“What do I do?” I ask him, desperation most likely written all over my face.
“Why are you asking me that? I don’t know her or anything about her. You do. I know she told you she didn’t want a relationship, but did she ever tell you why? We all know you’re terrible when it comes to listening—you only hear what you want to hear—but she had to have said or done something.”
Did she? Did she say something? I agree with him about only hearing what I want to—it’s what keeps me fun-loving and not so serious all the time—but maybe it’s not about what she said. Maybe it’s about what she didn’t.
Perhaps I’ve been looking at this all wrong. Despite what she says, I know, I know she felt something for me. I know from the way she looked at me, how she held on to me a tad longer when her walls were down, and really the way she let me in when she doesn’t let anyone in. No one. Not one person. Just me.
Randomly, I think back to a post she put up months ago of chicken country captain. In the text to go with it she said, You can’t live a full life on an empty stomach. Now that I think about it more, that’s exactly what she’s doing. She claims she’s living her life to the fullest, always drinking from a glass of lemonade, but is she really? Her glass-half-full mentality is just that, half full, and with the way she’s going, it will never be full—at least not where love is concerned.
Yes, she’s gone out with a lot of guys over the last year, but that’s always seemed strange to me, and it also felt like she was completing a life to-do list she made for herself rather than really taking in what the experience was supposed to be teaching her.
Why?
Why does she do this? And why does she think like this? I don’t get it. She meets all these people, yet she chooses not to get close to any of them. It’s strange. She was loved as a child, and from everything she’s said, her aunt adores her. Her friends do, too. Maybe Lexi is more right than I gave her credit for; maybe Meg does have dark places she’s never shared with me, and maybe I should have looked harder for them. Maybe it’s time for her to come clean.
She’s going to hate this, but I think it has to be done. She’s always shied away from uncomfortable situations or conversations, but she needs to be honest with herself so she can be honest with me. Instead of me reacting to the first thing she says that I don’t want to hear, I need to remain calm and listen. I need to listen to it all, because I truly do believe deep down in my gut that this isn’t an us problem, and it’s always been a her problem.
Well, I guess that makes it an us problem, because I want her to share her life with me. I don’t want her to deal with things alone, and that’s exactly what she’s doing—no thanks to me.
That’s about to change.
When I glance back up at Reid, he sees that my eyes have brightened with an idea, and a small smile curves his lips.
“You wanna go grab a beer?” I ask him, feeling the first ounce of the hope I’ve been starving for knock its way in.
“Absolutely,” he says, now grinning because he knows we’re about to brainstorm.
Unhooking the TENS device, I grab my bag, and the two of us head toward the parking lot. Reid claps me on the shoulder and squeezes, and that’s when I realize I’m smiling. He’s smiling, too. He knows I’m finally on my way to getting my girl back.
She doesn’t know it yet, but I’m coming for her.
She’s going to talk, I’m going to listen, and I’m not taking no for an answer.
Chicken Country Captain
I THINK I’VE been living my life in limbo. Well, maybe not my whole life, but at least for the last several years. It’s like I can’t go backward to who I used to be, but I’m not going forward either, and I didn’t even realize it. This makes me think of Newton’s first law: An object at rest will stay at rest, and an object in motion will stay in motion, unless acted upon by an outside force.
Jack was the outside force.
No, I didn’t expect my life to be the same once I was declared cancer-free, but at the time things were moving forward with change and I just went with it. My aunt and Shelby got us set up at culinary school, and off we went. We were so busy. Then we graduated and started the restaurant. Again, so busy. I’ve always been busy, always been moving, and now I’m wondering if I missed part of the healing because of it. I never stopped moving, I never took the time, and now look where I am.
In my room. In my bed. Under the covers.
Reeling from what will undoubtedly be the biggest mistake of my life.
And because of that single thought, I just don’t know what to do with myself.
I’ve worked so hard to live my life a certain way, and now I just don’t know. I feel like I don’t know anything anymore, and with everything compounding all at once, I’m sad.
Like really sad.
It’s a kind of sadness I’ve never experienced before.
I’m sad I’ve spent so much time trying to live my life when apparently I wasn’t. I’m sad I might have missed out on opportunities just because I was convinced I needed to keep moving from one thing to the next, and because of this I’m sad I didn’t give myself what I needed: time to stop, reflect, and heal. I glossed over anything that wasn’t happy or positive, even though the scars are still there, and they’re still shiny.
I should have known this was bound to happen. Cancer invades our minds, our bodies, and our relationships. There’s a process, and I only allowed myself to give in to one of those three. I think I felt if I let it consume my mind or my relationships, it would win, and I wasn’t going to let that happen. I was fighting it—I’m still fighting it.
Only right now I don’t feel like I have much fight in me.
After what I’m forever going to refer to as my “awakening,” I called Shelby, broke down, and told her everything that had been going on. Of course she had already heard from Lexi and Taylor, but knowing me and knowing I don’t like to be pushed, she gave me space. Like Taylor, she was mad that I went out with Jason, even though I informed her it really wasn’t a date, more of an un-date.
Poor Jason. He was really nice, he just ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time. I didn’t share too much with him—after all, he’s not the guy I need to be opening up to; Jack is—but listening to him, I couldn’t help but think he would be perfect for Taylor. So, I invited him to the restaurant next week for dinner, partly because of her, but mainly as a peace offering for the failure that was our night out. I told him to bring whoever he wants, but I will be introducing the two of them. Who knows? Maybe they’ll find love.
Love.
I do love Jack. I know I do.
Now that I’ve actually given in to the idea of it, something I swore I’d never do, it’s easy to see how I was a goner from the beginning. It was completely out of my control. All he had to do was smile, and I freely gave him anything he wanted. Unknowingly, he had me wrapped around his finger, and in hindsight, I don’t even mind. I loved making him happy, even when he wasn’t.
My thoughts drift to his knee, and I wonder how he’s doing. From the photos he’s posted, it appears he’s back with his team, and that makes me happy for him. It also makes me sad for myself, but deep down I’m happy he’s where he truly wants to be. I do want the best for him, even if he decided that’s not me.
Rolling to my side, I stare out my bedroom door and into the quietness of the house. With Jack here, I had forgotten how quiet it is when I’m by myself. I used to think it was nice after a long day at the restaurant, but now it’s just so silent. I can hear my ears ringing, and I’m confused by the idea that this was something I liked before. This quiet is lonely and sad, like me, and maybe it’s time I change that. Maybe it’s time for a pet.
With that thought, I can see Shelby rolling her eyes and hear her saying, “Get up and go get your man!”
But is he mine?
I now understand where I went wrong, but what about him? He told me he loved me then five minutes later walked out the door without ever l
ooking back. If you love someone, don’t you fight for them? Then again, what am I doing to fight for him? And would he even want me to?
Feeling anxious, sad, nervous, and determined, I quickly pick up my phone and fire off another text to him: Just checking in—how are you? He didn’t respond before, but maybe he will this time. I’ve extended the olive branch twice, and I just hope he’ll grab hold of it.
Three little dots appear, and my heart does the high jump in my chest.
He’s responding.
And then he doesn’t.
Time passes, the dots disappear, and no text comes.
I feel kicked in the gut, and my eyes burn with more unwanted tears.
I was so close to having something from him, and then suddenly it feels so far. At this moment I feel every bit of the four hundred and forty miles between us.
More time passes, and nothing comes.
So that’s that I guess.
At least now I know.
I squeeze my eyes shut and allow the heartache to consume me.
Being unwanted is the worst feeling.
From below, the front door opens, and for a split second my heart stops beating at the idea that it might be Jack—but then Taylor’s voice calls up the stairs with a greeting. Who am I kidding? It’s not him. It’s been three weeks . . . it’s never going to be him.
“Get up, get up, get up,” she says in the most cheery voice, and I cringe.
“I don’t want to,” I whine, and although I sit up, I pull the blankets up higher around me.
“I know that, but it’s time and you need to.” There’s a pounding on the stairs from her feet; she’s headed my way, and I brace myself for what’s coming. “I have a surprise for you,” she sings out, and then she’s in my doorway.
My eyes widen as I take her in. She’s wearing a short black cocktail dress and heels. She’s dressed up, and instantly I feel my hackles rise. “But I don’t like surprises.” I gawk at her like she’s crazy.
“Yes, you do, and this one you will love.” She moves into my room and opens the blinds, letting the light rush in. “Rise and shine!”
Gah, it’s so bright I have to squint, and I flop back down, pulling the blankets over my head. “But . . . I can’t.” And I don’t want to. Can’t she see that?
She rips the covers away and glares down at me. “Can’t never could, and that’s not you at all. You are a fighter, you embrace all that life gives you, and you never ever pass up an opportunity for a good time. And seriously, have you seen your hair? It’s like two cats fought in it.”
Rolling onto my back, I defensively pat down my hair and groan at the ceiling, because she’s right.
“Don’t you even want to know what we’re doing?” she teases.
“Sure,” I deadpan, looking at her smug face, and then I change my mind. “Actually, no. You are way too dressed up.” There’s no way she isn’t picking up on my lack of enthusiasm. I’m in my bed for the night—despite the fact that it’s still daytime—and the thought of getting that dolled up to go out doesn’t sound good to me at all.
“Well, you’ve been in this bed for two days. It’s time. You could at least pretend to sound a little more excited, because a lot of work went into getting these tickets.”
“What tickets?” Color me intrigued.
She now grins from ear to ear. “I might have scored us two tickets to a private home and garden tour with wine and finger foods. I saw a chardonnay shrimp dip listed, and you love shrimp, so there you go. I know how much you were looking forward to the Festival of Houses and Gardens twilight garden tour, and although we missed it, because we were so busy we needed to work, I’m certain this one will be pretty good, too.”
“A private tour? I didn’t realize they did those.” I was disappointed I didn’t get to do the festival tour this year; I love looking at the gardens.
“Yep. A patron came in and was talking about it, so I signed us up.” She moves to my closet and starts rummaging through the dresses.
“Really? Well, I guess it makes sense if you think about it. People are still lingering around since we’re in season, and the gardens are all immaculately maintained. Anything to make a few more bucks while they can.”
“Exactly. So happy early birthday.” She beams at me, holding up a dark blue dress that is not too short and ties around the waist, along with a pair of gold heels. “Get up, take a shower, and be quick about it. Tour starts in an hour.”
“In an hour?” I sit straight up.
“Yeah, is that a problem?” She lays the dress on the end of the bed then makes her way to the door.
“No, it just seems kind of sudden. You could have given me more of a warning.” I throw off the covers and stand. My eyes fall to my phone, which is on my nightstand, and I lament its continued silence with a frown.
“I just got them, and I just got done closing down the restaurant. Forgive me, your highness, for interrupting your very busy schedule.” She glances toward the messy bed and pops one eyebrow.
I let out a sigh and she claps her hands together, because she knows she’s won.
“Come on! This is going to be great. I’ll wait for you downstairs.” And with that she’s gone.
Of course she had to go and come up with one of the few things that would actually make me happy.
“Aren’t you so excited?” Taylor beams beside me as we walk down the sidewalk at a speed that shouldn’t be normal in heels like the ones we’re both wearing.
“I guess so.” I haven’t been excited by much lately, but the house the tour is at, The Cooke home, is one of my absolute favorites in the Battery. In fact, I’m shocked they are even open to do this private tour, and I find that my brain is excited to see how they’ve designed the back yard this year, even though my heart is not.
“You kill me,” she says, her piercing hazel eyes looking at me as if I’ve lost my mind.
“I know, I know, and I’m sorry I’m a bit of a Debbie Downer.” My gaze pleads with her to understand. “I really do appreciate you doing this for me. Thank you, Taylor. I know tonight will be amazing.” And it will be, because how could it not? A beautiful home and garden, great company, and let’s not forget the wine. There’s only one thing that would make this even better, but I’m not going to think about him at all tonight. He’s made his choice, and after him not replying to my text tonight, I know I’m not it.
“Don’t thank me yet. Thank me after you’ve had the best night ever.” She grins as we cross the street corner and come to a large stone wall that’s covered in ivy.
“Best night ever, huh.” A smile stretches across my face at my friend. It feels nice that it’s genuine and not forced like so many have been these past couple of weeks. All I would have done tonight is stayed home and wallowed, and it’s time for me to stop doing that. As much as I really don’t want to, it’s finally dawning on me that I need to find a new sense of normal, one he’s not going to be a part of.
My throat tightens and I force myself to swallow down the loss. Taylor went out of her way to do something nice for me tonight, and I’m going to enjoy it, no matter what.
“Yep,” she says, popping the P.
It’s almost seven thirty, and the golden hour has made this night look nearly flawless. The ombre sky is splashed with sherbet orange and lavender, and sometime over the next half hour, the sun will say good night, lowering the temperature and humidity with it. It’s perfect outside, and the perfect night for a garden tour.
“Look, there’s the entrance.” She points to an opening in the ivy in the wall.
“Wow, I didn’t even know there was a door there. It’s hidden underneath all the greenery like in The Secret Garden.”
“Oh, I love that movie,” Taylor says.
“Me too. Can you imagine having a garden like that all to yourself?”
“I have seen your back yard, or should I say garden. Don’t sell yourself short—it’s pretty amazing, too.”
“Yeah, it is pr
etty nice.”
I’m proud of my garden. It’s a little high-maintenance, but I don’t mind.
As we approach the door, I notice there aren’t any other people around; it’s just us.
“Are you sure this is where we’re supposed to go?”
“Yep, positive.”
She ushers me in through the secret entrance, past a wrought iron door to a cobblestone pathway. My eyes are flooded by the sights and sounds of a gorgeous four-tiered fountain sitting off to one side with a bench next to it, manicured hedges around the perimeter that are designed to look like a maze, trellises arched over the walkways with blooming flowers, and the twinkle lights hanging inside a very romantic gazebo perfectly placed in the center.
In my bag, my phone dings with a social media notification, but I ignore it and stand there blinking. My eyes must be playing tricks on me, only they aren’t. Waiting on the steps, cast in a shimmering light, is Jack.
Chardonnay Shrimp Dip
THE CREAK OF the wrought iron gate is the giveaway that they have arrived. Immediately, my heart rate doubles, and I’m flooded with nerves prickling my hands, roiling in my stomach, and just making me jittery all over. It feels like it has been a lifetime since I’ve seen her, and my anxiety about this moment is a solid mixture of excitement and dread. There is the possibility that she doesn’t want to see me, even though her friends and mine all assure me that isn’t the case.
From my vantage point, I watch as she moves into the garden looking like the angel she is with her brown curly hair down around her shoulders and back, a short dress perfectly molded to her body, and tall shoes that make her legs look a mile long. One by one, she takes in all the details while I take in the details of her I’ve so greatly missed. Sheer delight spreads across her beautiful face as she moves to take in the lit-up gazebo, and then she sees me. The smile drops, she falters in her steps, and she stops walking, her hands flying up to cover her mouth. Moments pass as I continue to drink in the sight of her being so close to me after what feels like so long.
Lessons in Lemonade Page 23
