Exception

by Mariah Dietz

  “I’ll go grab my things.” I head to the back and find Jackson sharpening the blades of a lawn mower, his back to me as I enter the office.

  “Hey.”

  His hands continue down the long blade with practice and ease as he looks back at me. “Hey, Jelly Bean.”

  “You’ve got a whole list of random projects today, huh?”

  He chuckles. “You’ve just described every day that ends with a Y.”

  I smile, but a picture on my dad’s desk catches my eye. It’s a picture of him and Grace together, a matching expression in their eyes.

  “You okay?”

  His question has me jerking my attention free from the image that’s now stained to the back of my mind. I nod once, twice, and then stop, attempting a smile that feels too fragile to be genuine. “Is my dad difficult for you to read? I mean, do his moods ever confuse you?” I attempt to keep my tone high so I don’t expose the emotions that are milling through me.

  Jackson sets his tool and the blade down, seeing right through my facade. “What do you mean?”

  I move my gaze to the boxes around us, knowing that if I keep his gaze, I won’t be able to continue the conversation but will instead make a joke or change the subject. “Sometimes I feel like I barely know my dad.”

  “I think that’s a normal feeling to have about our parents.” Jackson’s light brown eyes are, framed with russet eyelashes. I don’t think I’ve ever studied him this closely before, and realizing this makes my gut twinge with guilt. Grace is right; I’m constantly looking ahead and thinking of what’s coming next.

  Jackson chuckles and lifts the tool to sharpen the blade again. “You’re trying to work through too many thoughts, Jelly Bean. Your poor mind looks like it’s about to combust.”

  I try to laugh with him, though my lips and lungs and even my throat want to reject the action. “You’re right.” I release a deep breath. “Well, I’m off.”

  His eyes jump to mine with question.

  “Mom’s trying to make me friends.”

  “What?”

  “It’s a long story. But if you can, will you try to save my milkshake? Hide it behind the ice-cube trays.” I grab my purse.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To paint.”

  His eyes narrow as he shakes his head. “You’ve got to learn to say no, Jelly Bean.”

  I laugh. This time the action is freeing, easy. “You’re so right.” I move toward the door. “Don’t forget my milkshake!”

  In the front of the store, Mom is standing by three gallons of paint. “It might rain this afternoon, so just call Dad or me, and one of us can come get you.”

  I hide the wince her words inflict with another forced smile. I’m pretty sure she’s looking to the past as much as I’ve been focused on the future.

  “Where’s Ella? Does she need anything else? Drop cloths? Brushes? Rollers?”

  Mom returns my smile, hers genuine. “We already got all that stuff bagged up. She’s just putting it in her car now.”

  “All right, well, I’ll see you guys tonight, then.” I grab the paint cans and ignore the pinch from their metal handles against my palm as I head toward the door. Ella swings it open as I draw near and reaches for one of the paint cans. I follow her to her car.

  “You know you really don’t have to come help me paint, right? I feel terrible.”

  “Please don’t feel bad. This isn’t your fault. I feel bad for you because my mom is essentially forcing you to be my friend.”

  Ella laughs and loads the paint cans into the trunk of her car. “Don’t worry, it could be so much worse. My mom was setting me up for blind dates for the past couple of years because she didn’t think I could find a guy to date on my own.”

  My eyes grow wide. “That’s definitely worse than setting up a playdate. Did you go on these dates?”

  She nods, unlocking the car. “Dozens of them.”

  I feel my eyebrows pinch. “No!”

  Ella chuckles. “I know. She and a friend did it.”

  “She had an accomplice? Were they awful?”

  She fastens her seat belt, her face relaxed and thoughtful. “Most of them were pretty terrible, but I will say this: having gone on so many bad dates taught me a lot about myself and relationships.”

  “Is that how you met Coen?”

  Ella turns in her seat to look at me, her lips curved into a smile. “No. We met when he moved into my neighborhood. Things just kept bringing us together.” She lifts a narrow shoulder. “Really, though,” Ella says, “you don’t have to stay and paint with me. You can take the day off, and I’ll vouch for you.”

  My mom would totally find out. She’ll ask a million questions to ensure I was there. I wouldn’t even put it past her to drop by. Plus, there’s something about Ella that makes me almost glad my mom meddled in my personal life. She’s easy to talk to and funny, and the fact that I didn’t grow up knowing her makes me even more intrigued to be spending the day with her. I don’t tell her any of this, though. Instead, I shake my head. “Really, it’s okay. It’s kind of nice to be out of the store today.”

  Ella pulls into her driveway, which is shaded by wide oak leaves. The sight of Joey’s truck has my heart bouncing in my chest as I help Ella unload her trunk.

  Once inside, Ella pulls a note off the front door and reads it to herself before glancing at me. “The guys took Hayden and Shakespeare fishing.” She smiles. “I’m willing to accept bets on who gets bored first.”

  I smile in an attempt to hide my disappointment.

  “At least we’ll save some time with not having to tape,” Ella says, opening a drop cloth. “I figured we’d paint all the trim and put it up after the walls were done.”

  We cover the light wide-planked hardwood floors that have recently been refinished and begin setting up our brushes and rollers.

  “Not to sound cliché and ask the generalized questions, but what kind of work do you do? I heard you work from home, is that right?”

  Ella chuckles and nods. “I do. I work for a marketing firm out of North Carolina, but I am about done there.”

  “Really? You don’t like it? Or the distance?”

  She pulls her hair back, her gaze settling on the paint supplies. “Well . . . I’m actually going to start my own business . . .”

  “Really?” My tone is high with surprise that I instantly regret as Ella’s lips fight a frown. “That’s amazing! I mean, I’m really inspired by this. I hoped to open my own business, too.”

  “Not anymore?”

  “No . . . I mean, yes.” Flustered, I shake my head. “I wanted to and still do, but I’m also terrified by the idea. There’s so much overhead and just the idea that things won’t go as I have always imagined them.”

  Ella expels a deep breath and nods. “Believe me, I understand. I completely understand. It was a scary decision to do this, but it also feels right. I mean, I might flounder and fail.” She lifts her shoulders, revealing this is a genuine fear. “However, I’ve been doing this for years and have had an amazing mentor. I’ve lived in fear for over nine years, worrying what others thought of me, and I’m over it. I’m so over allowing my fears to be my guidelines for how I live my life.” She releases another deep breath, her blue eyes lost in thought. Slowly, she blinks and focuses on me. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean you’re allowing fear to control you. I just . . . I was on a tangent. This is all new for me.” Ella huffs out a quiet laugh. “I was sort of a social leper where I lived before.” Her nose crinkles. “Let’s start again. I’m out of practice when it comes to friends, and I don’t want to scare you off.”

  I smile. “I’m pretty sure you might be my soul mate,” I tell her.

  Ella laughs. “Team Awkward!”

  “Team Awkward,” I agree.

  We share a laugh that’s effortless and natural, making me realize how easily I could be friends with her—how I want to be friends with her. It’s amazing how difficult it is to make friends once you g
raduate and no longer see the same people consistently. Relationships spark out of convenience and proximity rather than substance, and those relationships are never strong enough to last time or distance.

  “Um, Kennedy?”

  I look over from the paint can I’ve just pried open to see Ella standing by the front window, her brows laced with confusion.

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you know anyone in town who rides a . . . Is that a lawn mower?”

  I move beside her and glance out to find Billy doing a doughnut in the driveway. I cover my eyes and recall why returning to Haven Point has been such a conflict for me. “Sadly, I do.”

  “Jelly Bean!” Billy yells at the top of his lungs.

  “What did he say?” Ella leans closer to the window.

  My cheeks grow warm. “He’s calling for me.”

  “What did he call you?”

  I shake my head and wrench open the front door. “What are you doing?” I yell.

  Billy laughs. “Your mama told me you came out here to paint. I just thought I’d check in on you.”

  I didn’t hang out with Billy or any of his friends while growing up. Never was racing lawn mowers or mudding an activity I looked forward to on weekends. Why he’s now interested in paying any attention to me or what I’m doing is so far beyond me.

  Ella steps out from behind me, and though it’s slightly more embarrassing to have her here witnessing my past colliding with my present, I’m grateful to have her beside me because everything about Billy has always been a few notches south of my comfort level.

  “Is there something we can help you with?” she asks.

  “Just offering my lawn-care services.” His smile is lewd and has me crossing my arms over my chest.

  “Maybe a tree branch fell or you just missed it, but we have a ‘No Solicitation’ sign at the edge of the driveway.” Ella’s voice is polite yet firm.

  “Well, if you ladies change your mind, you just call!” Billy’s eyebrows dance, and he puts the lawn mower back into gear. “See you later, Jelly Bean!” He sprays dirt and rocks in a wave as he peels out down the driveway.

  “I swear, he’s a very small minority.”

  Ella’s smile is kind and patient, and though I know she’s around my age, it makes her seem much older and experienced. “Even Cinderella’s fairytale castle walls held a couple of bad apples.”

  Inside, Ella locks the door, and I wonder if it’s for her benefit or mine. “He seems like a bunch of talk, though, right?”

  I nod. “I’m sure. I don’t really know him well, but he knows my friend Jackson would hang him up by his toenails if he tried anything.”

  She glances toward the window again. “I think your friend would have to beat Joey and Coen to him.” She turns to me and winks.

  I’m splattered with a pale-blue paint. Streaks of it line my thighs and shins and the hem of my shorts, but as I look around at what we’ve accomplished in just a couple of short hours, I feel proud.

  “I can’t believe how nice it looks,” Ella says as she turns in a full circle.

  “It’s going to look beautiful.”

  Ella nods. “It’s so much more than I had imagined. I mean, it was a beautiful house before, but now it feels like home.”

  “We can go pick up more paint and work on the kitchen while this dries if you want?”

  She looks at her phone and then me. “I’m sure we have enough time, but I can’t make up my mind on which colors I want to use on the rest of the house.” She retreats a few steps to the adjacent dining room and lifts a short stack of the swatches Mom had given her, fanning the colors against a wall.

  The front door unlocks behind us, and before I can turn around, Ella is dashing around me, yelling about Shakespeare needing to stay outside.

  “Uncle Joey’s putting her in the backyard, Mom,” Hayden answers, his eyes traveling the walls.

  My heart twists and leaps like it does whenever Joey’s name is mentioned, and I nearly miss Ella asking Hayden, “What do you think?”

  He nods his approval, making me chuckle. “It looks really good.”

  Coen appears in the doorway and looks around, his customary smile broadening.

  “It’s starting to become real, right?” Ella asks.

  Joey’s heavy footfalls on the deck make my heart beat faster, and then he stands behind Coen, his focus falling on me and then Ella, then quickly returning to me. Soft lines form at the outer corners of his eyes, which are bright, revealing he’s not surprised to find me here—but happy.

  “What do you think?” Coen raps his fist against Joey’s biceps. “Not the mouse palace anymore, huh?”

  Joey stares at me for another second, then breaks his attention to glance around the room, looking up at the nine-foot ceilings. “It’s definitely not the mouse house anymore,” he says, taking a second look around. “I might become your permanent house guest.”

  His words have me pulling my chin back with surprise, but he laughs as he links his elbow around the back of his brother’s neck.

  “We can gut the entire garage and turn it into a place for you. Make a nice kitchen and living room downstairs, expand the bedroom upstairs and make it a loft.” Coen’s words paint a picture in my mind of a wide airy space filled with natural light and a huge fluffy duvet covering the bed, white gauzy curtains blowing in a warm breeze, and Joey and me tangled on the floor in the private retreat.

  “Do you want to stay for dinner?” Ella asks. “We’re grilling, so it’s nothing fancy, but we’d love to have you.”

  My thoughts vanish, bringing me back to the present. I’m about to politely decline the offer, but Joey’s head tilts and a broad smile flashes across his face so quickly it distracts me.

  “Yeah,” Joey says. “That’s a great idea.”

  Ella nods a couple of times, drawing my attention to her. “I’m kind of a mess,” I say, looking down at my marked clothes and body.

  She laughs. “That’s become our new attire here.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”

  “I’m positive,” she says.

  “I’d like that, thanks. I won’t be able to stay very long, though, because I have to be up early for a flight to Boston.”

  Chapter 21

  Joey

  Everything stops. No longer am I noting the blonde strands of hair that have escaped Kennedy’s ponytail and frame her face or how much I like seeing her apparent ease with Ella. Images of scrubbing the blue paint off her body in my shower all vanish as her last words replay again and again. Each time I hear her say she’s returning to Boston in the morning feels like an uppercut. Just a week ago she was telling me she was considering staying here.

  “You’re going to Boston?” My question comes out sounding more like an accusation, one laced with anger and betrayal because that’s exactly how I’m feeling.

  “Why don’t you two come help me get things ready?” Ella places a hand on Coen’s and Hayden’s shoulders and ushers them into the kitchen, which we finished installing cabinets and new granite countertops in just a few days ago.

  Kennedy pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose, and I wonder if she realizes she does this each time she’s uncomfortable; then I wonder why in the hell she’s feeling uneasy, and my frustration grows.

  “I’m going to spend tomorrow with Violet, and then have an interview the next morning.”

  “What happened to staying here in Haven Point?”

  “They called me a few weeks ago to arrange it. I told you about it.”

  I shake my head. “Cancel it.”

  “I already bought my tickets to go.”

  “So you’re planning to go back to Boston now?”

  “No. I mean . . .” She pushes her glasses up again, and guilt swims in my chest, mingling with anger and something that feels far too similar to pain. “I just want to weigh my options. You know? Make sure I’m making an educated decision.”

  “What about your idea of openi
ng the bakery?”

  Her mouth and eyes fall open, and it’s clear she’s overwhelmed. “I’ll have no job security. And my hours would be terrible. Besides, no one here wants to try strawberry-basil cupcakes or lavender-and-white-chocolate cookies.”

  “We . . .” I shake my head because this has nothing to do with me, though my heart’s insisting it does. “Last night you were telling me about the espresso machine you’ve picked out for the store and what name you’ve chosen. I don’t understand how you’ve completely changed your mind.”

  “I’m not saying I have. I’m just saying I have an interview for a job that wouldn’t entail taking on another huge debt and have far less risk.”

  “This town loves you. You could sell the worst cupcakes in the history of cupcakes, and this town would still buy them just to support you. They might throw them away once they got home, but they’d still buy them. They’d still support you.”

  “But how am I ever going to grow? I will be owner, employee, accountant, PR, and everything else.”

  “So?”

  “So I thought I’d eventually work my way up to being a principal, and maybe working toward being a superintendent—not living in my parents’ house forever.”

  “You want to throw away your dreams for money?”

  She draws her head back. “You’re forgetting my dignity.”

  “What happens when they offer you the job?”

  Kennedy shakes her head. “I haven’t even interviewed. They might not offer it to me.”

  “Will you accept it?”

  “I haven’t even met them. I don’t know what their expectations are or what they’re looking for. They might hate me. I might hate them.”

  “Just like you thought you hated me?”

  The delicate skin between her eyes pinches with a frown. “You’re jumping to conclusions.”

  “But I don’t understand why you’re even entertaining the idea!”

  “How can you not?” she cries, her tone annoyed.

  Anger courses through me, leaving more accusations and blame filling my thoughts.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about it?”