Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
“May the odds be ever in your favor,” Haleigh mumbled to herself as she navigated her car into one of the last open spots in the parking lot.
Every Thursday morning, at nine thirty on the dot, she left Stanton’s apartment in Quincy to drive twenty minutes to Adams Center, Massachusetts, the world’s tiniest suburban town, to meet her mother and grandfather for grocery shopping. And every week, without fail, the experience was like an outtake from The Hunger Games. Only instead of children battling for their lives, Haleigh and her family were dodging carts abandoned in the middle of aisles, navigating around retirees walking slower than turtles, and fighting off stay-at-home moms for the last loaf of freshly baked French bread.
Her mother swore their hometown grocery store had the lowest prices and the best selection, and if anyone understood saving a few dollars, it was Haleigh. But she wasn’t sure any amount of money was worth the effort of dealing with crowds akin to Black Friday sales before the dawn of the internet.
As she hurried across the asphalt, dregs of ice from the last snowstorm crunching under her boots, Haleigh spotted her mom and grandfather sitting on a bench near the entrance. Her heart hiccupped at the sight of the two of them huddled together against the cold, scarves tied snugly around their necks. These days, being around them was like hanging out with a bunch of toucans in Antarctica. All they did was shiver and talk about how cold they were.
Her grandfather stood as soon as Haleigh was in earshot. “My damn fingers are about to turn to icicles.” He was wearing thick woolen gloves, yet he held out his hands like she could see them turning blue through the fabric.
Haleigh smiled. “Sorry, Pépère.” She leaned in to kiss his cheek. Her grandfather was a sure thing to win the gold in the curmudgeon Olympics.
Zipping his collar the rest of the way to his chin, he let out a beleaguered sigh that puffed white in the cold air and marched his thin frame toward the automatic doors.
Haleigh’s mother shook her head. “Dad’s in rare form today.”
Haleigh groaned. “Fantastic. I hope the employees are ready for another round of Roger Saulnier’s Guide to Doing Grocery Stores Better.”
Pépère had reached that age where he believed his long tenure on the planet guaranteed that he was always right. This knowledge extended not just to stocking grocery store shelves, but also to driving, cooking, gardening, folding laundry, and, as Haleigh had learned since he came to live with her mother, dating.
Her mom grinned. Then her eyes surveyed her daughter, her hands twitching when she noticed the open front of Haleigh’s pea coat.
“Mom, so help me God, if you try to button up my jacket like I’m five, I will start coming on these shopping trips naked.”
Her mother cringed and hid her hands behind her back. She knew full well that Haleigh was capable of such a stunt, given that during her freshman year in college, Haleigh and her entire sorority pledge class had almost been suspended for streaking through the dining hall in the middle of the Saturday lunch rush.
Most of her Alpha Chi Omega sisters had used their hands to cover whatever parts of themselves they could, but Haleigh had run with her arms straight in the air, loving the feeling of the overworked air-conditioning on her exposed curves.
If people didn’t like what they saw, well, she figured, they didn’t need to look.
Jack had sworn he hadn’t, though Haleigh had made a point of running directly past his table. A year later, when they’d had sex for the first time, he’d finally admitted that he didn’t turn away, and her cheeks flushed at the memory of exactly how much time he’d taken exploring that particular part of her body those few times they’d slept together.
Ugh. Haleigh needed to clear those very NSFM (“Not Safe for Mom”) thoughts from her mind.
She trailed behind the two of them as they grabbed a cart and shook out their lists.
Her mom stopped at the citrus fruits, comparing the prices to her stack of coupons. “I found three typos while clipping these,” she pointed out, waving the colorful rectangles for emphasis. “Clearly the paper needs you.” Her mother plucked an orange from the pile and inspected it like the skin had the recipe for immortal life etched in it.
“Mom.”
“I’ve never seen one mistake in anything you’ve ever written. Not even when you were little.”
Haleigh doubted that was true. She’d been a gremlin child who preferred drawing all over her homework to completing it, but her mom sounded proud of her and that was rare. The proud voice was usually saved for Joey.
“Spell-check’s a good assistant.”
“Stop that.” Her mother batted her arm lightly with a cucumber. “You’re good at this editing stuff. You should see if the paper is looking for anyone.”
Translation: I’m worried you aren’t making enough money.
“Sure. I’ll check.” Haleigh had been freelancing for long enough now to know agreeing was easier than bickering with her mother and grandfather about her less-than-stable income. Pépère still called Ubers taxis, and her mom didn’t understand how her dog-walking clients paid Haleigh without writing checks. They weren’t exactly experts on the gig economy.
It didn’t help that no one saw Haleigh’s jobs as anything more than a stopgap. A way to bide her time until she found that holy grail job. The one she’d stay at for thirty to forty years like her mom and Pépère had. Graduate college, get a job with insurance and benefits, buy a house, start a family, pay your bills on time every month, do the same thing every day until you’re fitted for your coffin: the Berkshire blueprint for success.
None of them could imagine doing anything differently. But that was all Haleigh wanted. To march to the beat of her own drum, find a way off the beaten path. In her mind, she was building a life that worked for her. To everyone else, she was flailing.
A mess.
She squeezed the brass skeleton key hanging around her neck until she could feel her heart rate calm down.
“That’ll be full-time work, too,” Pépère added. “Your great-uncle Richard was in the printing department for damn well near thirty years, and he made enough to buy a house and go on two vacations annually.”
Haleigh had to bite her tongue to keep from asking what year that was in. “Papers are doing things mostly online these days, and hiring part-timers like me.”
Worry flashed across her mother’s eyes, prompting Haleigh to add, “But I’ll look into it.”
She took control of the cart to move them along. “I’m doing fine in the meantime. I’m always finding new dogs to walk, and I have a good handful of editing clients. And Stanton barely lets me give him any rent money.” Given that two of her authors were late paying their invoices, and one had found an agent and moved on, “fine” might be pushing it. But Haleigh wasn’t behind on any of her bills. Just not… on time.
Pépère loaded his weekly supply of soup into the cart. “If there’s nothing at the paper, I bet—”
“I got Joey’s invite the other day,” Haleigh cut in. She did not want to hear her grandfather’s latest suggestions for her career. In the past, he’d advised everything from being a farmer to working on the railroad (seriously, how old was Pépère??) to, one day after he heard her humming while vacuuming for her mom, a lounge singer. “How much did those things cost? It’s not even their wedding, just a party.”
“You know how your sister is.” Her mom frowned at the box of crackers Pépère held in his hands. “Dad, those have too much salt.”
Pépère tossed them among the other groceries anyway. “I’m eighty years old, Christine. I’m not living my last few years eating unseasoned cardboard.” He shuffled farther down the aisle.
Haleigh snorted.
Her mother elbowed her in the ribs. “Don’t encourage him.” Yet a smile played at her lips.
“You didn’t pay for those invitations, did you?” There’d been so many times when they were younger that Joey had demanded the best of everything—sneakers, jeans, figure skates, notebooks, colleges—regardless of the cost. And she was so perfect, so good, that no one ever denied her. But their mom couldn’t keep doing that. Not retired, not on a fixed income.
“Of course not. Whitney’s family is covering everything.”
Haleigh rolled her eyes. “Joey and her perfect in-laws. And her perfect life.”
Her mother gave her that maternal look, the one that froze whatever Haleigh was going to say next in the back of her throat. She’d be sixty years old, and her mom Pépère’s age, and still all it would take was one well-honed stare to get Haleigh to obey. “Joey’s Joey, and you’re you—”
“A disaster? A chaos magnet? A tornado?” A mess. Haleigh couldn’t bring herself to say that one out loud.
“No.” Her mom’s expression was pained. “You get a little discombobulated sometimes. That’s all. A lot of brilliant people are like that. They’re thinking the deep thoughts, so their heads can’t hold on to some of the smaller stuff.” She rested her hand on Haleigh’s arm. “No one expects you to be your sister. We want you to be you. And we want you both to be okay. Whatever that looks like.”
Haleigh wanted so badly to believe her. But she saw the pride that broke across her mom’s face every time Joey accomplished something. And the look of worry that pleated the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth whenever it came to Haleigh. It was there even now, smudging out the sincerity of her reassurances.
Clearing her throat, Haleigh forced a smile onto her face. “Want to be my hot date for the party?” Hanging with her mom would be more fun than bringing some rando Haleigh barely knew (and, at this point, wasn’t even sure how to find).
Her mother’s gaze jumped from her grocery list to Haleigh’s face. “Don’t you want to bring someone?”
“I don’t have anyone to bring right now.”
Pépère grumbled under his breath. “You’re smart. You’re beautiful. It’s ridiculous you’re alone.”
“I’m not alone. I’m just single.” Haleigh shook her head. “If you’d seen some of the last few dates I’d been on, you’d be glad that was the case.”
“You’ve gotta dig through the barrel to find the good apples.” He straightened his winter hat. “Before I met your grandmother, I dated Betty Gagnon and Eleanor Richard and they were both insufferable. But it made me appreciate your grandmother more when we found each other.” His face got that dreamy look that accompanied every mention of Haleigh’s Mémère.
“Okay, but did Betty ever show up to a date straight from the gym without even showering? Complete with her sweat towel still around her neck?” Haleigh argued as they joined her mother on the endless checkout line. Usually she tried to downplay how hard dating was, to ease her family’s worries, but maybe that was part of the problem. If they never knew the truth, how were they supposed to understand what she was going through?
“That’s unhygienic,” Pépère declared.
“Uh-huh. What about Eleanor? Did she ask you about your age and fertility plans on your first date?” That guy had given Haleigh a rundown of exactly how long her eggs would be at peak viability, and then of course hinted that her weight might play a part in that. She’d gotten a little too much joy out of telling him that she didn’t plan on using them anyway.
Her mother and grandfather were already staring at her like a deer caught in headlights, so she decided not to regale them with the tale of the woman who’d brought Haleigh and three other people on a date at the same time (without warning them) for “efficiency.” Or the guy who had spent the entire night telling her stories that were supposed to make his ex-girlfriend look bad but only managed to convince Haleigh that he was a sociopath and that she—and the ex—had dodged a bullet. Or… OR… there was the guy who thought fiction books were a waste of time.
Blasphemy.
She really wasn’t picky. She didn’t care how much money the person made or how they dressed (as long as they showered after the gym). She didn’t have preferences in eye color, height, or weight. She only wanted to click with someone. To feel like she fit with them. She didn’t understand why it was so hard.
Her mom bumped her shoulder gently. “There’s just a lot of bad apples out there, sweetie.”
Haleigh squared her shoulders. “And I’m done taking a bite out of them for a while.”
“What do you mean?” her mother asked.
“I think I’m going to stop dating for now.” She dropped the words like a bomb before she could take them back.
“Is this about Jackson? I know that boy is as wild for you as you are for him. I think you need to—”
“Whoa. What? No. ” Haleigh refused to let her mother’s words past her eardrums. “I just want to take a break. A sabbatical.”
“Baloney.” Pépère tapped a fist on the end of the cart. “A break isn’t going to get you any closer to married. You’re already twenty-five. Your grandmother and I had been married for almost six years by then. Your mother was three.” He patted her cheek with the palm of his gloves. “Everything would be easier for you if you had a husband.”
Haleigh really needed to dig out her textbooks from her gender studies class and give them to her grandfather. The man’s views on relationships were practically medieval. But he’d been married to her grandmother for fifty years before she’d died of a stroke. And he’d loved every second of it. Haleigh knew he wanted the same for her, even if he didn’t understand that happiness could look different these days.
“Dad.” Haleigh’s mother shook her head. “Let’s tap the brakes on the weddings and kids talk.” She touched her daughter’s hand. “But I hate to see you giving up so easily. Do you think maybe you’re being too picky? I know when we’re young we can idealize people a little.”
“I want to meet someone who makes me laugh and who is nice. How is that picky?”
It was their turn to check out, and Haleigh was grateful for the distraction. She focused on unloading the groceries in Pépère’s preferred order: heavy stuff, breakables, light items, and meat last so it would end up in a separate bag.
She smiled at the cashier as she swapped a carton of eggs with a box of crackers before her grandfather noticed. “He has a system, and if we know what’s good for us, we’ll all live by it,” she joked.
The boy smiled. “Maybe I can learn something.” He was probably nineteen, with dark eyes and darker hair, and two dimples that flared in his right cheek. He had gauges in both ears and forearms covered with intricate tattoos.
Her mother’s gaze skipped between them, then she leaned forward to read his name tag. “Aidan, is it?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Her mom’s face lit up. She loved a polite boy. “Are you single?”
“Mom.” Haleigh’s cheeks flamed. They couldn’t be certain this guy was on the safe side of legal. The last thing Haleigh was looking for was a babysitting gig. In fact, she wasn’t looking for anything right now. She’d just told them that.
Her mother ignored her deep and searing glare. “This is my daughter, Haleigh. Isn’t she beautiful?”
“Oh my god.” Haleigh pressed her hands to her mother’s shoulder blades and guided her forward. “You’ll need to excuse my mother. She recently hit her head.”
“What? Christine? Are you okay?” Pépère interrupted his conversation on local politics with the person behind them to shuffle forward. “Did you fall on the wet floor? I was telling that kid over in the frozen aisle that they need to wipe things up more thoroughly. This whole place is a lawsuit waiting to happen.”
“Everything’s fine, Pépère. We’re going to let this poor person do their job.” Haleigh mouthed an apology as she retrieved her receipt. The kid was fighting back a laugh.
First Stanton.
Now her mother.
Pair up or perish. It was all anyone seemed to care about.
Haleigh needed to figure out some way to show them they were wrong.