The Choices We Make

by Barbara C. Doyle

  I part my lips to say something, then snap them closed.

  She glances up at me, tucking a strand of mint hair behind her ear shyly. “You don’t have to say anything, Bash. It’s embarrassing enough that I said that out loud. I don’t expect anything. You and Opal just ended things, and I know you don’t think of me like that.” She takes a deep breath. “I also think this drink has gone to my head a little”

  She goes to withdraw her hand from under mine, but something in me snatches it back, interlocking our fingers together.

  Her eyes widen at my reaction.

  I’m not sure what I’m doing, because my thoughts aren’t processing as I link our hands. All I know is that Kennedy has been my best friend for years, the only other girl in my life that I’ve ever cared about.

  “Guess that makes me the idiot, huh?” I joke, giving her a small smile.

  She returns it. “I suppose it does.”

  We look at each other, neither of us saying anything.

  Ian comes over then, noting the position of our hands in the middle of the table. “Aren’t you two crazy kids handsy tonight,” he muses, sliding in next to me.

  I shoot him a glare, tightening my grip on Kennedy’s hands so she doesn’t pull back.

  “Shouldn’t you be babysitting the diva over there?” I quip, nodding toward Dylan, who is trying to get somebody to get on stage to sing a duet with him.

  Ian leans back in his spot, resting his elbow on the back of the booth and winks. “Why would I be with him when this seems far more interesting?”

  I glare at him.

  Kennedy squirms uncomfortably.

  Ian leans in toward me. “For the record,” he says, loud enough for Kennedy to hear, “I am all for shipping whatever this is. Lord knows it’s been a long time coming.”

  Kennedy inhales sharply, and my eyes stay locked on Ian, wondering what he saw that I never did for him to expect this. Whatever ‘this’ even is.

  Ian taps the table, shoving himself up and out of the booth. “Well, you two kids have fun. Guess I’ll take the man-child with me before he makes even more of a fool of himself and breaks out ABBA.”

  After loud protests from Dylan, Ian finally wins, dragging him out of the bar.

  Just like that, it’s only Kennedy and I left.

  Kennedy finally draws back her hand, and I let her.

  “Has it really always been me?”

  She doesn’t answer right away. “It was always Opal for you, so it’s not like you would have noticed.”

  The way she brushes it off like it doesn’t matter bothers me. What irritates me more is that I was blind to how she felt the entire time. We spent a lot of time together, and never once did I see what others obviously did.

  “I’m sorry, Ken.”

  She stiffens, her pink hue draining from her checks, turning her skin sallow. “It’s okay. I understand. I didn’t mean for my feelings for you to blurt out like that. I’m a little tipsy—”

  My brows pinch, confusion lacing my words. “I meant that I’m sorry I didn’t notice.”

  Her lips part. Shocked. “What?”

  “I’m not apologizing because I don’t see us as a possibility,” I assure her. “I’m just sorry I was too consumed in a memory to see how you really felt. You’re the one who connected me with Addy, who helped me reconnect with Opal. You’ve been here every step of the way, making sure that I’m happy. And what have I done for you? Nothing. That … I’m a shit person for not seeing it.”

  She quickly shakes her head. “You’re not. You just had other priorities. And I wanted you to focus on them, because if you had noticed …”

  “What?” I press softly.

  Her chest rises and falls heavily. “Do you know how much I’ve beat myself up for crushing on you, Bash? You were my best friend’s boyfriend. You’re her ex, the father of her child. Even though I met you first, I saw how much you loved her. I watched your relationship grow. She told me about everything. Everything. But still, I felt something, and it made me feel so guilty. It still does.”

  “Don’t do that. Don’t beat yourself up.”

  She frowns. “How can I not? Opal is practically my sister. Wanting you feels like betraying her. I was never going to tell you, because I figured by the time you’d come back around I’d be over it.”

  “But you aren’t.”

  She blinks. “Nope.”

  “All this time,” I breathe out.

  “All this time.”

  We sit in silence.

  “You mean a lot to me, Kennedy,” I begin slowly, seeing her shift like she’s getting ready for me to reject her. “And everything you’ve done for me makes me love you that much more. I’m not saying I feel nothing, because I honestly have no clue how I feel about your admission, but with everything with Opal being so new, it’s just not the right time to start something else.”

  She waves it off, putting on a forced smile.

  “Like I said, I don’t expect anything—”

  “Why not? You’re so concerned with making sure everyone you care about is happy, what about yourself?”

  She goes to answer, but closes her mouth, like she doesn’t know the answer.

  “Do you believe in second chances?” I ask, mirroring a conversation I had with Opal months ago.

  She’s taken aback by the question, but answers, “Yes, I do.”

  I smile. “Good. I do, too. I think second chances exist for a reason, but only with the right people. Everybody saw what my relationship with Opal was—saw how it’d end. I didn’t want to believe them, and that’s on me. Where I am now … I deserve this.”

  A pained expression crosses her face. “Stop it.”

  “No,” I argue. “Kennedy, I’ve got a beautiful woman in front of me who everyone seems to have known had feelings for me, but my head was so far up my own ass that I couldn’t open my eyes and see it. Personally? I think you deserve better than what I can offer you.”

  She worries her lip. “But?”

  I give her a tiny smile. “Apparently, I’m also a selfish man, because I’d give you a chance to show me what real love, true love, is in a heartbeat.”

  Her lips part and eyes widen.

  I note the way her eyes lighten at my words, despite the disbelief in them. “But I can’t offer you that right this second, Kennedy. You deserve to be loved with everything a person has to offer, and I can’t right now. I need some time to lick my wounds, be selfish. I need some time to be me again, not Opal’s ex or Addison’s dad.”

  She lets out a soft laugh. “I’ve waited this long, Everly. What’s a little while longer?”

  The front door opens, causing my focus to shift to the familiar figure walking in.

  Noah looks exhausted—defeated. He’s always been so put together, even back in high school. Now he looks like a mess, and if he’s in a bar, he’s probably about to become an even bigger one.

  I tap the edge of the table. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Bash—”

  “Don’t worry, I’m not going to kick his ass.”

  She doesn’t protest as I walk over to where Noah sits. One of the bartenders is grabbing him a Corona, and when he sees me, his brows shoot up.

  “Fuller,” I greet, dropping onto the stool next to him.

  “Everly,” he breathes out, accepting the cold bottle of beer from the bartender.

  “You don’t look like the type to hangout in bars,” I point out, taking in the way his button-down white shirt is wrinkled, partially untucked from the back.

  “Beer just sounded like a good way to end my night,” is all he says.

  I shift, fully facing him. “Don’t be me, dude. Whatever the hell this is, it’s not worth it. You know what is worth it? Who is worth it? Opal Anderson.”

  His jaw ticks as he stares at me.

  “I was the asshole who walked away from her,” I continue, arm resting on the counter. “I’ll easily regret that for the rest of my life, but not as bad
ly if there’s somebody there to fix her heart, to watch over her. So, don’t be me—don’t keep walking away. She needs you, bro. She sure as shit loves you.”

  He gapes at me, his beer forgotten. “You love her, too,” he finally states.

  I shrug. “Sure, but there’s different kinds of love. Just like there’s different kinds of men. We both walked away from her, but you still have a chance to come back. I never did.”

  He considers that, glancing down at the bar.

  “She’s going to come to you,” I tell him confidently. “Make sure you’re ready for her when she does, because if you let her go again, there’s no chance you’re ever getting her back. Somebody like Opal deserves to be loved and cherished, and I’d say you’re probably the perfect person to do that.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  He shakes his head, palming the thin beard lining his jaw. “Why are you helping me? I know what she means to you.”

  I smirk, asking myself the same question. “I told you back in high school that I owed you for helping Opal and I out with the dance. Consider us even.”

  He eyes me for a moment, then chuckles. “I can’t say I was expecting this. A heart-to-heart from Opal’s ex, about her.”

  “Life is funny that way,” I reply, pushing myself up. “You’ve got one solid chance at love, Fuller. Don’t fuck it up.”

  He straightens. “I won’t.”

  There’s nothing else to say, so I go back to where Kennedy waits for me in our own booth.

  I nod my head toward the door. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

  “You don’t have—”

  “I want to, Kennedy. I can’t offer you a lot right now, but I’ll always have time to be there for you as a friend. Just let me do this, okay?”

  For once, she doesn’t argue.

  My body has become accustomed to sleeping amidst cold sheets that drape across the left side of the bed, the same side Noah used to inhabit. I never wanted to get used to the feeling but staring at the empty space next to me has become the last image I fall asleep to every night and the first thing I see when I awake.

  Sometimes I curl into Addy’s bed with her just to fill the void. It doesn’t always help, but it usually eases some of the pestering thoughts that keep running through my brain.

  But, in the moment, I know there isn’t anything left.

  Bash and I had ended six years ago, and never had a chance to survive round two. Addy was the only thing that remained of the love we shared, the choices we made. I wouldn’t trade our time together for anything, because the outcome was much greater than the pain and suffering. I would never regret our daughter.

  Over the course of the next few days, I ghost through my shifts until Roy tells me to go home. I mess up four coffee orders, drop an entire plate of doughnuts on the floor, and break two water glasses.

  “You need to get yourself together,” Roy tells me, sweeping up the shards of glass after my last mishap.

  “I don’t know how to do that.”

  He stops what he’s doing. “You should probably figure it out or I’ll have to order more coffee mugs.”

  I flush. “Sorry.”

  “Take a walk. Get some fresh air,” he suggests, grabbing the dust pan. “Do something to get yourself to wake up, because this version of you is really starting to worry me.”

  I press my lips together.

  He pauses, then clears his throat. “You know, they just put painted wooden flowers from Marcie’s shop on all of the graves in the cemetery. I noticed when I went to see my mama the other day.”

  My throat tightens at his implied suggestion.

  “You haven’t been since he passed,” he points out quietly. “Maybe it’s time. You can’t be afraid forever, kid.”

  I scoff dryly. “Afraid? Of what? He can’t do anything to me anymore—can’t hurt me now.”

  He rests the broom against the counter and turns his attention fully on me. “Just because he isn’t around now to hurt you doesn’t mean what he’s done doesn’t still hurt. You’ve seen a lot of fear and pain in your life, and I wish I could find some way to help you get over that. Best thing I can think is for you to finally let it all go. Stop living in fear, kid. You’re holding yourself back because of your past.”

  I look out the window.

  “I’m no shrink,” he states. “But I know when you make excuses, and that’s what you’ve been doing for a while now. You’ve refused to visit his grave, to acknowledge him. Just because he’s dead doesn’t mean he isn’t still lingering, and he’s influencing what you do even now after all of this time. Don’t let what happened between your parents and you get in the way of being happy.”

  That’s all he says before sweeping up the glass into the dust pan and dumping them in the back, leaving me staring at the empty floor while absorbing his words.

  Sometimes I think Roy knows me better than I know myself, and as much as I don’t want to believe he’s right, I know where I need to go just to be sure.

  ***

  I have no clue what to expect when I walk into the cemetery. Everything is coated with a light layer of snow, the ground is saturated, and the walkways are only halfway shoveled off since the area is usually closed until spring. It doesn’t stop people from coming to see loved ones. Some graves are cleared off, while others are buried in ice and snow. Others have flowers resting on top of the headstones, and others are bare.

  My feet lead me to the spot I’ve dreaded seeing since I walked away from it the day of his funeral. I told myself I never needed to come back, because there was nothing left for me here.

  But that’s not how closure works.

  My boots stop just short of his grave, which is spotless. No snow or ice, and there are two sets of flowers, both fake and real, resting on the black granite stone. His name is carved in a formal font—not cursive, but not something casual like Ariel either. During his funeral, there was only a marker with his name on it. Nothing to attach any emotion to where my father would be resting for all of eternity.

  Now it’s here for all to see, his birthdate, death date, and generic “Husband, Father, Son.” It doesn’t have the words “loving” or “beloved” before those titles, which I find amusing.

  A cool breeze whips the hood of my jacket off my head, and my hair blows around my face, blurring my vision. The wind kicks the snow off the surrounding trees, making it my own tiny blizzard.

  I guess Mom was the one who put the flowers here, considering they’re a mixture of roses and white carnations, the same flowers Dad would buy her when he was in one of his good moods.

  Snow crunches behind me, and I tense when a soft voice calls my name.

  Mom stops beside me, eyes trained on Dad’s grave. I only glance at her from my peripheral, not willing to read the emotion on her face as she stares at her dead husband’s headstone.

  I can’t fathom her being sad after everything he put her through, but she always stayed with him regardless.

  “You’re here,” she notes, eyes staying in front of her.

  I just nod.

  “I was wondering if you’d ever come,” she admits, ignoring the fact that I never spoke.

  I swallow my reply, eyes slowly making their way to the profile of her face. There’s no fear in her eyes, not like there usually was growing up. Now her yellow-green eyes are empty, a dull olive tone that looks lightyears away, like she doesn’t exist without him. Like her world is buried in the casket under our feet.

  “I don’t blame you for hating me, Opal,” she says audibly, voice shaking. “But please know that everything I did was because I needed to protect you from him.”

  My jaw quivers. “Protect?” I crack. “How was anything you did for me in protection? I had to listen to him scream at you over the stupidest things, hear him slap you around when you did something he didn’t like, and all I could think was, ‘I’m going to be next.’ I’d stay up at night terrified he’d come in my room to yell at m
e, or smack me around for not doing my chores, or not getting the perfect grades, or not making friends in school. Do you have any idea what that’s like for a child?”

  She turns to me. “Don’t you see? That’s why I had to let you go. The only way you were safe was if you were out of that house!”

  I blink.

  “I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to get us out of there, but your father would have known where we went. He had eyes and ears everywhere. It was easier to keep an eye on you in the house, knowing that you were safe. I could watch over you.”

  I have no idea what to say to her. I want to point out that she could have found a way to get him the help he needed. There were police reports she could have filed but never did. Instead, she lied when Bash had the courage to go to authorities.

  “He was sick, Mom. But that wasn’t an excuse for letting him get away with what he did to us. You may think you did all you could have, but there were other options, other ways to save us both from him.”

  “I know.” Her voice breaks. “Baby, I know. I know he was sick, and I know I was selfish for wanting you around—”

  “You just didn’t want to be alone!” I blast, causing her to flinch. “You made me watch you fall apart in the hands of a horrible man over and over again, because you didn’t want to be alone.”

  She closes her eyes, not denying it.

  “Mothers are supposed to give up everything for their children,” I say slowly. “They aren’t meant to be selfish. Just because you think you did the right thing by letting him kick me out doesn’t mean I can just forgive you. You ‘helped’ too late. I needed you more than ever. When I found out I was pregnant, I just needed my mom. You didn’t fight for me or let me get my things. There was no way of knowing if I’d be okay or not. You dropped me and chose him.”

  Her eyes are frantic now, darting around my face, studying the way my fists clench and unclench, my lips twitch, my nostrils flare. I wonder if she sees pieces of him in me, the way I’m reacting with anger instead of compassion.