All My Life

by Prescott Lane

  “Sheena doesn’t deserve to see Mia,” I spit out. “And I don’t have to make it easy.”

  The saddest smile crosses her lips. “But you will,” she says. “For Mia, you will.”

  Her hand gently lands on my cheek, then she walks away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  DEVLYN

  Nothing like kneading dough to work out your frustrations. I pound into the gooey mixture, my hands red I’ve been at it so long. There was no sleeping after last night, so I came to the diner early. I’d be lying if I said I haven’t eaten my weight in pastry this morning. I’ve got the food baby to prove it. Who am I kidding? I’ve got food triplets going on.

  I’ve been hiding out in the back most of the morning because all anyone seems to want to talk about is Sheena. The only thing swirling in the air more than the aroma of my coffee are questions. What’s she doing back? Why now? Will Garrett and her reunite? Will Mia forgive her mother?

  Everyone has an opinion. Everyone wants to know mine since the general consensus is that I know Garrett and Mia the best. I’m keeping my mouth shut. I don’t have any answers, anyway. It’s all driving me crazy, so I decide to hide out and bake. Carbs never disappoint, so I’m making a few hundred. Biscuits don’t judge me. Pastries don’t gossip, and never has a scone made me cry, so I figure I’m safe.

  Besides, the only thing I learned from listening to the town gossip is that Sheena is staying at a bed and breakfast in the next town, knowing that no one in Eden Valley would rent to her. Everything else is just hearsay and innuendo.

  The oven timer dings, so I quickly rinse off my hands, grab a potholder and pull out a pan of freshly baked biscuits. Warm buttered biscuits are sex in carb form.

  Sorry, Grandma! She’d roll over in her grave if she knew I was comparing her biscuit recipe to sex. I’m not sure how long this recipe has actually been in our family, but it’s top secret. One little trick to making the perfect biscuit is frozen butter. Yep, frozen, not just cold. Frozen butter can be grated. That way, when it’s mixed in, the butter spreads throughout. That’s the only thing I can share without my mother disowning me.

  Drake women like our biscuits big. These are around three to four inches tall. “There is no such thing as too big of a biscuit,” my mother used to say. That could apply to men, as well. Not the three or four inches part, that would just be sad. Oops, sorry again, Grandma.

  Plating them, I push the door open with my booty, my tutu crinkling up, and step out into the diner. I start placing them down on customers’ plates. They may not have ordered them, but they are getting a little hot buttery treat, compliments of me. Hopefully, it makes them fill their mouths with something other than gossip.

  “Devlyn, how are you dealing with . . .” Trudy, the mail carrier, starts to ask, but I shove a biscuit right in her mouth. That’s the only acceptable way to tell someone to shut up.

  She smiles through her bite then her eyes get huge. I knew my biscuits were good, but she looks like she’s about to pass out. When I hear the door open behind me, I don’t have to look to know why. The hairs on the back of my neck are telling me I’m about to come face-to-face with my nightmare.

  Placing my tray down, I turn around. Sheena smiles at me. She’s got some nerve waltzing into my shop, and of course, she looks perfect. Blonde, petite, brown eyes, and a stomach flatter than mine. Seriously, she’s birthed a baby. Life isn’t fair. I’m not even sure my socks match, and she’s dressed to kill. Aside from her hair being slightly shorter, she looks exactly the same as eighteen years ago.

  “Hi, Devlyn,” she says, glancing around. “The place is just like I remember. The whole town is.”

  Everyone in the place is staring at me, wondering how I’m going to respond. “We aren’t as welcoming as we were before,” I say.

  She glances at her feet. “I knew coming back here wasn’t going to be easy, but you were always so sweet to Garrett and me. I was hoping . . .” I lean against the counter. This ought to be good. “I just thought maybe you and I could talk.”

  “I’m working.”

  “Over one cup of coffee. That’s it.”

  “I’m not interested in anything you have to say,” I say, turning away.

  She grabs my elbow. “Then I’ll listen. You can talk, and I’ll just listen. Please, I’m desperate.”

  I yank my arm away. “Don’t come in here again.”

  Like the stubborn, spoiled princess she is, she takes a seat at the counter, slamming her purse down. I have a mind to spill a whole pitcher of orange juice on top of her perfect blonde hair, but instead I smile at the man seated at the table in the corner.

  He gets to his feet, his blue officer uniform a nice contrast to the shiny metal of his badge. “There a problem, Devlyn?”

  “Loitering, trespassing, harassment,” I say, smirking. “Whatever else you can charge her with.”

  “Fine,” Sheena says, getting to her feet with a stomp. “You know, Garrett was always so blind when it came to you, but I saw right through you. Nothing more than a lovesick, awkward little . . .”

  “Sheena!” Garrett barks from the front door of my diner. Mia stands behind him, mostly hidden by his frame.

  I feel the heat on my cheeks, the tears welling in my eyes. Garrett’s eyes run over me. He can’t rush to me. He can’t hug me. All I get is that look.

  “Well, at least you’re talking to me now,” Sheena says, trying to look around him at Mia.

  “Oh, holy hell,” one customer whispers.

  “This is getting good,” another says.

  “She was just leaving,” I say, motioning to the town police officer to go ahead and throw her out.

  Sheena pulls away. “I’m not leaving until I talk to my daughter.” Everyone in the place knows that Garrett isn’t going to let Mia see her mother get taken out by a police officer. “Please, Garrett,” she says, taking a step to him. “I want a chance to get to know her. Maybe we could all have breakfast.”

  Mia peers up over his shoulder. “It’s just breakfast, Dad.”

  I want to scream that breakfast is my thing with Garrett and Mia, not hers. Garrett doesn’t like it, not one bit, but he nods his head to Mia, giving her the okay. I don’t want to make this harder on him, so I give him a smile. A fake ass smile, but a smile still.

  “Not here,” he says, glancing at me.

  “But we always come here,” Mia says then looks at Sheena. “It’s kind of our thing.”

  “Oh,” she says, smiling at her daughter. “I don’t want to mess up anything between you and your father.”

  Liar! Who does she think she’s kidding with that line of bull crap?

  “It’s fine,” Mia says. “We’re all here. Right, Daddy?”

  Another glance to me. Another smile from me, and they are taking a seat at their usual table, only this time Mia sits beside her dad instead of across from him. It looks like two against one.

  Everyone else in the place is trying to pretend they aren’t staring, but not me. I can’t take my eyes off the three of them. Trudy pats my hand and whispers, “Have someone else serve them.”

  “I got it,” I say. “I’m alright.”

  I fix Mia and Garrett’s coffees just the way they like them then head over and place them down. Garrett’s jaw is so tense it looks like his mouth is wired shut.

  “I saw your graduation speech online,” Sheena says.

  “You watched it?” Mia asks, taking her coffee.

  Sheena glances at Garrett. “Me and about a million other people it looked like.”

  “Oh, my gosh,” Mia says. “I have to tell you about the women that showed up after to date Dad. It was so funny and . . .”

  “Mia!” Garrett barks. “You wanted to talk to Sheena? Fine! But leave me out of it.”

  Mia looks down into her mug. I can count on one hand how many times I’ve heard Garrett scold Mia like that. He clenches his hands in a fist in front of his mouth. I can’t decide if he looks like he’s praying or trying
to keep from wringing Sheena’s neck.

  I clear my throat. “Mia, honey, you want granola? Fruit?” She barely looks up at me. I step behind her, playing with her hair. Sheena’s eyes study us, obviously jealous. Damn, it feels good to get under her skin. I probably shouldn’t be doing this in my shop, it’s not very professional. I probably should lay off since they have enough family drama, but my internal bitch is awake and she’s pissed. Pissed about what Sheena did to Garrett and Mia, and ready to unleash years of hurt.

  “How about those cookies and cream waffles that I only make for you?” I ask.

  She looks up, giving me a smile. “That sounds good. Dad?”

  I stare right at Sheena and say, “I know what he likes.”

  I see half a smile behind his clenched fists. Satisfied, I head toward the counter. Not to be beaten, Sheena calls out, “You didn’t take my order.”

  Garrett’s eyes fly to me. What the hell? His lover is supposed to serve his ex? This is all kinds of screwed up. What am I supposed to do? Mia’s eyes are right on me, and Sheena knows it. I don’t want to damage my relationship with Mia. Ah hell, I’ll just spit in her food.

  I step back to the table. “No,” Garrett snaps, causing both Mia and Sheena to jump slightly. “Devlyn doesn’t need to wait on you.”

  “It’s fine, Garrett,” I say.

  One shake of his head, and Sheena nods to me to go. Good God almighty, this is more dramatic than a soap opera, and I don’t know my part in it yet. Do I have a part? Or am I simply an observer, relegated to the kitchen?

  I’m not Mia’s stepmother. Garrett and I aren’t even public knowledge. My mother would say I’m nothing more than a harlot.

  Disappearing to the back, I gather the ingredients in my hands. I’m like an octopus in the kitchen. It seems like I can carry a whole shopping cart in my arms. I whisk the ingredients for the waffles.

  Maybe I’m just the biscuit girl? The one he calls when he needs help. A friend. It’s been that way most of our lives. Does sleeping with me a few times really change that? A tear rolls down my cheek. I don’t want to think like that. Brushing it aside, I continue making their breakfast like I always have. My grandmother used to say that food picks up on the baker’s feelings, so if you’re sad, your bread will be, too. I hope that’s not true, because Garrett’s meat-lover’s omelet is going to be one confused mess.

  When I finish, I have two perfect plates of breakfast. Drawing a deep breath, I push the door open, finding Garrett stuck in the same position he was when I left him. Mia’s smiling, Sheena’s smiling, and everyone else in the diner looks like they want to vomit. I’m feeling a bit ill myself. My food baby has turned on me and is fighting back.

  “You must have all kinds of questions,” I hear Sheena say as I walk over with the plates.

  “Are you leaving?” Mia asks. “I mean, do I have to ask you everything right now?”

  I freeze. Sheena’s eyes go to Garrett. “I don’t have any firm plans yet.”

  Garrett is stone-faced. My jaw, however, is on the floor. No firm plans? She could be here for the foreseeable future. Until Mia goes off to school? Longer? Is she here for more than Mia? I see the plates falling to the ground before I even realize I’m shaking. The loud clatter and flying food only draw more attention.

  “Devlyn!” Garrett says, getting to his feet. He takes both my hands in his, but only for a second.

  My eyes fly around the room, everyone staring. Sheena has a stunned look on her face. Mia has the same expression, saying, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drop a plate. Ever!”

  “Your breakfast,” I say softly, looking at the mess on the floor.

  For years, it was breakfast in the diner with Garrett and Mia. Now it’s a pile of crap on the floor. Sometimes life is poetic like that. I bend down, throwing chunks of food back on the plates, thankful they didn’t break. Garrett kneels in front of me to help, his eyes glued on me, but I don’t look at him, knowing I won’t be able to smile this time.

  “So you live in England?” Mia asks.

  “Yes,” Sheena says. “You’d think by now I’d have the cool accent, but no such luck.”

  “What do you do?” Mia asks.

  “I work in finance,” she says, smiling. “It’s not very exciting.”

  Mia nods and clears her throat. “Are you married? Do I have any brothers or sisters?”

  Garrett’s body goes rigid, causing me to look at him, but his eyes are closed. “I’ve never been married,” Sheena says. “And you’re my only child.”

  Garrett’s blue eyes open, catching me staring. “I’ve got this,” I say, my voice soft but with an unmistakable chill.

  Slowly, he gets up, taking his seat back at the table. I’m left on the floor with the mess. The irony is not lost on me—I’ve always been cleaning up the mess. Part of me wants to clean up slowly so I can continue to eavesdrop, but another part of me wants to get the hell out of Dodge.

  “There’s so much I want to know,” Mia says.

  Sheena reaches out, touching her hand. “We have time, Mia.”

  Garrett glances at her hand, but Sheena doesn’t remove it. Mia asks, “You won’t just leave again?”

  “I won’t,” Sheena says. “I’ve taken a leave at work.” Garrett’s head shakes in obvious disgust. Sheena’s eyes go to him. “Seems like you have some things you want to say to me, too.”

  “I’m only here to protect Mia,” he says.

  “Protect her from me?” Sheena asks, her voice rising.

  “You forget I’ve heard all your lies before. I’m not going to have Mia fall for it like I did.”

  “I was a teenage girl. I was pregnant, confused, and alone. I . . .”

  “You weren’t alone. Alone is how you left me and Mia.”

  Mia bursts into tears. Releasing a deep breath, Garrett pulls her into his arms. I get up, placing the dirty dishes on the counter behind me and grab Mia a napkin. Garrett takes it from me. Mia seems to be using his shirt as a snot rag at the moment, and he doesn’t care one bit. Got to love that!

  “Can you not fight?” Mia sobs, pulling back to look at her dad. “This is my chance.” Her voice gives. “My chance to know my mom.”

  Garrett lowers his head. Raising Mia alone was hard, but at least she never grew up with parents fighting all the time. He looks up at me. My heart starts to thunder. Please don’t ask me. Dear God, please don’t ask me what I think he’s going to ask me.

  “Devlyn, could you stay with Mia while Sheena and I talk?” he asks.

  Yep, that’s what I thought he was going to say. Wanna babysit my kid so I can go hang out with this other chick? My rational mind knows that’s not what this is, but the heart isn’t a rational organ.

  Mia’s upset. He doesn’t want her alone. She’s hungry. And only I know how to make cookies and cream waffles. So I hold out my arm. “Come on, honey, let’s get you something to eat.”

  I know I’m going to regret this. Mia gets up, and I wrap my arm around her. Garrett gets to his feet, and Sheena follows. He walks toward the door as I walk toward the back of the diner with Mia. I turn around, watching him open the door for Sheena to walk through. Sometimes, I hate that he’s a gentleman.

  *

  Mia has a stool pulled up to the counter in the back of the diner away from prying eyes. Her eyes are still red and puffy—no doubt a result of the combination of crying last night and this morning. She swirls the waffle around on her plate, lapping up the last morsels of syrup. It’s been at least fifteen minutes since Garrett and Sheena stepped outside.

  “Guess they’re discussing a custody arrangement,” Mia says snidely, tossing down her fork.

  “This is a shock for your dad, too,” I say. “Give them some time to . . .”

  “I’m eighteen,” she snaps. “I’ll do what I want. That includes seeing my mother whenever I feel like it.”

  I grab a fork and lean over, stealing a piece of her waffle. If you want a teenage girl to open up, share some
food with them. There’s a reason why women share a pint of ice cream or a bottle of wine in almost every chick flick.

  “She lives in England. I know she’s here now, but who knows for how long,” Mia says. “Dad has to understand this is my chance.”

  “I think he understands what you want,” I say.

  “Why’d she leave?” Mia asks, looking at me. “You have to know.”

  Because she’s a selfish bitch isn’t an appropriate response, so I bite my tongue, push back the vomit in my throat, and say, “I think she was just really young and overwhelmed.”

  “Then why have me in the first place?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m glad she did,” I say, patting her hand.

  “Why’d she never call me or write or anything?” Mia asks.

  I don’t have answers for her and don’t want to say anything nasty about her birth mom in front of her. Sure, I was passive-aggressive and snarky before. I think Mia missed most of that, but I won’t trash talk Sheena to Mia.

  Garrett clears his throat behind me, startling us. He looks rough, like he’s run his hands through his hair at least a dozen times.

  “Did she leave?” Mia asks, jumping up from the stool.

  “She’s gone,” Garrett says. “But you’ll see her later.”

  “When?”

  Garrett glances at me. “Dinner tonight.”

  “A family dinner?” Mia asks with a huge smile.

  My heart breaks—for her and for myself. I hate the thought of Garrett sharing a dinner with Sheena. Maybe I’m a terrible person for feeling that way, but I do. Mia just wants a few normal memories—a dinner with both her parents.

  “No,” Garrett says. “You and Sheena.”

  Mia shakes her head. “Why don’t you ever call her my mother?”

  “I do.”

  “No, you don’t,” Mia snaps. “It’s always Sheena.”

  Garrett exhales. “No, it’s not.”

  “Why won’t you have dinner with us?” Mia asks, her hand on her hip.

  “I thought this is what you wanted,” he says. “To have time with Sheena, to get to know her.”