Letting Go: A Contemporary Romance of Snark and Feels

by Abbie Zanders

  “Who sent them?” I asked, lifting the vase up to my nose again and inhaling deeply as I searched for a card. In that moment, I didn’t care how much I detested Gertie Hausenberg. Someone had sent me flowers!

  “I don’t know. Don’t you?” Like a shark scenting fresh blood, a mixture of excitement and disbelief flared in her eyes at the idea that there might be more than one possible candidate. Add that to the fact that there was a delicious and unfamiliar Man living in my house and the situation positively reeked of scandal. I could practically hear her smacking her big, fat lips together.

  “Someone had to pay for it,” I said reasonably. “Don’t you keep records of that kind of stuff?”

  “The order was called in from one of those national florist chains we contract with. You really have no idea?”

  Whoever had sent them, I had to admire their cunning in keeping it a secret -—not an easy thing to do around these parts. There was the added bonus of driving Gertie crazy, which I silently lauded as well.

  “Probably a client,” I lied.

  “Clients send you flowers?” she asked skeptically, scrunching up her pudgy pink face, making her beady little eyes all but disappear. Short, brassy corkscrew curls, more appropriate on a five-year-old than a thirty-something, made me think of pigs in wigs.

  “Thanks so much for bringing them out,” I said, ignoring her question.

  “No problem.” She shifted her substantial weight and her gaze, trying to look past me to the house, no doubt hoping for a glimpse of Grade-A Prime Ranger (I have to say that if Gertie had one redeeming quality, it was that she was even shorter than me). I was so glad in that moment that I’d seen her truck pulling up the drive and managed to intercept her on the way back from my run. As we stood just beyond the front porch, I could only imagine the consequences of Ethan answering the door with that shadowed jaw, sleep-tousled hair, and sexy-as-sin morning voice. I’d probably be forced to pull out the John Deere and snow blade attachment to scrape Gertie’s puddle off the planks.

  “Mmmm. Do I smell fresh coffee?” she fished, angling for an invitation. Obviously she remembered our past encounters differently than I did if she believed I would ask her in to join me in a cup.

  “No,” I lied again, despite the fact that the delicious aroma of hazelnut was wafting out through the open windows. I’d set the timer to start brewing right about the time I’d be getting back. Her eyes narrowed, but there was no way in hell I was going to invite her in. Yeah, I guess that made me a bitch. Or worse, un-neighborly.

  Well, tough titties on toast. Gertie Hausenberg was not coming in, and she wasn’t getting her meaty ham hocks anywhere near my Ranger. Shit. I meant Ethan. He wasn’t my anything. Why did those words pop into my head?

  Was I being territorial over a man I’d already decided I couldn’t, shouldn’t, and wouldn’t allow myself to have? Maybe. BOB and I should probably sort that out later.

  We stood around for a few awkward moments until I decided I’d had enough. “Well, thanks again,” I said, turning back toward the house. Clearly, it would have been too much to hope that she’d take the hint. Most people would have picked up on the obvious dismissal. The blatant lies, evasions, and deliberate back-turning were dead giveaways, I thought. Then again, Gertie wasn’t exactly the brightest bulb in the chandelier.

  “So you called Jake, huh?” she called out. “Bet that was weird.”

  That stopped me in my tracks. Of course she knew Jake had come out to the house. The flower shop was right across the street from Jake’s office. She’d probably been waiting for him to get back so she could snuffle out all the juicy details.

  I paused and closed my eyes, praying for strength. I mentally recited a few calming mantras for good measure. When I faced her, my expression was as serene as I could make it. “Why would you say that, Gertie?”

  She sputtered for a moment, unsettled by my lack of reaction. She must have mistaken me for old Hannah, the one who gave a shit what people thought. “Well, because of what happened...”

  “What happened?” I blinked innocently.

  “You know. Prom.”

  Maybe I was wrong and her tone wasn’t laced with gleeful malice, but I doubt it. Even after all these years, it still cut a little. I’d lay naked over a nest of red fire ants before I’d let her see that, though. I pretended to think about it, then laughed. “Oh, right. Prom.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You’re not still mad about that, are you?”

  Yep, there it was. The sickeningly sweet twang that hid the cruel taunt. I shook my head. “Gertie, that was twelve years ago! I can’t believe you even remember that. But it all worked out for the best, right? Jeez, I guess their kid must be in junior high now, huh?”

  Her face turned a dark purple color. No one ever spoke of it, but everyone knew. Three months after prom, Cindy and her mom went away to spend some time with a “sick aunt” out in Ohio. When they came back about six months later, Cindy looked a lot older and her mother suddenly had a mid-life baby surprise.

  I had been crushed then, but after a while, I realized how lucky I’d been. I’d been all set to lose my virginity to Jake that night. I could have been the one that got pregnant on prom night. No SoCal, no degree, no business of my own.

  Without another word, Gertie got back into her Ford F150 and drove away.

  I took the flowers up to my room, clutching them to my chest like a treasured prize. Yeah, it was kind of a girlie thing to do, which is why I avoided both my father and Ethan on the way. I didn’t want them to witness just how excited I was by such a simple gesture. I didn’t think my father would care one way or the other, but Ethan might get the wrong idea and think I could be swayed with traditional romantic trappings. God help me if that ever happened; it was hard enough keeping my distance as it was.

  The bouquet looked beautiful on the small round table in the corner next to my bed, brightening up both my space and my outlook. I had a pretty good idea who’d sent them. I was going to thank him personally and set the record straight once and for all when I drove into town and looked at water heaters this morning.

  I showered quickly and changed into casual jeans, selecting a short-sleeved summery top instead of my usual oversized T. I slipped down the stairs and out the laundry room door with deliberate stealth, avoiding the questions I didn’t feel like answering.

  I knew my guess was correct when Jake didn’t seem surprised to see me.

  “Thanks for the flowers. They’re lovely.”

  He grinned, his eyes glittering. “How did you know it was me?”

  I smiled. “The bouquet had calla lilies in the middle.” My prom corsage had calla lilies in it, too.

  “You remembered.”

  “That’s not all I remember.”

  He had the good sense to look penitent. “I’m sorry about that, Hannah. I never meant to hurt you.”

  “I know.” I didn’t bother lying and telling him that he hadn’t, though my pride wanted me to. It had hurt, but I’d gotten over it and realized it was all for the best. If everything had gone the way I’d planned it in my mind that night, I never would have gone away to college, never would have had the time I needed to live and grow and make other mistakes. And, horror of horrors, I might even be related to Gertie now, since she and Jake were cousins.

  “Water under the bridge, right? I forgave you a long time ago, Jake.” I realized then that it was true. I had forgiven him a long time ago. It was myself that I’d had issues with, because I’d been too blind to see the truth.

  His face was older now, his features more grown-up than those of the boy I had once known. His eyes held something different when they looked at me now than they had then, too: genuine interest. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

  Too late, buddy, some part of me thought. The funny thing was, beyond being mildly flattered, I really didn’t care. For as much as I’d crushed on him in high school, I didn’t feel anything more than a friendly appreciation for him now. Even
way back when, he hadn’t elicited the same instant, powerful attraction I felt whenever a certain blue-eyed Irishman came to mind. I refused to think about that, except to rationalize that what had happened was for the best. It just confirmed that Jake and I were really not the destined soul mates my troubled teenage heart had once believed.

  He took a step toward me but I raised my hand. “I appreciate the apology, and the flowers, but just so we’re clear, I’m not interested in starting anything.”

  Disappointment flashed in his eyes. “I deserve that,” he said. “And I can respect that. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends, right?”

  “No, Jake. It doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. I’d like that, actually.”

  “Great.” He grabbed an inch-thick catalog from his desk. “Come on. Let’s head over to the diner and look at some water heaters over lunch.”

  I wasn’t stupid. I knew what he was doing. Men, especially good-looking, eligible bachelors like Jake, didn’t give up so easily. But I was kind of hungry (I hadn’t been able to eat after Gertie’s visit), and the least he could do was buy me a sandwich. In a gentlemanly gesture, Jake held the door for me. I grinned and gave a big wave to where I knew Gertie was watching from across the street.

  Ethan

  Hannah returned from town around noon with bags of takeout from some place called “Joe’s”, then disappeared into her office. When I asked if she was joining us for lunch, she’d gotten this enigmatic smile on her face and said she’d already eaten.

  When her father asked about the water heater, she blushed and said they’d never really gotten around to that.

  It bothered me more than I cared to admit. First the flowers (yeah, I went into her room and checked them out; a few may have accidentally found their way out the open window), then lunch. I guess, in a purely technical sense, Hannah hadn’t done anything wrong. Getting flowers wasn’t a crime (but did she have to put them next to her bed?). Neither was grabbing lunch with an old acquaintance, even if that acquaintance was a former prom date.

  Still kind of felt like a betrayal, though.

  Yeah, I know. Technically, Hannah and I weren’t really seeing each other yet, but I already knew in my heart that she was mine. One kiss was all it took for me to know that it was better than anything I’d ever had with Cecilia. For the first time in a year, I was actually glad that my fiancée had left when she did. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here now.

  Maybe Hannah didn’t feel the same way, though. Maybe I’d misread the signals and only imagined the desire in her eyes and the passion in her kiss.

  Nope. Not a chance. She’d all but melted in my arms, until she got spooked and ran away like a frightened little rabbit.

  That was it, I realized. Hannah was scared. I couldn’t blame her. I’d never felt that kind of intensity from a woman before; nor had I been so close to completely losing control, especially not from a kiss. I bet she was feeling the same thing, yet instead of embracing it, she was running from it.

  If I ever met the fucker who hurt her (something told me it wasn’t just the plumber), I was going to do some damage. And afterward, I was going to shake his hand, because if he hadn’t been such a douche, I might not have found the woman I was going to marry.

  Yep, marry. I was thirty years old, I’d been around the world half a dozen times, and I’d never met a women who made me feel like Hannah McGinnis. I didn’t need years to figure out what was right in front of my face. I knew, in my soul of souls, that she was the one for me. Just as I knew without a doubt that I was the man for her.

  Hannah McGinnis was in my sights, and I hadn’t failed a mission yet. There was no way I was going to fail the most important mission of my life.

  As soon as Angus was settled in for the night, I waited as long as I could, then went looking for her. I found her in the attic amid piles of dusty boxes with a thick, leather bound album in her lap. The tiny circular windows on either end of the large room were open, but there wasn’t much air circulating in the quiet night. Dirty streaks smudged her skin, made muddy by the sheen of perspiration there. Cobwebs caught in her hair, silky strands that glistened when she leaned forward into the weak glow of the single bulb suspended from the ceiling. For once, her hair hung loose, cascading over her shoulders and framing her face.

  For a moment I just stared. She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.

  “Couldn’t sleep?” I asked.

  She shook her head, sending dust motes flying into the air. “No. I’m sorry if I woke you.”

  “You didn’t. I don’t sleep much.”

  She nodded, as if she understood. I think she really did, too.

  “What do you have there?”

  “Old photos.”

  “Anyone you recognize?”

  She nodded. “It’s my parents’ wedding album.” She bit her lip and cast her eyes downward. I noticed she did that when she was trying to make up her mind about something. I also knew, with every fiber of my being, that whatever she was internally debating, it involved me. Would she trust me enough to share a part of her life with me? I held my breath and watched in fascination, waiting for her decision.

  “Would you like to see?”

  I nodded, slowly releasing the breath of relief. She scooted over, making some room for me on the floor. I folded my much bigger body down, having to angle myself slightly to fit in the small, cramped space. I didn’t mind. Her thigh touched mine; her shoulder brushed against my chest. Even that slight, wholly non-sexual contact lit me up from the inside out. That was another reason I knew Hannah was mine. Just being around her soothed my ragged soul. Around her, I didn’t feel broken.

  “Is that your mom?” I asked, forcing my eyes away from Hannah’s delicate features and onto the page. I recognized Angus (he really didn’t look that much different) and a much younger version of my father, who I knew had been his best man. My heart squeezed at the two women smiling into the camera. One of them was my mother.

  She nodded.

  “You look just like her.”

  She smiled. “Yeah. Everyone says that.” The pads of her fingers ran reverently over the transparent pocket holding the photo. “I miss her so much,” she sighed. “She was such an amazing woman. So beautiful, so smart, so strong.”

  “A lot like you, then.”

  Hannah blushed and shook her head in denial. “I was so angry with her for leaving me. Leaving us. I know it wasn’t her fault. No one asks for cancer, but...” She took a deep breath before continuing. “Dad was devastated when she died. It was only a year or so after my brother was killed in action.”

  I knew about that. My father had given me a heads-up, warned me not to bring it up in case I came upon some photos or old mementos. It was not something Colonel McGinnis discussed, ever.

  My heart went out to Hannah. I wondered if the subject was as closed to her as it was to her father. Someday, maybe, she would confide in me. But right now, she was thinking of her mother.

  “How did it happen?”

  “Breast cancer. The doctor said it might have been curable if she’d caught it in time, but Mom was more concerned about taking care of everyone else than herself.”

  I stopped myself from pointing out that she did exactly the same thing. She took care of her father, cooked all the meals, and ran the house, all while managing to have a challenging career. She didn’t sleep enough or eat enough, and except for the hour or two she disappeared each morning, she didn’t take any time for herself, either.

  “At least she didn’t leave you on purpose,” I said, amazed when I heard the bitterness in my own voice.

  “Is that what happened with your mom?”

  I nodded. It was something I rarely talked about with anyone, but I almost wanted to with Hannah. If she would have pushed me I might have, but she didn’t. Instead, she put her hand on my thigh and gave me an empathetic smile. Whatever feelings I was developing for her grew deeper in those few moments, rooting themselves firmly in my chest.r />
  I slipped my hand over hers, letting her warmth soak into me. “Show me the rest.” I nodded toward the album.

  She did. We looked through it together along with a half-dozen others, laughing at some of the fashions and hairstyles and comparing funny relative stories. Before I knew it, the old grandfather clock downstairs was tolling two a.m.

  “We’d better get some sleep,” she said, closing the album and stifling a yawn.

  I didn’t want to sleep. I wanted to stay here, with her. Laughing. Talking. Sharing. Had I ever felt so at ease with a woman before?

  I helped her to her feet, ignoring the spasms in my back from sitting in a cramped position for too long. Of course she noticed.

  “Come on,” she said, tugging me down the stairs. “I know just the thing.”

  She led me to the guest room. My room. “Take off your shirt and lie down.”

  I had a couple of fantasies that began much the same way, but somehow I didn’t think that’s what she had in mind. I raised my eyebrow, but didn’t move.

  “I’m an expert masseuse, and well-versed in acupressure,” she said, matter-of-factly. If any other woman had said that to me, I would have considered it a come-on, but not Hannah. There was nothing coy about her offer. I don’t even think she realized what she’d said. This was the Hannah that had been hiding from me. The sweet, caring woman who saw that I was hurting and wanted to do something about it. The question was, could I control myself if she got her hands on me?

  I think I grunted.

  “It’s true. Just give me five minutes. If your back doesn’t feel better, I’ll...”

  “You’ll what?” I prompted.

  Her eyes lost some of their playful spark. Shit, she was thinking again. She shook her head, as if trying to rid herself of whatever thoughts had taken up residence there.

  “You know what? You’re right. It’s late and we’re both tired. I’m going to go rinse out some of these cobwebs. Goodnight, Ethan.”