by Amy Sparling
I regret my enthusiasm the moment I walk into the gym. There are about ten other moms in here, and they’re all in their thirties. Some of them might even be older. And their age isn’t the only thing that makes my stomach uneasy.
These ladies are so much . . . better than I am. Dressed in designer clothing, with fancy shoes and a dozen accessories each, these women are all standing around a table filled with finger foods, chatting as if they’re all old friends. They have salon-styled hair and perfectly applied makeup and manicured nails.
I swallow. I’m wearing an old pair of jeans and a black tank top that I’d chosen specifically for crafting because I don’t care if I get paint on it. My Chuck Taylors have seen way better days and my hair is thrown into a ponytail. Makeup? Yeah, I’m not even wearing any.
“Hi,” a woman says. She’s tall and wearing a well-fitted pantsuit. “Are you joining us for mommy and me?”
“Yes,” I say before I can come up with a good excuse to bail on this place. I do not belong here and I’ve never felt more alone in a group of people.
“Excellent! We’re so happy to have you,” she says and all of the other women look my way and don a matching smile. “I’m Evian,” she says, extending her hand to me. “I run the group so if you have any questions, I’m here to help.”
“Thanks,” I say, shaking her hand. “I’m Bayleigh.”
They pass out aprons for the moms and little plastic bibs for the kids. We all take a seat at a table and we make these little hand molds out of a quick drying clay. I have a blast playing with Jett and pressing his tiny little hand into the mold. He watches me as I work with this sort of fascination on his face, and I’m not quite sure if he’s proud of me yet, or if he even recognizes how different his mom is from all of the other moms.
I certainly do. They talk about the most talented freelance photographers and which restaurants have the best catering services. I smile politely as they talk, but I don’t have anything worthwhile to add to the conversation.
Jett finger paints the clay hand mold and I carve his name into it with a toothpick. Some of the other kids start crying and throwing stuff and the moms have to take them off and calm them down. I’m wonderfully proud that my son has a fun time and doesn’t misbehave once.
At the end of the class, everyone is still really nice to me, but I don’t feel like I fit in or anything. Evian tells me I should definitely come back next week and I tell her that I will if I can fit it into my schedule.
It’s only half of a lie. Maybe I could come back. We did have fun, I just felt so ridiculously out of place. Jace calls me as I’m driving home and I recount the day to him, giving every single detail of those women’s appearance and leaving out nothing of their conversation.
He chuckles. “That sounds like a bunch of rich snooty housewives.”
“They were. Rich at least. They were pretty nice to me though, so that’s cool.” I feel a little embarrassed telling Jace all of this, but he’s my best friend so the feelings don’t last very long.
“Honestly, they’re probably all jealous of you,” he says.
“Hardly,” I say with a snort. Who would be jealous of my shitty old clothing when they’re in designer crap from Nordstrom?”
“That designer crap is to make up for how old and stupid they are,” he says confidently. “They’d all kill to look as hot as you do in a pair of old jeans and a tank top. Enjoy it, babe. You’re young and gorgeous and perfect and they’re just old ass mothers.”
I crack up laughing. “I love you, Jace.”
“I love you, Bay.”
Chapter 7
My workouts get a little easier after a solid week of going to our new gym every day. It also helps that I’ve varied up the routine, making sure to work out my arms and legs on different days so that I’m not crazy sore every day. Now I’m just half sore every day.
Jace still hasn’t suspected that I’m trying to get fit because now that the track is ready, he and Park can’t keep their dirt bikes away from it. So every morning when they’re riding before starting work for the day, I’m working out.
On August third, I am painfully aware that there’s only six days left until my second wedding anniversary with Jace and I have no idea what to get for a present for him. I’ve spent a lot of time at the business, trying to listen in on his conversations with Park to see if there’s anything business related that he could use. But at the same time, getting him a gift for work is lame. Especially for our anniversary.
Another painful thought is that Jace hasn’t said a single thing about our anniversary yet. I know there’s no way he’d forget about it because he’s loving and amazing and perfect—so why hasn’t he said anything? And why can’t I just bring it up like it’s no big deal?
I guess because I’m worried that if I mention the date and he genuinely did forget . . . then I don’t know what I’d do. I can’t handle that kind of heartache right now. So I’m just keeping quiet, trying to think of a gift idea and hoping that Jace is doing the same thing.
After working out for the morning, I go home and shower. Now I’ve improved so well that I can actually get myself dressed after a workout. Woohoo! I’ll be a supermodel in no time.
Ha!
I smirk at my reflection in the mirror as I think that, and try not to check out myself very much. I’m too nervous to check the scale to see if I’ve lost any weight yet. It’s just been a week and everything I read online says that muscle training will probably make you gain weight before you see a loss.
So I draw in a deep breath, tell myself I look fine, and throw my wet hair into a messy bun. Jett is starting to get sleepy, so after I feed him a quick lunch, we cuddle up on the couch and he falls asleep in my arms. I don’t have the heart to move him to his crib, so I stay very still and grab the tablet off the end table.
I get online and try to look for a gift for Jace. Several Netflix shows later, and I’m still at a loss for what to get him. My phone rings. I’m so exhausted of searching for gift ideas that I figure I might just break down and ask Jace what he wants. But when I grab the phone, it’s Mom calling me, not Jace.
“Hello?” I answer in a soft voice, so as not to wake up the baby.
“Hey, honey,” Mom says, cheerful. “What’s going on?”
“Just going crazy over here,” I mutter, swiping my finger down the tablet screen.
“Oh no, is Jett being a handful?” she asks.
I snort as I look at the sleeping baby in my arms. He’s not a problem at all. He hardly ever is unless we go to a restaurant. “No. I can’t think of anything to get Jace for our anniversary.”
Mom laughs as if that’s not a legitimate reason to be upset. “Well, this is your second anniversary so . . . I think that’s cotton.”
I lift an eyebrow. “Huh?”
“It’s tradition,” she explains. “I don’t know why they do it but it’s a thing. You give each other paper for your first anniversary and cotton for your second. And then other stuff for the rest of the years and once you reach fifty years you give diamonds or something like that.”
“Hmm,” I say, contemplating this. “A gift of cotton. Like what, a pillowcase?” I say, shaking my head. “I can’t give Jace a pillowcase.”
“What about some clothes?” Mom suggests.
I groan. “Laaaaame.”
“I’m sure he’ll like anything you get him, honey.”
“I know but I don’t want to give him something stupid. I want something that will blow his mind.”
Mom chuckles. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
#
My incessant worrying over finding the perfect gift stretches on until nighttime. I’m still thinking about it when Jace gets out of the shower and climbs into bed with me. He smells like heaven and I nuzzle against him, reveling in his smooth, just-shaven face. All of the anxiety in the world melts away when he wraps his arms around me and I press my cheek against his bare chest.
The television in
our bedroom is on some cop show that he loves. I don’t really care for it, but I know he likes it so I always turn it on when he’s showering so he has something to watch when he gets out. It’s the perfect decoy to keep him entertained while I close my eyes and enjoy every second I’m with him.
Jace strokes my hair and I breathe in his scent and for just a few minutes, I’ve completely forgotten the stress over not having a good present for him.
“So . . .” I say playfully, hoping to trick him into telling me something about our anniversary.
“So,” he says back while he watches TV.
“It’s August third,” I say, lifting my eyes to look at him.
“Yeah time is flying but Park and I think we can have the place up and running by the end of the month.” He leans forward and kisses me before returning his attention to the show. “Finally. I mean damn. It’s taken forever.”
“Do you have a name yet?”
“Nope. I mean, right now we call it ‘the track’ but that’s not a name.”
The pang in my heart deepens with each second that we’re not talking about our approaching anniversary, but I shove it aside. “The Track could be a cool name,” I say, thinking it over. “Like something modern and popular enough that it doesn’t need a more descriptive name. Just—The Track.”
“I like the way you think,” he says, smiling. “Maybe we could do that. I’ll bring it up to Park.”
“When will you do that?” I ask. “Tomorrow, which is the fourth of August?”
“Yeah, it’s too late to call him now.” Jace focuses back on the show. Usually I can tell when he’s messing with me. When he’s pretending to not get the joke just to watch me get annoyed and try to explain it again before he finally admits that he was picking on me.
But this time, when I mentioned the date twice, he had no little twinkle in his eye that told me he was avoiding talking about something just to annoy me. No. It wasn’t like that at all.
This time, it’s like he genuinely has forgotten what happens in six days.
Chapter 8
The next two days are a whirlwind of chaotic business decisions. After Jace’s end of the month deadline, Park decided to step it up a notch and say they should open the track in the middle of the month. Now the boys are so excited about the possibility of it that they’re working even more nonstop than usual.
I know I should be thrilled with the business, and normally I would be, but it’s just too close to our anniversary for me to be as happy as I should be. I guess I didn’t expect the entire world to stop for that one day, but I did expect something. More than this, at least.
Becca and I hang out in the kid room at the track, working on my laptop. So far I’ve created the new Facebook page for the track and now we’re working on a website. I used a company that has pre-made website designs so it’s pretty easy. Becca has helped me take a bunch of pictures of the place, so we’re adding them to the site and the Facebook page. I haven’t told the guys yet, but I’ve decided to call it “The Track” with or without their approval.
“This is my favorite one,” Becca says, pointing to a photo of Jace and Park, both clad in motocross gear and standing in the middle of the gravel road entrance to the facility. They look like two badasses and yet somehow, adorable at the same time.
“Me too. Let’s make it the cover photo,” I say, dragging it onto the website.
After everything is as good as we can get it, I log into Jace’s personal Facebook page and post a link to The Track’s new page, asking everyone to like it. I pretend like it’s Jace who’s doing the posting because his fans always do what he asks them to.
Becca watches me while she sips on her mocha Frappuccino. “It’s so cool that you have his password and he lets you do this stuff.”
I shrug. “We’re married so we tell each other everything.” I play it off like it’s no big deal, but in reality, I was pretty psyched when Jace first told me his password and asked if I would upload some photos for him. Having that kind of permission to go into his private account is a privilege. Not every spouse on earth would do that, and I know I’m lucky to be with someone who does.
And that’s exactly why I don’t ever snoop into his Facebook messages. I know he’d never do anything inappropriate and I’m not about to ruin my day by seeing what random girls tell him on the internet.
I send the post to his account and within a few seconds, people have liked and commented on it. I log out and log back into The Track’s Facebook page. We already have twelve likes. I grin. “The boys are going to be excited about this.” I turn to Becca. “You don’t happen to have Park’s password, do you? We could post on his account as well.”
She shakes her head. “It’s never come up and it’s not like I’m going to ask for it,” she says with a laugh. “But I do wonder if he’d trust me with that kind of information.”
“He totally would. The boy loves you like crazy.”
She grins and her cheeks flush. I shove her shoulder. “You’re such a dork.”
“Anyway,” she says sarcastically. “I’m totally with you on the name of the business. It sounds cool and it’s simple.”
“Hopefully they like it, because we have eighty-six likes now. Woot!”
We high five and Jett starts giggling from his playpen. Becca stands and swoops him up into her arms. They play for a while and I relax on the new couch, grateful for a few minutes of free time.
And then it hits me, an idea so painfully obvious that I can’t believe I hadn’t thought of it sooner. “I know exactly what to get Jace for our anniversary,” I say, my voice sounding as awed as I feel.
“What’s that?” Becca asks.
I grin. “I need to go call my contractor.”
“Don’t you have the brick appointment soon?” she asks.
I check the time on my phone and frown. “Yeah, in five minutes.” Guess I’ll call the contractor later. Hopefully he can make the present I want before the ninth. “I wonder where Jace is?”
Today we’re meeting with the guy from the builder of our new house. We’re supposed to pick out a brick and paint color. It’s a meeting that was supposed to happen weeks ago, but Jace kept postponing it because he was so busy working on the new business. Finally, the guy said he could come to us instead of us driving out to meet him at his office.
I call Jace but he doesn’t answer and I grow more weary with each passing ring. When his voicemail picks up, I roll my eyes and end the call, shoving my phone back in my pocket with a little more force than necessary.
“Would you mind watching Jett for a while?” I ask Becca.
“Sure, I don’t have anything else to do,” she says with a shrug while she reaches for the TV remote. “Auntie Becca will take care of the kiddo.”
“Thanks,” I say, rushing over to kiss Jett goodbye. “I owe you.”
“You can repay me when I have a kid and I need a babysitter,” she says, waving a hand at me. “Now get out of here.”
I meet Ryan, the home builder, in the gravel driveway in front of the main building. He wasn’t kidding when he said he’d bring the selection to us. He’s driving a massive van that has a walk-in room in the back of it. The walls are covered with different boards of bricks in various colors.
“These are the selections we have,” he says, gesturing to the brick samples. “They’re all great colors, but did you have something in mind?”
“Um,” I say, trailing my fingers along a row of bricks. “Not any of these,” I say toward the reddish bricks and a weird selection of white bricks. “I was thinking something like the color of coffee. But, I don’t know.”
“Then you might like this one,” Ryan says, walking to the back of the van and pointing to a selection that hangs on the wall. “This one is called Mocha Paradise.”
“That actually looks delicious,” I say in an effort to crack a joke. The bricks are mostly a mocha color but they have little swirls and hints of lighter colors mixed in. “I guess it’
s okay.”
If Ryan picks up on my awkwardness, he doesn’t say anything. The truth is, I don’t exactly know if I should pick a brick color for the house I’m building with Jace when Jace isn’t here to help choose. Would he be annoyed that I chose without him? Of course, if it would bother him, then he should have made an effort to be here for this. I sigh.
“Can I look around for a minute?” I ask.
“Of course, of course,” Ryan says. “Take your time. I’ll answer some emails while you look around.”
He steps out of the back of the van and pulls out the stylus from the bottom of his cell phone. I swallow and turn back toward the bricks, but honestly, I don’t even notice them. I don’t care about choosing a stupid color and I’m starting to stop caring about building the new house.
Jace should be here. If he forgot about something this pivotal in our lives, how can I ever expect him to remember our anniversary? Maybe this is just a bad year. There’s too many things going on for him to focus on what matters right now.
Or maybe I’m just wrong. Maybe I care too much about things that don’t matter. Maybe the business is more important in the long run because it means having a steady income and a way of living. A brick color is just a dumb decision that anyone could make. Hell, I could ask Ryan to draw a color out of a hat and then be done with it.
“Oh my god, that took forever,” Jace says from out of nowhere.
I jump and turn around. My heart races from the sudden burst of his voice and I am both happy and angry at the same time. “What took forever?” I ask, trying not to let my disappointment show in my voice.
“Park’s damn truck battery gave out at the grocery store.” He runs a hand through his hair and gazes out at the selection of brick colors. “And then my jumper cables broke halfway through trying to set them up so we had to ask around until we found someone with cables to help us jump his truck. Total pain in my ass.”
