I follow it with not one, but three smile emojis. It’s a lot of punctuation and a lot of questions. I want details. I want to know him. My phone is still in my hand when it rings. Casually, I answer, “Hey there,” though the little stomach lurch says otherwise.
“Hey to you too! I’m sorry I texted too early. I don’t even know what time zone my body is in. I do know I couldn’t wait another second to hear your voice.” He laughs.
My body flips around all over inside. He called. He apologized so easily. And he complimented me so genuinely. “You peppered me with questions but didn’t answer the one I asked you. I thought it might be easier to call. But first, how has your couple of weeks been?”
I am not sure if this is a loaded question or if he is being courteous. In case it is the former, I won’t make him beg for information. “To be honest, it was a little, um, roller coaster-ish.”
“The kind where you get off and puke or the kind where you are scared to death but get off and can’t wait to ride it again?”
It is my turn to laugh. I think about how to answer his question. The last few weeks had been filled with ups and downs, from the romance on my return to ruminating over what I should have done differently to avoid Kyle cheating on me. And now, talking to J.T. The high again. The hope and potential it holds. The persistent, deep-seated fear that he’d never get past my past.
“A little bit of both actually. But the good news is, the complication is handled,” I answer. If he only knew Kyle was the one who ended it by cheating. Nobody wants someone’s reject.
“Want to tell me more?”
“How about in person?” Defer and deflect. Easier than honesty.
“Now that sounds like a plan. A very good plan. What are you up to this weekend?”
“I’m in Detroit actually. I have plans today with—” I hesitate awkwardly. “Family.” I can’t very well tell him about my mother’s secret lover. My life sounds like a freakin’ tabloid. “That’s it for the weekend.” Then I throw in, “Nothing else.” I hope he takes the hint.
“When you say nothing, do you mean nothing, or like a few commitments but nothing really worthy of mentioning?”
I laugh again. “I mean not a thing on the calendar or otherwise.”
“Okay, I am just going to take a chance then. Since the complication is handled, would you like to come to Chicago?”
He has asked me if I would like to do something. I cringe thinking how Kyle always told me what I would do.
I push my lips into a thin line, trying to refrain from a smile he would be able to hear through the phone line. “Um, I’ve never been there, and I hear there are some great places to visit, so that sounds very tempting.”
“You’ve never been? That’s great. I’d love to show you around. And no pressure, my two roommates are not here this weekend so that leaves a couple of empty beds.”
“You want me to sleep in one of your roommates’ bed?”
“Well, not exactly. But I want you to know you have the option of sleeping alone in mine, so I’m sure the sheets are clean. I would sleep in the roommate’s bed. Of course, with any luck, you’ll exercise a different option. That, of course, would be the option to have me join you.”
“In your roommate’s bed?”
His amazing laugh makes me smile then break into a laugh myself.
“Well, he’ll be none the wiser. We don’t have to tell him.”
“Clandestine. I like it. Count me in.” I might be nuts, but I’ve taken chances that put me in worse positions.
“Okay, I will. Tomorrow then? What time can you be here?”
I’m going to need yoga for this. There is an 8:00 a.m. class. “I can be on the road around 10:00 and I get an hour so say be there around 1:00 p.m.?
“Okay then, sounds like a plan. A great plan. Anything in particular you do or don’t do?”
My stomach lurches again, not in excitement this time. So many ways I could answer that, none of the answers good. Drugs? Illicit sex? Abusive relationships? With regard to what, J.T.?
“Nope, not fussy. Sports, dancing, movies, hanging out, food. Pretty much like it all.”
“Well, since you’re so fussy, it’ll be tough, but I am sure I can come up with something for us to do!”
His sarcasm is clear, and I laugh again but feel an undercurrent of fear. I should have been fussier in so many ways.
“I’ll text you our address. So, about those questions. Good trip? Yes. Very. I will fill you in in person. Giraffes? Yes. They are beautiful. Change the world? Fix the broken? I just hope to leave things a little better than I found them. They change and fix me more than I do them. Each and every time.”
“Wow, that’s great. I can’t wait to hear more.”
“And I can’t wait to hear about your roller coaster. But I have to go. One more plane ride in my planes, trains, and automobiles. Then a train and a car and I’ll be home sweet home. Twenty-eight-ish hours and counting. I’ll be looking forward to tomorrow. I’ll try to get a nap in today.”
One more boisterous laugh tugs at my heartstrings, sucking me in. I am so screwed.
“Safe travels, J.T.”
“Happy Thanksgiving, Peyton.”
“You too. Bye.” Holy shit, I am going to Chicago!
Several hours later, I am shakily climbing painted wood stairs to the beautiful covered porch of Jack’s house. The house is old, just a little more modern than Victorian-looking, though I haven’t paid enough attention in school to be sure which era. Detailed railings featuring multiple colors and the painted wooden slats under my feet scream pain in the ass to paint. As I wait for someone to answer the door, I picture my mother sitting with Jack on the turquoise-cushioned wicker seat for two next to the door. I imagine her head resting on his shoulder, enjoying a summer evening with a book. My throat constricts. Maybe this house holds more good memories than the one we shared. Her last ones of an angry teenager probably top those of a younger, sweeter me. I sigh and pull in a long deep breath. The cold is startling, and for a moment I miss California where it is probably, like most days, warm and sunny.
Moments later, footsteps and the voice of a little person growing nearer precede the old wooden door creaking in complaint as it opens. A woman who looks to be just a few years older than me leans into the doorway. “Hi, there! You must be Peyton. Come on in!” Before I barely step through the door, she is overwhelming me with kindness. “It’s so nice to meet you. We’re so glad that you could make it today.” She leans in for a hug. Already? “I’m Dani.”
“Thanks for having me,” I answer so quietly I’m not even sure I used my outside voice.
Jack’s voice booms from another room, “Come on in, Peyton. I’d come to greet you but I’m literally elbow-deep in turkey.”
Dani now dons an accessory in the form of a little boy, who appears to be about two, peeking around from behind her legs. “Follow me.” I follow two paces behind until I arrive face to face with Jack, whose arm fills the turkey’s cavity in the sink. Quick math says the turkey not even in the oven means I’m here for a duration. I should have brought more wine.
Two other men peer over Jack’s shoulders, backseat-cooking. “Got it!” Jack proudly exclaims, drawing his hand from the bird and tossing the contents into the other side of the sink. “Come on in, Peyton. Everyone, meet Peyton. Peyton, this is my son Griffin,” he nods his head toward the man on his right, “And this is my son-in-law Evan.” He finishes washing his hands and dries them on the towel tucked into the waistband of his khaki pants. “You met Danielle.” He bends down and scoops up the little boy still attached to Danielle’s leg. “And this is my main man, Tuck.” He picks up his little hand and coerces a fake wave from the boy.
I had no idea that babies were in play for today, and not since I last babysat at sixteen have I spent any time around a toddler. I can practically hear Jack’s voice inside my head warning that any less than stellar interaction with this family’s center of the universe can and wil
l be used against me in the Mannington family court of law. No pressure.
There are so many great reasons to be an actress. “He’s sooo adorable,” I coo, dragging out the word very purposefully for the right amount of emphasis. “How old is he?” I feel a little guilty feigning interest but do I have a choice?
“Twenty-two months. Two in January. Can’t believe it! It goes by so quickly.”
“So I’ve heard.” I set the wine carrier on the counter out of the way, and Danielle’s head turns toward the sound. “Dad, can we open one now?”
Jack looks in my direction. “Danielle has a very important role in cooking holiday dinners.” Evan snickers. She grabs a small stuffed duck of Tuck’s from the counter and hurls it in his direction. He shifts right, and it misses him by several feet. He laughs a full laugh.
“Hey now! Be nice! I have a very important supervisory role in this kitchen.”
Griffin weighs in, “Oh, now you are creating fake jobs for yourself? Supervisory? Is that even a word? Is that an advisory supervisor?”
“Yes, I supervise all of you childish men while I advise on the status of the meal. And I have all the power, because I am in charge of the most coveted asset.” She pulls a corkscrew from a drawer and outstretches it as a fake weapon. Stabbing the cork with a “Ha!”, she fakes the opening requiring more power than it does. “There!” she exclaims after the pop. She holds the prize mid-air, pseudo-toasting toward the men. “I’m grateful for the opportunity to play such an important role in our holiday celebrations.”
I have to chuckle, appreciating her flair for the dramatic. “She pours a sip then slurps loudly. “Really, I’m just grateful for the wine,” she quips sarcastically, nose wrinkling. We all laugh, and I enjoy the feeling that this is what it’s like to be a member of a family.
The memories of youth flood back. Memories I avoid. Not here. Not now. I can’t let fear steal this chance at happiness. What do these people already know about me? Are they being kind because they feel sorry for me because of the past? Or because I’m an orphan? I don’t want to be a pity guest.
“Where’s the bathroom?” gushes out over the deafening pounding of my heart.
Evan points toward the back of the house, “Just around that corner.”
“Thanks,” I push through, the sound choked, and head in that direction. With the door safely closed behind me, I sit on the toilet with my head in my hands. Get it together! What had Alexandra said in yoga today about the challenges of the holidays? There is always something to be grateful for. Sometimes you just have to look a little deeper than other times. I close my eyes against the images that won’t cease. I push my palms into my eyelids until lights dance where vivid hell is waiting. “I am grateful I get to see J.T. tomorrow. I am grateful. ”
I force my eyes open, take three more breaths, flush the toilet in case they are listening, and wash my hands. “I am grateful to be here,” I say into the mirror. Wine time.
When I return, Jack invites me to jump into the cooking fray and we make easy conversation as I work alongside the three men. We chop, dice, and stir the usual Thanksgiving meal accouterments as delicious smells waft through the house.
Jack places seven spices on the counter in a line and proceeds to open each one. He catches me watching and gives a wink, then nods toward me, indicating I should come closer. I lean in and he whispers into my ear, “Your mother’s stuffing secrets. She probably didn’t get the chance to teach you her recipe, but I am happy to.” He smiles broadly and tears well, matching my own. We blink in unison to hold them back and I return his smile. I walk to my purse and grab my phone to snap a picture of the line-up. As he sprinkles, pinches and spoons each one, I take notes.
Skillfully, all the dishes are ready at the same time, and Danielle and I have set a beautiful table. When we are seated, Jack raises his glass. It is apropos that he sits at the head of the table, while Griffin and I sit together on one side, and Evan and Danielle on the other. Tucker has the other end of the table. I imagine what it would have been like to have my mother here too. We could have made years of good memories to replace my first decade of horrendous holiday ones. Why had my mother denied me? What if it was Jack who had instead? I take a gulp of wine to suppress rising emotion, without regard to the pre-toast faux pas. I should make this my last glass. At least this hour.
Jack is struggling to hold it together. He is blinking back tears and his Adam’s apple bobs as he repeatedly swallows. Noticing my pre-toast swig, with a quivering voice, he says, “I think we all need a drink before the drink.” He puts his glass to his lips. The others do the same, though the depth of emotion isn’t registering on their faces as much as it is on mine and Jack’s. He blows out a breath. “Phew, this is harder than I was expecting.” Pulling in another long breath, he clears his throat. “No words can express my gratitude to all of you for being here. I’d like to think of this as a toast to new beginnings and new memories, making up for lost time, and making the most of the time that we have together.” He pushes his glass forward as we all lean into the center of the table. Our glasses pressing against one another leave that beautiful ringing sound in the air. There is a long moment of silence as we each take a drink.
Griffin finally breaks the tension. “Is it a requirement of growing old, to become a sap? If that’s the case, it’s yet another reason I’m not looking forward to the inevitable. That, along with the wrinkly ass part.”
“Inappropriate.” Danielle swats at him across the table, pretending to hit him upside the head. We all laugh and resume the casual conversation that had been taking place in the kitchen, vacillating compliments and criticisms, sarcasm and humor among siblings and parent. I’ve only ever been on the sidelines of this experience. This feels different, as they make me feel one of them. At twenty-nine and twenty-six, it seems in an instant I’ve picked up non-biological siblings in Danielle and Griffin. Who would have thought?
“Speaking of ass…” Griffin has a shit-eating grin on his face. He looks directly at Jack. “I’m just glad to know you were getting some. That’s another one of those old things I don’t want to have to face. You had me worried.”
Danielle glares at him across the table, then promptly loads her fork with mashed potatoes and lets it rip straight in Griffin’s direction. He turns his head and tries to duck right but they splat onto his temple. Evan turns to Danielle. “Nice shot, honey!” Then he puts his hand up to high-five her.
Danielle turns to the baby, who also has a handful of mashed potatoes. “Do as I say not as I do, Tucker Jack!” The baby happily stuffs his fist into his mouth. He isn’t giving up his potatoes over childish nonsense.
I want to laugh but the thought of my mother and Jack together leaves me nauseous. I set my fork down on the plate. “Nice job, Griffin,” Danielle says with a serious tone. “Now you’ve upset Peyton.”
Griffin turns toward me, putting his hand on my arm. “I’m sorry. That really wasn’t appropriate to say.”
“It’s fine, really. It was just the thought of—” I close my eyes and shake my head vigorously to remove the vision. I am smiling the whole time, however. Everyone relaxes.
Danielle speaks again, “In all seriousness, Dad, I’m glad you weren’t lonely. I was always so worried about you! You should have told us you had a girlfriend even if we couldn’t meet her, Dad!”
“I told you a million times not to worry about me. Did you think I was lying?” Jack responds.
“That’s what all parents say! You aren’t supposed to believe them! You are always supposed to worry about your parents!”
I’m reeling at the fact that Jack’s kids didn’t know about my mother either. I should have worried more about my mother, but I also thought kids should be able to trust their parents, and I wonder what Jack and my mother were hiding. What else don’t I know?
Jack’s tone is somewhat scolding when he replies to Danielle’s proclamation, “Parents are wired to protect. They do, or don’t, tell their child
ren certain things for very good reasons. The best reason being we believe we know what’s best, no matter how old you might get.”
She is not fazed by his tone, probably quite the daddy’s girl. “Well, thanks for proving my point, Dad. You just told me you are only going to tell me what you think I want to hear.” She rolls her eyes and huffs, “You’re infuriating!”
Griffin makes a face in mockery, serious, with eyebrows creasing, as he yells sternly, “You want the truth?” We all laugh knowing the famous movie line that follows. His comic relief lightens the mood.
Danielle lifts her white napkin and waves it in fake surrender, “Okay, fine, you win. You keep saying what you want and I’ll keep worrying, end of story. We both win… if you call my being awake in the middle of the night, stressed about my father, a win.”
“Sorry, babe, you’re up anyway with the non-sleeper over there,” Evan says, thumb pointing toward Tuck at the end of the table. “I got your back on that one, Jack. If you are going to be awake, you might as well be productive.”
Danielle sticks her tongue out. “Thanks a lot, honey.” Then she turns to me. “I’m glad I finally have another woman here who understands me!” I am not so sure that’s true, based on how she has just enlightened me of the fact that parents lie and you are always supposed to worry about them, but I am glad to be the other woman anyway.
After dessert, when everyone is catching up on their phones, lounging over couches with bulging bellies, Jack makes his way to the kitchen. I follow. Looking at the stack of dessert plates on the counter and the running dishwasher, I carry them to the sink and start washing. Jack comes up beside me with a towel.
I’ve had a burning question since dinner. “Jack, I have a question for you.”
He doesn’t flinch. In fact, he looks as if he expects this. “Sure, Peyton.”
“Obviously, my mother left out a lot of little details,” I emphasize the word little sarcastically, “about her life. At dinner, you said parents don’t tell their children certain things for good reasons. What was my mother’s reason for not telling me about you?”
One Day After Never (The Second Time's the Charm STANDALONE Series Book 1) Page 10
