25. twenty-five
twenty-five
Nora
Fifth Friday
It’s a busy week leading up to the holiday market. I spend every evening sorting, pricing, and packing my second run of ceramic goods. Brooks is busy, too, and though I want to be understanding of his schedule, he’s been decidedly less chatty ever since our run-in with his dad at the market. I’ve tried not to read into things too much, but worry niggles the edges of my heart every time he doesn’t reply to my texts right away.
I tell myself that it’s probably a good thing that he’s not distracted during training, meetings, and overall preparation for the coming season. This is what he needs, right? My job is to be understanding of his schedule.
But still. I miss him. Friday can’t come soon enough. We haven’t talked about what’s going to happen after our five Fridays are up, but my hope-filled heart yearns for the best. A continuation of what we’ve already started. We’ve come too far to back out now.
Nora: Sorry to throw off our fifth Friday this weekend. To be fair, I signed up for this market well before we had our agreement in place.
Brooks: I’ve never run a booth at a market before, so this totally counts as trying something new for me. It’s you who’s breaking the rules.
Nora: Oh, so you’re running the booth? Do I get the night off, then?
Brooks: Hey, I can operate a card reader and wrap delicate ceramics with the best of them.
Nora: I’ll believe it when I see it, Brookie.
Autumn in Kitt’s Harbor is relatively mild, so pending rain, the market is set to be held outdoors at Alice Park. We’ll be sheltered beneath our white tent regardless, but I hope the weather holds so visitors can linger and enjoy the holiday magic.
With Thanksgiving around the corner, I expect the market to invite the spirit of the season. In years past, I’ve been mesmerized by the twinkling lights, the smells of citrus and pine in the air, and the wide variety of baked holiday treats and handmade gifts. We’ve already added holiday items to our menu at the diner: gingerbread pancakes, candy cane lattes, and cinnamon roll waffles. All Ollie approved, of course.
“Can I bite it?” Ollie asks me, cinnamon stick in hand. He’s been “assisting” me for the past thirty minutes in tying sprigs of pine and cinnamon sticks to my mugs with twine.
“You can,” I say. “But it might be a little spicy.”
Ollie licks the cinnamon stick and shakes his head with his tongue out. “Don’t like it.”
I press a kiss to his squishy cheek and give him a squeeze.
“Where’s Big Dude, Mama?” he asks me later as we’re cuddled up on the couch watching his favorite show.
“He’s working,” I say. A concept well understood by little Ollie.
“I miss him,” Ollie says with a heavy sigh, and I press my lips together in a pout. He is precious.
“Yeah, me, too.”
I’m arranging the shelves in my booth for the twenty-seventh time, stepping back to ensure it has the “collected” look I’m going for, when someone enters the tent.
“Hi, beautiful,” Brooks says into my ear, and I turn into his arms. He holds me tightly for three whole breaths, and though I love the feel of his arms around me, my anxiety rises.
I pull back and study his face, and though he’s smiling and handsome as ever and I could cocoon myself in his soft sweater for the rest of the night, something feels…off. He doesn’t quite meet my eyes, and his smile is less light-filled and more tired. This is how it felt before he broke up with me the first time. I sensed it was coming. The same thing happened before I found out about Nate’s affair. Maybe I have a sixth sense about this sort of impending doom, or maybe I’m sleep-deprived and paranoid for no reason.
Before I have the chance to ask him what’s going on, Ollie comes running over and locks his arms around Brooks’ leg in a tight hug.
“What’s up, my dude?” Brooks says, reaching down to embrace my son. Ollie then drags Brooks away to show him the booth across from ours which is selling handmade Christmas ornaments. I watch them go, puzzled. Feeling like I’m missing something.
Heavy clouds hover overhead, and I’m certain we’ll get a bit of rain, if not a downpour. Sydney joins me at the booth, her blonde curls wild and blue eyes bright.
“How can I help you?” she asks eagerly. I hug her to me, feeling the need to anchor myself before the evening gets underway.
“Thank you for coming,” I say. “If you could test the card reader for me and make sure it’s working that would be great.”
“Where’s Ollie?” Sydney asks, peering outside of the tent. She laughs and nods to our right. “Spotted. Looks like he’s wheedling a donut out of Brooks.”
“Is he really?” I join her, and sure enough, Brooks is handing Ollie a cinnamon donut. Ollie looks up at Brooks with the purest delight and open admiration, and the sight of it makes a knot lodge in my throat. Sydney pulls out her phone and snaps a photo of the two of them.
“You’re welcome,” she whispers.
Brooks takes Ollie’s free hand, and they continue walking through the market. Ollie puttering along happily in his rain boots and puffy jacket, Brooks with his sure strides and confident smiles.
I don’t want our Fridays spent together to end. I want this to continue so badly, I feel desperate. Brooks has brought both Ollie and I so much happiness that I can’t fathom losing him. Not now. After seeing Bill Alden the other night, I’ve been wondering what exactly they talked about. Bill was persuasive enough to convince Brooks to dump me the first time; who’s to say he couldn’t hold the same power over his son now? What if his opinion still holds sway?
Stop it, Nora.
Brooks has done nothing to make me question his intentions. He’s been honest with me from the start, and I can’t do him the disservice of doubting him now. I’ve got to trust him. I want him in my life, and I can’t let a busy week put distance between us.
I’m just about to chase Brooks down so we can talk things through when someone else enters the tent, causing both Sydney and I to turn.
“Nora,” Bill Alden says, looking severely overdressed for a local market in his black pea coat and dress shoes. “May I speak with you for a moment?”
Sydney’s brow furrows, and she gives me a look that says, need me to get rid of this guy ?
But I’m not afraid of Bill Alden anymore. I know what I want, and he’s not going to get in the way of me obtaining it. Not again.
“Hi, Bill,” I say, mustering up a smile. “Of course.”
He gestures out the tent, and I punch my fists into the pockets of my coat as I follow after him.
“Is this a new venture of yours?” he asks, flinging a hand casually back towards my booth.
“Sort of. I’ve been throwing ceramics for years but have just started selling my work.”
“My neighbor showed me a few things she bought from you. A vase. A few plates. They’re beautiful. Really something.”
“Thank you,” I say cautiously. There’s no way he sought me out to compliment me on my work.
“Can I buy you a cider?” he asks, gesturing to another tent across the way.
“No, thanks,” I say slowly. I plan to get out of this conversation as quickly as possible. I will Brooks to turn around and see me with his dad. Please come rescue me.
“Do you enjoy it? Your creative work?”
“I do,” I say, shooting an anxious glance back down the tent-lined walkway. There’s a decent amount of people milling around, so we’re not entirely alone, but there’s no sign of Brooks and Ollie. I wish he’d stop beating around the bush and say whatever it is he came here to say.
“I’m not sure if you know this, but outside of my career as a pilot, I dabble a bit in investments,” Bill says, his steel-blue eyes cold. They don’t glitter the way his son’s do. “From a business standpoint, I think you’re onto something really great. Have you thought about scaling Noli into something more?”
“I mean, yes?” I say, and it comes out like a question. I cross my arms and glance back toward the mingling crowd arriving at the market. “But I’m not sure now is the right time.”
“Why is that?”
What is the point of all these questions?
“Well, I don’t exactly have the time between managing Delia’s and taking care of my son. Nor do I have the…” I pause, then swallow. I don’t want to talk about this with him. I don’t trust him.
“The resources?” he supplies, leaning closer.
I say nothing.
“I’d like to have a conversation with you about that,” Bill says. “I see an opportunity in Noli, and I’d be willing to invest in your business. Help provide you with some capital to get you on your feet.”
I blink up at him, frowning. Why the sudden burst of generosity? There’s got to be a catch.
“Of course, that investment would come with certain stipulations. One specifically,” Bill narrows his eyes as he smiles.
“And what would that be?” I say, fearing his answer.
“I would be willing to invest a substantial amount of money in your business,” Bill says in a low tone. “If you would agree to stop associating with Brooks.”
I’ve felt angry before. A heart-shattering rage when I found out my husband of four years was cheating on me. Countless subsequent rolling waves of bitterness from frustrating interactions I’ve had to endure with him and others. A hopeless, tear-filled racking of my soul in the depths of postpartum depression. But this? This is different.
It’s a direct hit. A cold-blooded attack on the fragile, growing hope that I’ve protected within me since Brooks entered my life again. The thick, greenhouse glass starts cracking around the tiny seed I’ve been nurturing.
I glare up at Bill Alden, the anger mounting inside of me, bound to expel from my mouth should I open it.
I can’t help myself.
“How dare you?” I hiss. “How dare you try and manipulate our relationship again ?” Bill’s eyes narrow. “Yes, Brooks told me about how you influenced him to break up with me back in high school.”
“It was for the best.”
“Why are you so threatened by me?” I hate how my voice shakes. I’m not good at confrontation. I hate it. I want to run away from Bill and disappear, but I know things have to be addressed. Pity washes over me as I stare up at the man who desperately wants to pull the strings connected to his child to jerk him around, this way and that. Instead, Bill should be cutting Brooks free and allowing him to grow into the wonderful man that he is capable of becoming all on his own.
“Do you realize that this is why Brooks doesn’t want a relationship with you?” I gesture towards him. “You think you’re clearing the path to his success by getting me out of the way, but you’re not. You’re impeding it.”
Bill’s jaw clenches, and he opens his mouth to speak.
“I’m not finished,” I cut in. “If you want to have any sort of bearing over your son’s life, you have to have a relationship built on love and trust. Constantly criticizing him and tearing him down only ensures that he is going to run in the opposite direction. And he has.”
“Right into your arms again,” Bill says through gritted teeth. “It’s only because he let you go that he’s had the successful career we always dreamed of him having. You were the one thing standing in the way of his success, and once you were removed, he was free to soar. My son is at another crossroads in his life, and if he doesn’t stay on the path I set him on years ago, everything is going to fall apart.”
“It already has!” I say, my voice rising. “He fell apart at the end of last season because of you . Not me. I’ve been here to help him realize just how great he is after you worked so hard to tear his confidence to shreds. He thinks every time he makes a mistake, every time he falls short or acts like a normal human being, it’s the end of the world.”
Bill glowers down at me, and a shiver runs under my skin. Is this what Brooks felt as a child when he displeased his father? It’s soul-crushing.
“You,” Bill says in a cruel kind of calmness, “are nobody to him, Nora Foster. You always have been. You’ll soon find that out for yourself, but in the meantime, if you care about him at all, you’ll let him go.”
Tears are pricking at the edges of my eyes, and I work desperately to keep them at bay.
“Promise me you’ll leave him alone.”
“No,” I say firmly. “I will not.”
Bill looks down at me as if I’m the most insignificant person to ever walk the face of this earth.
“Does this mean you reject my offer?” Bill asks. “Think very carefully. I could help you.”
“I’ll pass,” I say tartly.
“Brooks has no plans to continue a relationship with you,” Bill says, and his words feel like ice. “Ask him yourself.”
I blink, doubt clouding the edges of my vision. Could this be true? Is that why Brooks has been distancing himself from me this week? Is he planning to drop me after tonight, now that our five Fridays are up?
“I will,” I say. “But for now, I’ve got a booth to get back to.”
I spin on my heel and march back to my booth as an icy drizzle begins to fall. I’m grateful for the rain. Maybe it will hide the tears burning pathways down my cheeks.