Where We Left Off

by Megan Squires

  “I’d love that.” She grinned. “Truly.”

  “Me, too,” I said as I lowered the phone from my ear but kept my eyes pinned on hers.

  Monica came back from wherever she had disappeared to and Mallory left like she said she needed to, but I remained standing still, unable to move for so long I had to shake myself out of my daze. I gave Monica the huge apology she was due, but she waved me off, saying she got it.

  “First loves will do that to you,” she’d said with a laugh and added, “I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same if I was reunited with mine. But we were able to have a little fun while it lasted, huh? That’s all I think either of us were looking for.”

  I hugged her and thanked her for her candor and we set back to work getting the studio ready.

  I wanted to tell Monica that her mother’s Truth showcase would never come close to the exchange that just took place right in the middle of this studio between Mallory and me, but I didn’t because not everyone had the same truth.

  I knew mine though, and it was Mallory. It was us.

  I just hoped with all my being that I could become her truth again, too.

  Mallory

  “I’m so, so sorry.”

  “Stop.” Boone dropped his hand heavily onto my knee. “Family doesn’t apologize.”

  “I should’ve been paying more attention. The light had been on since this morning.”

  “It’s no problem, Mallory. Honestly. It’ll be fine to leave it overnight where you parked it. I’ll come back with Sharon in the morning to get it and I’ll bring a gallon of gas, too.” He stroked his beard and switched his focus forward through the windshield. It was dark out now, the sun finally sliding from the sky. Lights flickered on at establishments that dotted the road as we passed, their illuminated colors an amber blur spread across my window. I let it lull me as the car rocked down the highway.

  “So, are we going to talk about the tears?” Boone asked. “I’m not good with the emotional stuff, but I can sure try.”

  I sunk into the passenger seat of the truck. There were cracks from the wear of time that spliced the leather and I curled my finger into one that had tufts of stuffing popping from it. It didn’t distract me the way I hoped, though. “I feel like I’ve just seen a ghost.”

  “I feel that way a lot about Dylan.”

  “Oh. No.” What an insensitive thing for me to say. I felt like an idiot. Of course it should be Dylan I was talking about. Dylan I was thinking of. “Just an old friend.”

  “Of the boy variety?”

  I smiled without meaning to. “Yes, an old boyfriend.”

  “And you weren’t expecting to see him.” The truck swung wide around the corner and the Quinn house came into view at the edge of a court. I’d be staying there tonight, which was one part comforting and one part confusing. I didn’t want to be in a place that reminded me so much of my husband when I had thoughts of someone who wasn’t him. It wasn’t rational, of that I was well aware, but emotions rarely were.

  “I honestly never thought I’d see him again.”

  “Are you glad to have seen him?”

  I bit my lip to tuck back the tremble. I only answered with a small nod.

  Boone’s eyes met mine. “Then I’m very glad you saw him, sweetheart. So very glad.”

  I needed that more than anything. I needed permission to feel again because on my own I didn’t know that I’d ever allow it. To feel anything other than the loss.

  “Thank you, Boone,” I said as we pulled into the driveway and parked. I climbed down from the truck and shut its door. “For everything.”

  “This is not the sort of thing you need to thank me for. I’m your dad. I’m happy that I get to come to your rescue.”

  He held the front door open to allow me to step inside once we got to the house. The lights were off downstairs, all but the glow of the baby monitor in the kitchen that flickered in a rainbow arch from Sharon’s singing voice as she lullabied my boy to sleep.

  “Sounds like our little munchkin is just getting to bed,” Boone acknowledged, his eyebrows waggling my direction. “I know you’d probably like to go tuck him in, but do you think it would be all right if Sharon settles him down first? I have to admit, she was quite excited to hear that he’d be spending the night. That little man has her wrapped around his tiny, sticky finger.”

  “Of course. In fact, she can do the honors tonight.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “I actually might have spent the other night with him all snuggled in my arms in our rocker, so I think it’s definitely Grandma’s turn.”

  Boone gave me a hug before he headed to bed and even though I wanted to slouch into his arms, I tensed. If I let myself really feel it, I’d lose it. I didn’t want to lose it again tonight.

  The hallway was long and I shuffled my way down it. Pictures varying in size and frame dotted the walls but I didn’t look at them. I’d seen them all a million times. So many were of my husband, youthful and vibrant. He was the star quarterback at Whitney High and there was no shortage of recognition for his performance here. It was practically a Hall of Fame.

  I tugged on the door handle to his room and entered. It was quiet. Of course it was quiet. It didn’t smell like him, either, and I knew that, but I still took a deep, lung-filling breath. If anything, it was musty and dank. There were cleats and trophies and leather footballs on shelves and his varsity jacket pinned to the wall, all flat and stretched out, missing any form. I didn’t know him then and in a way, it made it easier to be here—surrounded by so many of his things and memories that didn’t involve me—than it was to be at home where his absence in our life was so noticeably strong.

  I peeled back the covers on the twin-size bed as I toed off my shoes and slipped my jeans from my hips, tossing my purse to the nightstand before doing so. My shirt would have to do for pajamas. I knew I could rummage through his dresser and find an old, worn t-shirt, but I didn’t do it. Moving on from my husband was not made any easier when I wore his clothes.

  The Quinn’s used this as a spare bedroom, so there was a weird comfort in the fact that it wasn’t just Dylan’s space anymore, like some shrine to him. I slumped onto the mattress and the pillow wrapped softly around my head. My body was tired and welcomed the promise of rest.

  Many times when I lay here, I thought of what Dylan was like as a teenage boy, if he would’ve been someone I would have been interested in or even dated.

  But my heart wasn’t available then.

  It belonged to Heath McBride.

  Our encounter tonight at Caroline’s studio must’ve been the reason for the phrase, “What are the chances?” I’d thought about him often over the years, less in the current ones, but still, there was always a piece of me that held on to him, on to what we had. It wasn’t an easy love to let go.

  And he looked so good tonight. Amazing, actually. The dimples that won me over the first time I laid eyes on him were even more appealing now on the face of man. They pricked deeply into his cheeks when he smiled at me, his grin wide and warm. There were times when I’d thought about what he might look like all grown up, but I never let myself dwell on it.

  I was dwelling now. Completely dwelling.

  Dwelling so much that I felt the stupid smile sneaking onto my mouth. I pulled the pillow out from under my head and smothered my face with it, trying not to giggle.

  The thought of Heath’s dimpled face made me giggle. I was certifiably crazy.

  I was about to scold myself, tell myself what a senseless woman I was that I was in my dead husband’s teenage room, thinking of my old teenage boyfriend when I registered a low buzz coming from deep inside my purse. It pulsed once more after few moments of going unchecked. I’d gotten texts before, thousands of them, but my heart raced at this sound like it was unfamiliar and unknown.

  “It could be anybody,” I actually said aloud.

  I didn’t want it to be just anybody.

  Five minutes lapsed and my willpower was no match
for my curiosity.

  I pinched my eyes shut while I dug my phone out and held it in my palm. When it pulsed another time, I threw it across the room, the grenade launched from me with force.

  “Good grief, Mallory!” I trudged to where my phone landed on the carpet. It should’ve been cracked across the screen, but the rug cushioned its fall. “You are absolutely ridiculous, you know that, woman?”

  Crouching, I folded my legs up underneath me and slid right down into the middle of Dylan’s room, staring at the words on my phone’s screen.

  Heath: Hi.

  And then a second text, longer than the first.

  Heath: This is probably none of my business, but are you married, Mallory?

  My shoulders bounced with the unanticipated laugh that elicited.

  Me: No, not married.

  I fired off the text and then seconds later added, Are you?

  Waiting for the returned message was more challenging than waiting on a pot of water to boil. The longer I stared at the device, the more certain I was that the answer would be one I didn’t wish to see. It only required a yes or no, but there was an explanation here and I was impatient and expectant for it.

  Heath: Me neither, but it’s complicated.

  Me: I’m fluent in complicated.

  Heath: LOL

  I cringed. That was teenager speak, something I most definitely was not fluent in.

  You couldn’t really end a text on an LOL. It just wasn’t possible. The other person would always wait for another, more adequate response, some way to finalize and button up the conversation with full words rather than abbreviations. I was doing just that as the phone buzzed again.

  Heath: If you don’t have plans this Tuesday, I have two incredibly hard to get, super sought after tickets for one of the most highly anticipated events of the year. I’d love to offer one to you.

  My cheeks flushed and there was a welcome enthusiasm from that invitation that did strange things to my belly.

  Me: You’ve got me curious. Where to?

  Heath: My ten-year-old niece’s dance recital.

  A laugh leaped from my throat.

  Me: Sounds fantastic.

  Heath: Really? I might have played it up slightly.

  Twelve years. Twelve years without any communication and we slipped right into this easy banter so effortlessly. How was that even possible?

  Me: What time should I be ready?

  Heath: I would love to say right now, but I suppose 6:00 on Tuesday will do.

  Me: I can’t wait.

  I stared at the phone for a heavy pause when he finally answered.

  Heath: I guess we’ll only have to wait a little longer.

  Those words were dense with meaning. Not definitions, but emotion and story. One sentence that, to anyone else, would be easily skimmed over and forgotten. But there was something weighty in his words, and I felt it. Nerves rattled around in my heart, the one he’d owned so fully when we were kids.

  The one a piece of him probably still owned.

  But the one that had also been burst into a million other pieces, some pieces that I didn’t even have anymore. Some pieces that someone else would always have and some pieces that were gone forever.

  But maybe, maybe there were pieces that I could try to get back.

  I smiled to myself and shut my phone off for the night.

  Heath

  Friday passed quickly. I gave out tests in each one of my classes and filled the silent time with Pinterest searches on appropriate first date attire. Not information I ever thought I’d look up on a women’s crafting site, but I was all about making a good impression. And let me just say, there were a lot of sharp and dapper dudes out there. Mustaches that curled upward like they were made from pipe cleaners and beards that had glitter strewn in them like a unicorn vomited directly on their face. That wasn’t the exact vibe and the look I aspired to, but you had to give it to them for the ingenuity. It was definitely there.

  All of this led me to my Saturday activities which consisted of a much-needed haircut and first ever professional shave at a barbershop. I wasn’t a wuss. Of course I liked manly things such as guns and four wheelers and fine whiskey. But knives? I could appreciate a knife so long as it stayed away from my jugular. A close shave did not allow for the distance I required between a razor sharp blade and myself. One accidental sneeze and I’d be bleeding out on the floor.

  The unnecessarily amount of perspiring I did during my barber shop experience led me to the department store on Sunday to purchase a package of brand new undershirts, which then forced me to visit a neighboring town on Monday after school in order to pick up the gray button up shirt they had on hold for me since the original store didn’t have my size.

  All in all, I was extremely successful in distracting myself for the five days necessary.

  But now it was Tuesday. Not even halfway through the workday, either, and my distractions had officially run out.

  “You got some place you need to be, McBride?”

  Leave it to Mark to call me out. I peeled my gaze from the clock to meet his. “Nope. Just focus on finishing your assignment, Mr. Dwayne.”

  “Oh, I’m all done.” He pushed his packet so it lined up with the edge of his desk and swung his sneakers onto the desktop. Then, like he was Mr. Cool, he bit the eraser on his pencil between his teeth.

  “Off,” I instructed, raising my eyebrows toward him. I was all about being the good guy, but respect and manners were non-negotiable. “Bring it to me if you’re done.”

  I’d released the hounds. All students bombarded me at once with their assignments in hand, ready to turn in. I collected them at a rapid rate, but I was unsure how they all finished so quickly.

  “You underestimate us, Mr. McBride,” Tabitha said as she dropped her assignment onto my desk. “That was hardly what I’d call a test.”

  “Give him a break, he’s been a little distracted lately,” Lucas murmured, but he was still finishing up his work, head hunkered down.

  “Distracted?”

  “Yeah, you know,” Mark interjected. “With your date and all.”

  My eyes flitted his way and I didn’t wear the surprise well at all. “Date?”

  “Sir.” Lucas flipped the last page of his packet over and held the papers by their stapled edge. Sabrina snagged it on her way to turn hers in and handed both papers to me. “You’ve hardly been secretive about it.”

  “I haven’t?”

  “The haircut?” Tabitha nodded toward my freshly cropped scalp. “And the smooth-as-a-baby’s-butt chin? You’re clearly cleaning up for someone. Bachelors don’t do that much manscaping unless they’re trying to impress.”

  “Manscaping?” I was about two conversations behind.

  “And the constant glancing to your ring finger. I promise, none of us can see your ring tan anymore. It’s not noticeable.”

  What the hell? How on earth were these kids recognizing things I wasn’t even aware of? “Anything else?”

  “You’ve been biting your thumb,” Sabrina offered, her voice characteristically quiet. Her eyes were downcast under a fringe of thick bangs. “A lot.”

  “And you’ve been muttering under your breath. Like reciting a conversation or something. Freaky as hell if you ask me,” Mark said.

  “All right. That’s enough. Let’s move forward with today’s agenda.” I ran my index finger over my notepad, but I wasn’t reading anything. I’d expected the quiz to take up the majority of class time, and now we had twenty minutes of empty lesson planning. Major teacher fail on my part.

  “So.” Tabitha leaned toward me and kept her voice a hushed whisper. “Who is it?”

  “Back in your seat,” I instructed. She scrunched her face in disappointment.

  “Seriously, Teach. Who’s the chick?”

  “She’s not a chick. She’s a woman. Women aren’t chicks. For that matter, neither are girls. You could benefit from expanding your vocabulary a little, Mark.”
/>   “Ouch!” He slammed his hand down onto his desk but was all smiles. “Looks like someone’s nervous!”

  “Of course I’m nervous! I’ve been waiting twelve years for this night!”

  “Oh my God!” Tabitha screamed. “It’s her! Your high school sweetheart? Oh! This is soooo good.”

  Lucas looked up. “Is it really, sir? Is it her?”

  I felt like I was about to puke. Talking about the date catapulted everything to a new level, one where I was suddenly aware of the potential for tonight to go very, very badly.

  “Yeah, it’s her.”

  “So she’s in California?”

  “Yes.” In California. In the same zip code. Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable. I hadn’t let the enormity of that coincidence settle in yet, but as I reiterated it to my class, it made my chest tighten with anxiety.

  Tabitha clapped her hands together wildly. “This is like the sweetest old people fairy tale ever!”

  “I’m not that old,” I murmured as I grabbed a dry erase marker and begin writing Faust’s words on the whiteboard. “Seriously, I’m not even thirty.”

  I wasn’t a teenager, either, though. And neither was Mallory. For as much as I wanted to believe we could pick things up where we left off, I knew that might not be possible.

  But that sure as hell was not going to keep me from trying.

  Mallory

  The car ride was longer than I had expected. I’d assumed Heath’s family lived in town, but Natalie’s performance was at a theater twenty-five minutes from my place—all highway miles—and parking took another fifteen to find. I wouldn’t say we caught up on much during the drive, but we filled the pauses with pleasant and enjoyable conversation. Heath told me he was a high school English teacher and I’d smiled at that. He always was such a great student of literature. It only made sense that he’d make a career out of that passion. I’d told him I was a mom and a budding florist and he’d laughed at the pun and didn’t dwell on the mother part so I couldn’t read how that news made him feel. Either way, it felt good to let him know about Corbin right off the bat. I wouldn’t let him become some secret.