen years. My motto has always been to kill people with kindness. I’m not a mean person who calls people names just to make myself feel better. Usually. Thirty seconds in a room with Shepherd and I had no problem telling him what I thought of him. Weird.
“So, in conclusion, I am going to deal with Shepherd Oliver, just not right now. Besides, I might get an early Christmas present and wake up tomorrow to find out he’s already gone.” I shrug, taking a drink of wine to cover up my lie that I would be happy about something like that.
It doesn’t make me happy thinking I might have blown my one chance to finally get answers out of the guy face-to-face. Whether I’m mad and hurt by him or not, the thought that the thirty seconds he stood in front of me before I ran away might have been the only time I’ll ever be that close to him again makes my chest feel tight and my throat get thick with emotion, and I struggle to swallow the wine in my mouth.
“Holy shit, the Shepherd Oliver is on Summersweet Island and came to the Dip and Twist, and you didn’t tell me?”
All three of us along with Emily on the phone turn and look in the living room when we hear Owen shout. He’s standing in the middle of the living room shirtless with just a pair of gray athletic shorts on, his hair mussed from his pillow, holding his phone up and out toward me with an annoyed look on his face. I can’t really see the screen of his phone from here, but I’m assuming one of his friends must have spotted Shepherd in town earlier, snapped a picture, and sent it to him.
“Looks like you might have to deal with Shepherd a little sooner than you thought,” Birdie tells me as I drop my head to the counter and smack it a few times. “You needed something to shake up your life. This could be a lot of much-needed fun for you.”
Not only did my son get my looks and my height, but he also got my love of the same professional baseball player, so that’s fun for me right about now. While Owen continues to berate me from the living room for not telling him his favorite baseball player in the world and the reason why he became a center fielder is on the island, I continue smacking my head against the counter, hoping to knock something loose that will give me the strength to deal with this.
CHAPTER 5
Wren
“I’d hit that.”
“But did you see that ass? My God. My husband never had a round, firm ass like that, even when he was a teenager. It looks even better in person than it does on TV.”
“Tisa talked to him last night right when he got to the island and said his laugh still sounds like warm, melted chocolate is being poured over your body.”
“Sharon Worsham saw him jogging on the beach this morning shirtless and spilled her coffee right down the front of her shirt, and her boobs got third-degree burns. She said it was totally worth it. I’ll forward you the photo she sent me. That man is ripped. He was hot in high school, but this is on another level.”
“Taryn Johnston saw him at Summersweet Grocery and sent me a picture when he was in the produce section getting grapefruit. Look at those biceps testing out the firmness of that fruit.”
“Zoom in. Oh my God, I think I just got pregnant. Taryn is doing the Lord’s work. Send that one to me too.”
“Me three! I need something new for my diddle files, since I—”
“Ladies!” I finally shout, turning around and narrowing my eyes at the moms sitting in the bleachers a few feet behind me on the other side of the chain-link fence I’m leaning against, all hovered around someone’s phone. “There are teenage boys present. Can we tone it down a bit, please?”
Uuugh, why do I always have to be a mom?
The cluster of women immediately stops gossiping about the man who kept me up all night, and I immediately feel bad. My irritation right now isn’t really with them; although, if I have to listen to one more person talk about how hot Shepherd Oliver is, I might light this entire baseball field on fire.
“Sorry! Just a little tired and crabby today,” I quickly explain with a small laugh, not wanting them to be mad at me.
They all give me sad, sympathetic smiles, and I try my hardest not to let it bother me, but I fail. It always bothers me when people look at me with pity, but I just smile and pretend like it doesn’t. Poor single mom Wren, who has a douchebag loser as a baby daddy. I’m not the only single mom on Summersweet Island, not by a longshot. I’m just the only single mom with no life outside of work and her son. Where those moms are living their best life swiping right, most of my excitement comes from swiping my comforter back from my bed and face-planting into my pillow.
“I’ll send you the shirtless picture of Shepherd Oliver on the beach. That will cheer you right up.” Ashley Morgan nods at me with a confident smile.
“Please don’t,” I mutter, when I hear the crack of a bat and realize I’m supposed to be coaching baseball practice.
On top of a massive hangover headache from hell and bone-weary exhaustion I haven’t felt since my son was a colicky newborn, with Owen’s team not having a coach right now and a big tournament coming up soon, I organized a small group of parents who know a lot about baseball to help fill in after our coach quit a few weeks ago. I wasn’t supposed to be in charge of practice again until tomorrow, but Alex’s dad has the flu, and I’m the only other parent coach who doesn’t work off the island and has a more flexible schedule to be able to be here right after school gets out.
I’m always the only other parent who has a more flexible schedule and no life.
“Nice one, Dominic!” I clap and shout to the right fielder who just made a beautiful running catch of a pop-up, paying attention to practice instead of feeling sorry for myself. I have one of the seniors on varsity helping out tonight by hitting pop-ups over and over to the outfielders. I give Dominic a high-five against his glove he holds up for me when he jogs in from the outfield. “Head over to the batting tee to get some hitting drills in, and send Max out here to me when you get there.”
“On it, Ms. Bennett!”
When Dominic is gone, I take a minute to watch Owen make his own perfect catch, letting him and his two other teammates nab a couple more for a few minutes before I move them over to batting practice and transfer
the rest of the batters to the outfield for pop-up drills. Closing my eyes, I rest my elbows on top of the fence behind me, letting my hands dangle down in front, ignoring the quiet chatter of the moms in the bleachers who have moved on to talk about their weekend plans. I take a few deep, calming breaths and enjoy the smell of the ocean and fresh cut grass, and my favorite sounds in the world—the thwacks of bats connecting with balls and the pops of pitches flying into gloves.
I spent the rest of last night after Tess and Birdie left finishing off an entire bottle of wine by myself and then staring up at the ceiling in my bedroom all night after a quick shower, barely getting two hours of sleep. I’m tired, hungover, and annoyed with myself, and not even a few hours off from the Dip and Twist this afternoon can make me feel better. Listening to the moms talk about Shepherd just reminds me that he’s here, and I didn’t imagine it. I tossed and turned all night long thinking about how I behaved when I saw him standing there in front of me, and thinking about that again right now just amplifies my headache and the nausea churning in my stomach, not even my favorite sounds making it better.
I called him a pile of human garbage.
“How are you holding up?”
