4. Derek
4
DEREK
W eekends were usually laidback times with Naomi. She was too young to be in many sports. Sports, it seemed, weren’t her thing.
When I offered for her to try out several extra-curricular activities, she didn’t last long. When I signed her up for soccer, she told me that she wasn’t fond of being yelled at.
Who was?
She interpreted coaches and parents cheering kids on from the sides as “unnecessarily raised voices”.
I couldn’t blame her for that. Some parents acted like it was the freaking FIFA.
Then when I got her into tennis, she asked if she had to finish the lessons because the other girls were trying to brag and one-up about every little hit, miss, or serve.
Again, I understood that.
Eventually, I realized that she lacked a drive of competitiveness and I stopped trying to find her a hobby or sport. She’d come into her own. I wouldn’t push. So far, it seemed that she just liked doing her own thing. And that was cool with me. I saw all these other parents and wondered why they put themselves—and their kids—through the stress of so many organized sports and clubs.
One of Naomi’s interests that stayed consistent was art. Crafting, specifically. While I liked to think about having a woodshop or something, I wasn’t overly creative.
“I’ll be right there,” she said at Preston’s holiday market. We had no plans other than hanging out at home, but when Nicky and Stacy said they were heading downtown where stalls and activity tents were set up, I figured why not?
Naomi pointed at the clearly designated kids’ area. Volunteers from the library and the YMCA were positioned behind tables. As far as I could tell, they were making bracelets and ornaments.
“Okay,” I told her, preparing to settle in for standing around while she crafted. “I’ll be right here.”
“Ooh, bracelets,” Stacy said, smiling at my daughter.
“Do you want to make one?” Naomi asked.
“In a minute.” My sister smiled until she turned her back to us, busy surveying the supplies.
Then she pivoted to me and scowled. “Why are you such an ass to Mackenzie?” she hissed, out of earshot from Naomi.
I dropped my head back and groaned. I knew she was going to harass me about this. I had no doubt Mackenzie called Stacy up as soon as the pickup line was over with yesterday.
Nicky shook his head. “Babe. Stop. You are being?—”
“Uh-uh.” She held up her hand at him, cutting him off. “I’m not being anything but concerned. Worried about my brother being alone for the rest of his life.”
It was my turn to cut her off. “How can I be alone?” I gestured at my daughter, carefully deciding on pony beads. “I’ve got Naomi.”
Stacy cut me a stern glare. “You know what I mean.”
“Babe,” Nicky said, taking her hand. “You’ve got to stop this.”
“No. I’m not going to stop and give up on him.” She shook her head until her ponytail swayed from side to side. “I’m not going to give up on his finding a woman.”
I grunted. “I have. I’ve given up.”
“You haven’t even tried!” she protested.
“Stacy.” Nicky took a more serious, firmer tone with her. “ Stop . Let him be.”
“No.” She furrowed her brow at me. “When I asked you two years ago if you were still grieving Jenna and that was why you wouldn’t date anyone, you told me that you weren’t.”
I nodded. She wasn’t lying. She’d asked, and I’d answered. I was no expert on grief, but I was confident I’d gone through it all. Every stage of it. Jenna had been gone for almost seven years now. Naomi’s birthday was coming up the first week of January, and that was reminiscent of when Jenna passed away from complications during Naomi’s birth.
I missed Jenna. I always would to some degree, but it no longer ruled me.
Grief had nothing to do with the fact that I didn’t want to go through the process of dating, all to realize none of them would make me feel the way I did with her.
If the concept of one true love held any substance, well, she was mine. And she was gone.
“Then why won’t you even consider going on a date?” Stacy asked. “Why won’t you even try to talk to a woman?”
An older woman used her walker to slowly pass us by where we were standing and waiting for Naomi.
“Morning, Mrs. Fern.” I smiled at her. “Isn’t this market just wonderful?”
She smiled a gummy grin at me. “Oh, it sure is, Derek. It’s so nice to see everyone out and about before the snow gets bad.”
Switching off the charm, I gave my sister a bored look. “There. I talked to a woman.”
She elbowed me and growled. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”
Nicky laughed. “Stop nagging him, babe.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I won’t give up on you. I refuse to watch you be a lonely old grump for the rest of your life.”
“Aunt Stacy? Are you going to make anything?” Naomi called out.
“Yes, sweetie. I’m coming.” She shot me another stern look, then headed toward the tent.
“We’re going to walk around,” Nicky told her as he nudged my side to move.
We moved into the busy flow of people weaving in and out of stalls, and I sighed heavily, watching my exhale hang in the air.
“I’m sorry, man,” Nicky said.
“It’s not your fault.”
He shrugged. “Sometimes, I feel like it is.”
I barked a laugh, shaking my head. “How the hell would my not dating be your fault?”
“Well, she’s always wanted a big family.”
I cringed. Ouch. I see where you’re going. I’d considered this before, but it didn’t make me any more inclined to look for a woman.
“Between both of us, we can’t have a kid,” he said.
I didn’t need the reminder. He was damn near sterile, and she struggled to conceive. Even if they wanted to try to do further IVF treatments, the odds were damned low. Then when they tried not once, but three times to adopt, the birth mothers all changed their minds and those arrangements fell through.
“And I think she’s hoping she’ll get some more nieces and nephews from you.”
“First of all, it’s not your fault you can’t have kids. That’s just biology. And you both have struggles. So none of this my fault stuff.”
He nodded, checking out the stalls without interest.
“And second of all, it’s not right for her to project what she wants on me. I’m not interested in dating anyone right now.”
“Just right now?” he asked. He wasn’t nosy or pushy about it, like my sister was. Just curious.
I shrugged, shoving my hands in my pockets. “I don’t know. I’m not in the mood to go looking for anyone, but I will admit that I’ve been wondering if that’s selfish of me.”
He laughed once, rudely. “Why, because Stace’s BFF is butthurt that you don’t want her?”
“No.” I smiled, glad that he tolerated Mackenzie but didn’t really like her either. “Because I know Naomi wants a mom. I swear she’s going to write it on her letter to Santa again, the one she does at home.”
“That’s not so bizarre, though,” he said kindly. “It’d be the same if she only had Jenna and not you. I don’t think she’s saying she wants a mom so badly because you’re lacking.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think that either.” Naomi and I were close, with a similarly serious sense of humor and wit. “But sooner or later, as she gets older, she will want a maternal figure in her life. Stacy will be there as an aunt, but…”
“I hear you.”
Right then, Stacy popped up next to me. “Stacy will be an aunt, but…?”
I scowled at her. “I thought you were with Naomi.”
“One of her classmates showed up at the crafts. Amy. Her mom’s watching them.” She looked between me and her husband. “What are you talking about?”
“Nothing,” Nicky and I replied in unison. I appreciated how he would side with me and not give her anything else to say about that topic.
“Come on, Derek,” she wheedled. “If Mackenzie isn’t checking off everything on your list?—”
“I don’t have a list.”
She groaned, strolling with us past the carolers who butchered the end of “ Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer ” and moved on to another tune. “You must have a list if you reject everyone I suggest you date.”
“No. No list. I’m just sick of your pretending you’re a matchmaker.”
She gestured at the crowd around us. “Fine. You can’t seriously tell me you’re not interested, even on a basic level, in any of this.”
I pretended to look around. “No. I’m not interested. I don’t need a crocheted hand towel in the shape of a snowman. Or a weird pottery looking thing that looks like it would break into millions of sharp pieces. Or that grinch sweatshirt. Or his Christmas spice marmalade, or her fruitcake. Or that wreath, or?—”
“Stop being obtuse,” she said over Nicky laughing. “I know you don’t want anything in the artsy stalls. I’m talking about women.” She flung her hand out again, to indicate the gaggles of women shopping. More than half had to be married, but there was no denying that this holiday thing attracted a lot of women in a shopping mood. “You haven’t been interested in any woman in the last couple of years?”
I shook my head, glad that we’d completed a circuit up and down Main Street. We were right back to the crafts tent. I didn’t need Naomi hearing Stacy heckle me about dating again, and she wouldn’t talk about it in front of her. But?—
Wait a second…
I furrowed my brow at the woman in the dessert stall next to the crafts. If anyone were to ask me, having a vendor selling baked goods positioned right next to where small craft items could go awry wasn’t a brilliant idea.
I’d never seen her before. I hadn’t been seeking out women. But I would’ve noticed this woman.
Long brown hair was tied back in a complicated braid. It peeked out from beneath a white beanie. That was the only thing that appeared simple on her. Her pantsuit was so stiff and official. Even her boots were clean and immaculate, not a speck of dust or a spot of wear showing on them.
She looked proper and prim. Too tidy and neat. Not laidback like the rest of us here.
I couldn’t look away, curious about this businesswoman out of place in Preston, seeming to argue with the vendor.
Huh.
I blinked, glancing away at last and realizing two things.
My sister had noticed that I was checking this stranger out.
Dammit. Now she’ll get it in her head to introduce me to her, whoever the hell she is.
Yet, as much as I didn’t want Stacy to try to force me back into dating, this brunette had captured my eye.
What intrigued me more, though, was how closely Naomi watched her, curious and unable to look away either.