It wasn’t me.
* * *
After we got home, I unpacked, putting away toiletries, hanging up my suit, making a pile of things for the dry cleaner’s, and tossing dirty laundry in my hamper. When my bag was empty, I shoved it to the back of my closet.
Then I stood in front of my mirror and removed the wedding band I’d worn almost every day for the last ten years. I’d put it back on this morning for two reasons—to avoid an uncomfortable conversation with Mariah in front of my mom if either of them noticed it was missing, and so that I wouldn’t lose it. It didn’t hold the emotional weight for me it once had, but it wasn’t meaningless either.
In fact, placing it in a small cufflink box and tucking it at the back of a dresser drawer felt very meaningful—a conscious step out of the past and into the future.
It was time.
Hopefully, Mariah would see it that way too.
* * *
On Monday morning, I called Mariah’s therapist and left a message requesting an appointment this week. She called me back later that afternoon, while I was catching up with some paperwork.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Cole, it’s Jessalyn Wells returning your call.”
“Hey, Jessalyn. Thanks for calling back.”
“Sure thing. Your message said you’re looking for an appointment later this week. So is this in addition to Mariah’s usual Tuesday appointment or in place of it?”
“This would be in addition to Mariah’s usual appointments, and actually . . .” I hesitated, wondering if this was weird. “She wouldn’t even be there. It would only be me.”
“Oh?”
“There’s something I’d like to ask you about—something I need to approach Mariah with and I’d like to get your opinion on the best way to do it. I don’t think it will take long.”
“Oh. I see. Is it something we might discuss over the phone?”
“No, I think I’d better come in. This is a pretty big deal, and I really want to make sure I understand what the steps are.”
“I understand,” she said. A few clicks of her keyboard. “How’s Thursday morning at ten?”
“Fine,” I said, scribbling it down on a piece of paper. “I’ll be there, thanks.”
* * *
On my way home from work that evening, I called Cheyenne.
“Hello?”
My heart thumped harder at the sound of her voice. It had barely been twenty-four hours since I’d seen her, but it felt like longer. I wished I were driving home to her. “Hi, beautiful.”
“Hi. How are you?”
“I’m good. Just on my way home. How are you?”
“Good. Tired. My kids wore me out today. I think they stored up all their energy over the weekend and unleashed it on me today in the classroom.”
I laughed. “Aw, give ‘em a break. Remember how tough those weeks were leading up to Christmas break? They can’t concentrate.”
“I still have to teach them.”
“How many more school days until vacation?”
“Eleven.” She sighed. “I’m not sure any of us will make it.”
“I think you should play hooky this week. Take a day off and spend it with me.”
She laughed. “Don’t tempt me.”
“I’m serious. I’m off Wednesday and Thursday.”
“Lucky you. I wish I could, but I just took two days off last week. My principal would probably fire me if I took another so fast.”
“Then I’d arrest him. Throw him in jail.”
She giggled. “Her.”
“Whatever.”
“I’ll think about it. What about this weekend? Any plans?”
“I told Mariah I’d take her skating at the park Friday evening.”
“That sounds like fun.”
“I’m thinking that’s the night I’ll tell her about us.”
“Oh. That’s—that’s sooner than I thought.” She hesitated. “Are you nervous?”
“Yes, which is why I made an appointment to talk to her therapist on Thursday morning. I’m going to ask her advice.”
“That’s great.” Cheyenne sounded cheerful again. “I bet she’ll have some really good insights.”
“I hope so.” I paused. “I miss you already. Is that weird?”
“Not to me. I miss you too.”
“When can I see you?”
“Can you escape later?”
I thought for a moment. “What’s tonight, Monday? No, I can’t—it’s my mother’s bowling night. And tomorrow night I take Mariah to her therapist’s appointment, and afterward I’ve got a pickup hockey game. Maybe Wednesday?”
“Sure. Oh wait—is that the second Wednesday of the month? I can’t. That’s my book club night. And I can’t skip—I’m hosting.”
“Oh.” Aggravation was making my shoulders tense up.
“How about Thursday?” she suggested.
“That should work. I’ll clear it with my mom and let you know for sure.”
“Great. Maybe I’ll take you to dinner this time. Or we could meet up with Griffin and Blair.”
“That would be fun. Although what I really want is to get you alone. I guess it’s too much to ask to have you all to myself somewhere I can take all your clothes off, huh?”
She laughed. “Not too much to ask. It’s just the logistics that make it hard. It will be easier when you’re in your new house.”
I groaned. “You’re saying I have to be patient?”
“Yes. But the inspection is this week, right?”
“Thursday.”
“And how soon after can you close?”
“About a month, maybe less since no one has to move out. But there’s a lot of bullshit with the mortgage lender, the escrow company, the title company, the appraiser . . . it’s not fast.” Unlike the pace at which I was falling for her.
“It’s okay, Cole. I’m not going anywhere. We just have to be a little patient.”
“You’re too good to be true,” I said.
“Not really.” Then she laughed. “I just know that you’re worth the wait.”
* * *
On Thursday morning at ten a.m., I sat down on the couch in Jessalyn’s office and told her why I was there.
“I think this is great. Really,” Jessalyn said with a kind smile. “And even if it takes Mariah some time to accept or adapt to the idea of sharing you, it’s going to be good for her.”
I took out a small spiral notebook and pen. “So what tips do you have for making sure I do this the right way?”
Jessalyn, a young woman with dark skin and hazel eyes, looked impressed. “Wow. You’re taking this really seriously.”
“I have to,” I said, feeling nervous and sweaty. “There’s a reason I’ve never done this before. It’s a big deal. And I can’t afford to get it wrong.”
“Relax, Cole.” Jessalyn smiled at me again, getting up from her desk chair and coming over to an upholstered chair adjacent to the couch. She sat down and crossed her legs. “The fact that you’re taking this seriously says that you understand this is a sensitive matter. It’s going to take patience, love, and maybe some tough conversations and extra hugs, but I have faith in you.”
“Thanks.”
“So I want you to think about three things.” She clasped her hands around her knee.
“Three things,” I repeated, writing it down.
“First, and I know you’re good at this already, you want to start by reassuring her that you love her and she’ll always be your first priority, no matter what.”
“Okay.” That was an easy one.
“Mariah will want to hear that your relationship with this new person is not going to take you away from her.”
“It won’t,” I said firmly.
“Next, tell her why you’d like to date this person—she’s smart, she’s kind, she makes you laugh—so that Mariah has a sense of what it is that’s drawing you to her.”
“Mariah already knows her pretty well,”
I said.
Jessalyn looked surprised and pleased. “Really? It’s someone she knows?”
“Cheyenne lives next door to us. We grew up together—her older brother Griffin is my best friend. Actually, it was Cheyenne who gave me your name last year when I was looking for a therapist for Mariah.”
“Oh, this is Cheyenne Dempsey we’re talking about?” Jessalyn laughed. “I know her through the elementary school. And Mariah mentions her frequently.”
“We do see her a lot—even more than usual this fall because of her brother’s wedding. So it’s not like I’d be introducing her to a stranger.”
“No, and that could make it a bit easier,” Jessalyn said. “But still best to be prepared for some resistance and fear.”
“Of course.” I glanced down at my notes. “So are we on number two or three?”
“Well, some of what I was going to say might be irrelevant now, since Mariah has already met her and they have a nice relationship. I was going to suggest the first few meetings be in neutral spaces, and not to introduce them at all until you were absolutely certain the relationship between the two of you was serious.”
“It’s—I’d say it’s serious.” I cleared my throat. “We’ve had feelings for each other for a while. It just took us some time to act on them. We wanted to be sure this was right.”
Jessalyn nodded. “Sounds like you both have good, level heads on your shoulders. That said, I might avoid sleepovers until things are more settled.”
“Well, considering that we both live with our mothers, those are pretty much out anyway,” I said wryly. “I’m in the process of purchasing a new house, but I hear what you’re saying, and I agree.”
“Good. I’m not saying you have to be remarried for that to happen,” she said gently, “but sometimes that is best.”
I glanced down at my bare ring finger, my chest growing inexplicably tight. “I understand.”
“Your situation is also a little unique in that there is no ex-spouse involved,” Jessalyn went on. “But that doesn’t mean that she’ll jump at the opportunity to have a new mom. Every child is different, but many children don’t like the thought of someone attempting to replace the parent they lost. You’ll want to be sensitive to that, especially if Mariah isn’t able to articulate what she’s feeling exactly.”
“Right.”
“But remarriage is a wonderful thing.” Jessalyn smiled and sat back. “It’s another loving adult in her life, another reassuring presence. And a chance for you to demonstrate a healthy, intimate relationship. She needs that.”
I nodded, clearing my throat. “Remarriage is kind of a scary topic.”
“Oh?”
“Not necessarily for me personally,” I said quickly, because I wasn’t scared of anything. “But because of a promise I made to Mariah when she was five.”
“What kind of promise?”
I told her about the time Mariah had come to me and asked if I ever planned to get married and leave her behind, and I’d vowed it would never happen. “A friend at school had been telling her that her father was getting remarried and moving away, and it was very upsetting to Mariah.”
“Of course,” said Jessalyn, nodding. “I can see how it would be. And sometimes we say things to our children to make them feel safe in the moment, and it’s only later that we realize that the truth might have allowed for some needed emotional development.”
“But it wasn’t like I said something untrue,” I argued. “I really never saw myself getting married again.”
“It’s wonderful that you met someone who made you change your mind, isn’t it?” Jessalyn smiled knowingly at me.
“I guess. I mean yes—it is.” But the topic of marriage was making me feel anxious, and I decided it was because I was worried my daughter would object. “What should I do if Mariah doesn’t see it that way? If she sees it as a threat?”
“You tell her you love her. Give her a hug. And try again another day,” Jessalyn said gently. “If you really care for Cheyenne, and you want her in your life, you want Mariah to feel good about it. Don’t give her any reason to believe you’re choosing someone else’s happiness over hers.”
I wrote frantically, copying down as many words as I could recall. “When do you think is the right time to do it?”
“That’s up to you,” she said. “But given the circumstances, I really don’t see a reason to wait too long. If you’re sure of your feelings for Cheyenne—”
“I’m sure of them.”
“Then talk to her. Just remember, no matter how much she likes Cheyenne, she’ll need time to get used to the idea of the two of you.”
“Okay.” I closed my notebook and stuck my pen inside the spiral. “Thanks a lot for talking to me. I really appreciate it.”
“My pleasure. And no charge for the visit,” she said, rising to her feet. “Just let me know how it goes.”
Eighteen
Cole
That night, Cheyenne and I had dinner over at Griffin and Blair’s.
They lived in what had previously been Griffin’s bachelor pad, which was located on the second story of an old fire station that housed the Bellamy Creek Garage on the ground level. Griffin and Cheyenne’s grandfather had started the business, their dad had run it for years before he died suddenly of a heart attack, and Griffin had run it for the past six years.
I was excited about spending the evening with her, but I was also distracted—going over Jessalyn’s advice in my head constantly. On the drive over, I’d told Cheyenne all about it, and she was cautiously optimistic, just like Jessalyn was.
We entered the old firehouse through a glass door to the left of the lobby entrance, and as we went up the stairs to the apartment, the aroma of garlic and lemon and something roasting in the oven made my mouth water.
Blair, wearing an apron over her dress, greeted us with a hug, and Griffin handed me a beer and Cheyenne a glass of wine.
I made up my mind to stop fretting about things so much and just enjoy the time I had with Cheyenne and my friends. This was the first time in a decade I’d done something like this. I wanted to savor it.
* * *
Blair and Griffin had decided to delay their honeymoon until after the holidays and were planning a trip to Mexico just after the New Year. Over plates of lemony chicken piccata, smashed potatoes and sautéed spinach, Blair rapturously described the resort they’d chosen.
“I’m so jealous,” Cheyenne said, taking a sip of her wine. “I wish I could get away to the beach this winter.”
“Why don’t you come with us?” Across the table, Blair flashed us an encouraging smile. “It would be fun!”
Next to her, Griffin frowned. “Did you just invite people on our honeymoon?”
“What, you and I are together all the time! I think it would be fun for the four of us to get away.”
“That’s a really sweet offer, Blair, but no.” Cheyenne laughed as she set her glass down and picked up her fork. “I’m not going on my brother’s honeymoon—or anyone’s honeymoon.”
“It would be impossible for me anyway,” I added. “I couldn’t leave Mariah for that long.”
“You must be excited about the new house,” Blair said. “Have you had the inspection yet?”
“Today,” I confirmed.
“How’d it go?” Griffin asked.
“Great. No surprises. I should have a closing date by the end of the year.”
“I can’t wait to see it,” Cheyenne bubbled. “Cole said he might even be able to show it to me next week.”
“Really?” Blair looked at me in surprise.
I nodded. “No one is living there, and the agent said the current owners gave the okay for me to go in with a contractor and take measurements, get estimates on the work, and all that.”
“Moretti doing the reno?” Griffin asked.
“Yeah.” I grinned. “In between play dates with his girlfriend.”
Everyone laughed, and Blair said, “You guys,
I feel bad. We should meet her before we judge. What if Enzo really likes her? She could be the one.”
“She’s not the one,” Griffin muttered.
Blair slapped his shoulder. “You don’t know that for sure. He seems serious about her. I spoke with him at the wedding a little.”
“I don’t know, I gotta go with Griff on this one.” I picked up my beer bottle and took a sip. “I think he’s only dating her because he’s feeling pressure from his parents to settle down. I don’t get the feeling she’s the one.”
Blair sighed, like she was frustrated with both of us. “I don’t know that I trust either one of you to recognize true love right off the bat.”
“Did you hear that, Griff?” I teased. “Your wife doesn’t think we know a good hit when we see one.”
“I heard,” Griffin said, pretending to be disgusted. “It’s like she didn’t see my in-the-park home run in the championship game this season.”
“Or my triple that drove in the winning run.” I shook my head. “Sad.”
“Appalling.” Griffin elbowed his wife.
Blair rolled her eyes. “I am not talking about old man baseball, and you know it!”
“Now she’s trying to take back what she said about us.” Griffin shook his head. “Good thing she’s hot. That’s what really matters in a relationship, am I right, Cole?”
“She’s also a great cook, which is the second most important thing.” I ate another forkful of chicken piccata, which was delicious.
“True, true,” Griffin agreed. “Or maybe the third. I won’t mention the second at the table, but don’t worry, she’s good at that too.”
Blair cleared her throat. “Cheyenne, remind me of this conversation next time I have the idea to get together for dinner.”
“Will do, sister.”
Griffin and I exchanged a grin, and something about the whole scene was both nostalgic—Griffin and I ganging up on some cute girls—and hopeful. I could imagine dinners like this in the future, with Moretti and Beckett and their wives, whoever they turned out to be, and maybe a bunch of kids running around too.
Make Me Yours: The Bellamy Creek Series Page 20
