Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
Jess
It’s fucking laughable. I actually laugh. As Alex walks out the bathroom door, I think I’m stunned silent for the briefest of moments, and then I’m laughing. (Fine, and crying.) But mostly laughing, and then there’s this heat that sort of forms somewhere behind my ribs because he’s jealous. Alex is jealous. Of me…and someone else.
The way he spoke to me, like I was fucking scum, that pissed me off. But if I go back and think about it, it was also kind of hot. Which makes me pretty fucked up, but we already knew that. (Didn’t we?)
My hands shake slightly as I finish placing my skincare products on the sink beside his. Maybe I shouldn’t be unpacking in his room, but if he’s worried about me not wanting to be here…maybe that means he really wants me here. And I want to be here. Really. Just as long as he wants the same .
So yeah, fuck it. I go to the guest room (my old room) and get the suitcases that I never unpacked in the first place and wheel them into the empty closet across from Alex’s in the primary suite. I won’t brush off what happened today, but I won’t let it ruin what was one of the best days I’ve had in years. It was easy, and comfortable. Like throwing on the perfect pair of worn jeans and a favorite sweatshirt. There’s a comfort and even a feeling of safety that comes with spending time with him. It eases and relaxes me.
I almost ruined it, too, in the car. I almost asked if he would ever marry again (as in real marriage), aside from me. But then he said he had fun with me and it was in the nicest voice I’ve ever heard Alex use. It fucking melted me. And I figured there was no quicker way to ruin said fun than for me to ask (and think) about him being with someone else. So I shut the fuck up.
Eden’s little grunts and whimpers start echoing throughout the cavernous primary bathroom where the monitor is on the counter. So abandoning the opened, half-empty suitcases, I go get the baby. When I open the door, her hair is mussed and slightly damp, her eyes still heavy with sleep.
“Hi, babes,” I say gently, walking over to her.
“Hi,” she says back around her paci that she lets hang out the corner of her mouth. The sound of her talking back is still amazing. I want to cry every time I hear it. I know that’ll fade, but it’s just so fucking amazing that some day this little being is going to be having a full-on conversation with me.
“Alright, let’s go up.” Eden lifts her arms up in response and I lift her out of the crib. We do a quick diaper change and straighten out her hair, then head downstairs .
It’s quiet. Obviously he’s not in here, but I double check outside. Jeep is gone and he’s not at his wood-chopping station. (Which, guys, wood chopping, 100% an aphrodisiac. Good lord. I watched him from the bedroom window and ended up needing to change underwear.) (Yeah, that fucking good.)
I hope he comes back. Don’t love that thought. Don’t love that he might not come back, or the fact that I sound a bit desperate.
Walking back into the house, barefoot and with Eden still on my hip, I pull out my phone and hit Britain’s contact. It rings and rings until I end up in her voicemail, so changing course, I call Caroline instead.
“Hi.” She answers on the second ring.
“Hi. How’s your mom feeling?” It’s silent for a beat.
“Yeah, I think she’s all better now.” There’s that sour feeling in the pit of my stomach. “Your fiancé is here.” Oh.
“Oh really? Would you ask him what time he’s planning to be home so I know when to start dinner?” I ask in the sweetest voice possible.
Caroline’s voice only dims slightly like he’s right beside her. “Jess wants to know when to start dinner, so when are you leaving?” Again, it’s silent for more than a beat.
“Um, I’ll be home in 15 minutes,” I can hear Alex eventually say, maybe sounding a bit surprised. Good.
“Did you hear that?” Caroline asks.
“Yep. Thanks, babe. Now, your mom though…” That’s not for Caroline to deal with. “You know what? Nevermind. I’ll see you tomorrow, sweets. Tell Elodie I said hi.”
“Okay, love you,” is all she says back.
“Love you, too. Bye.” And then she hangs up .
I send a quick text.
Jess
Hi, heard you’re feeling better. Can’t wait to hang out tomorrow. Can I come early and help? Or just hang out?
Ten minutes later, a text comes through.
Britain
Do you want to meet me at The Grounds for coffee around 9?
Why do I feel like she’s breaking up with me?
Yeah, I’d love that.
Great, see you then.
Great .
Steaks are on the counter coming to room temp, arugula salad is tossed, and the Prince playlist is hitting.
“I would,” pause , “die for,” pause , “you.” I sing with his highness into my wooden spoon while pointing to Eden who claps for me.
“Ahem.” Right . Alex clears his throat from the entrance to the mudroom. I smile and he doesn’t return it. A second later, Caleb is right behind him. I immediately kill the music playing on my phone and set down the wooden spoon.
“Hi,” I say generically to both of them. “Do you think we could talk for a quick minute?” My question is directed at Alex. He nods, and Caleb grabs a beer from the fridge and heads out to the back deck. Alex leans against the entryway, arms crossed over his chest, looking closed off.
Once I hear the back door click shut, I immediately launch in. “I’m not fucking Damian. Not even remotely. We’re friends. Just friends.”
“Friends don’t normally have to sneak off together.” So he was eavesdropping.
“No, you’re right, but when it’s your best friend's ex, things get trickier…” He doesn’t nod in understanding. He just stands there stoically. Still. “He’s my friend. I don’t know what you want me to say or do about that, but I’m not fucking him, don’t intend to, and don’t have those kinds of feelings for him.”
Nothing back. Still.
“He called because Summer moved out. Gave back his ring, and he’s feeling a little out of pocket this holiday. I invited him to stay with us to take the pressure off being around Brit and Liam. That’s all.”
Nothing.
“And I told him we could probably sneak off to grab a drink and talk because Brit doesn’t know that we’re friends like that because I don’t know that she would understand. But if it’s important to you, I will tell her.”
“Okay, great.” I’m surprised when he finally says something back.
“Okay, you want me…to tell Brit that I’m friends with her ex-husband?”
“Yes, honesty is important to me.” Ahh, there it is.
“Okay, then I will,” I say back with resolve. When he doesn’t say anything more, I turn around to pull the food processor off its stand, where the pesto is still sitting. Avoiding looking at him, I say, “And I want to be here, too, Alex.” But when I turn back to look at him, he’s gone, and so are the steaks off the counter. He’s fucking stealthy.
“So, how’d you two meet?” Caleb and I ask at the same time. Both of us were probably desperate to break the icy tension that’s settled over the dinner table from the moment we all sat down. I smile, and so does Caleb, but Alex just glares off distantly.
It’s such a stark contrast to the man who took care of me last night, or fucked me in the early morning hours. So different from the man who fed my daughter breakfast or took me to a place he used to go with his mom. This man is night and day from the one who kissed me in the middle of Safeway because he wanted to. It’s a reminder, I guess. The man still mostly hates me.
I motion to Alex. “Go ahead, sweetheart. Tell him how we met.” I place my fork down and lean back in my chair slightly.
“She’s Amy’s cousin,” he says coldly, if not dismissively. And wow , does it fucking hurt. The way he says it detaches any sentiment towards me. I’m just here because of Amy. Another reminder. Caleb makes a snorting sound when he lightly chokes on his pesto pasta. (Kale and walnut pesto. Honestly, it’s my signature dish and I’ve wasted it on this shitty night. Nobody’s appreciating it at this meal except Eden.)
“Yep, I’m just the next best thing to the original.” I say back just as cooly, look ing Alex in the eyes as my own turn watery. I’ve taken, at most, one bite of food, so setting my napkin on the table, I stand calmly and start undoing the straps on Eden’s highchair. I dust a couple pieces of pasta onto the floor, then grab her diaper bag and my purse, and head to go find dinner somewhere else. Anywhere the fuck else.
This car is nice. If I could ever afford this in the future, I’d absolutely buy it again. (The chances of me lasting a year with Alex to get the settlement are dwindling by the second.) As of now, I’m just praying to win custody, and nothing else.
“Maaaa!” Eden screams. She’s getting fussy regardless of the smooth Volvo handling the mountain roads. She’s probably starved.
I so badly want to drive to Brit’s, but I’m not sure I’m welcome anymore, so instead we head to the main strip of town. I’ve got two options, Maggio’s or Colton’s. Pizza or the bar.
The parking lot is surprisingly crowded at Colton’s, but a massive truck vacates as we pull in, luckily, so I make the split-second decision and park at Colton’s. While I’m unbuckling Eden, I check out the exterior of the place. It looks like a big log cabin except for the sign out front that says “Coltons.” That and the neon I can see glowing through the windows.
We walk up the front steps where there’s a porch with rocking chairs, one occupied by a man in a cowboy hat smoking a cigar. I swear, you can’t make this stuff up .
Inside, the place is just wood. Everywhere and every surface is just…wood. Bright, yellowy pine screaming at you behind lit-up neon. It smells slightly musty, with a hint of beer and fried food. “Brit said this place was good. Give it a chance. Our takeaway last night was decent,” I repeat to myself over and over.
There’s a sign that says “Seat Yourself, Folks!” so I do. Not that there are many options, but I choose a table that’s as far away from the rest of the locals as possible. There’s a stack of highchairs in a corner by a jukebox, so setting down our bag, we head over to get one.
Mid-lift (mid-attempt) to unstack the chairs, a gentleman swings over to help me. He’s got tattoos running up and down his arms and longish sandy colored hair thrown up into a man bun. Bet this is the hot owner. He has a bar rag hanging out the back pocket of his tight black jeans, and his flannel shirt is unbuttoned one too many, revealing more tats on his chest.
“I got it, take a seat. I’ll be right over,” the man says to me kindly.
He follows us back to our table, carrying the chair like it isn’t made of solid wood and weighs nothing more than a feather. I get Eden strapped in, but she’s already reaching for the caddy of sugar packets. The man that brought over the highchair notices. He leaves, but is back in a flash with some packets of crackers.
“She looks ‘bout ready to eat,” he says jokingly and I look at him with genuine gratefulness, unwrapping a packet and letting Eden go to town on the saltine.
“What can I get you to drink, darling?” I let him calling me darling slide. (Just this once.)
“A beer, any kind, and an apple juice for her?” I ask, sounding more tired than I thought I was. He gives an almost sad smile back and leaves.
I pull out my phone, but this should come as no surprise, there are no new notifications. I grab the menu from where it’s slid up against the wall and look for something that I know can be cooked well-done and I can split with Eden.
Hot bartender comes back with drinks and tells me the special. (A wagyu burger with bacon jam and tomato confit.) Umm, say less, my friend.
I order that and a grilled cheese. Then, mostly kidding, I toast my beer against Eden’s apple juice. “Just you and me, baby.”
I suck the tears back in, cue up Bluey on my phone, and sit back to people watch while we wait for our food. I should feel out of place. These people are not my people. Not a single city person, at least from what I can tell. But tonight, it doesn’t bother me. It’s like I’ve shed the last of my fucks, and now I’m just doing the damn thing. Which is surviving.
No one looks at me oddly. No one stares unkindly. In fact, a family with a small toddler also in a highchair occasionally glances over and makes heart eyes at Eden for her good behavior. I want to lean over and tell them I just got lucky tonight to make them feel better about their kid who’s dumping salt all over the ground, but I don’t.
I don’t recognize a single soul, not that I should, and I think that’s what makes me feel okay. I can get lost in the crowd again. In that way it feels like New York. No one sees me and thinks, “Oh, here’s this woman whose life is mostly falling apart. Whose heart has been trampled on.” I’m just a random person who showed up in their bar, and they’ll never see me again .
“Jess, honey! What’re you doing here all by yourself?” Sandy’s twang has me sitting up straighter. I guess I spoke too soon.
“Hi, Sandy.” I set my beer down and stand to give her a hug. (Sandy is Liam’s mom. Probably the coolest member of their family, too.)
“We missed you the other day!” I tilt my head, confused. “At the ceremony. Brit said you were busy moving into the new house. Which I hear is fabulous, by the way.” Her tone is utter kindness and positivity. I know she’s not saying any of it to hurt me, but hurts nonetheless it does.
“Wedding ceremony?” Because what other ceremony would she mean?
“Yes…Brit didn’t tell you?” Now she’s looking confused.
“No, I had no idea.” I try to sound unafflicted, but don’t think it’s possible. Sandy does this tight-lipped smile thing, then automatically slides into the chair opposite Eden, and I sit, too, because what the hell else am I supposed to do?
She sets her Kelly handbag down on the open chair beside her and I stare at it a bit wildly. Sandy looks like she could be a rancher’s wife, plucked right out of Yellowstone or something. She’s wearing cowboy boots, bootcut jeans, and a flannel shirt. Her white (not so blonde) hair is styled to perfection and she’s rocking a diamond ring big enough to cut glass and a Hermes Kelly. Good for her.
She settles in and pulls out a menu. I almost ask what she’s doing, but I know what she’s doing, and so does she.
The hot bartender (should really find out his name so I stop objectifying him) comes back over when he sees the additional guest at our table.
“Hey, Sandy,” H.B. (hot bartender) drawls out .
“Hey, Rick baby.” (H.B. is now Rick. I think Sandy just added ‘baby.’ ‘Rick baby’ would be quite the mouthful.) (For some ladies, I’m sure it is.)
“You want your usual?” I swear he sounds more country than he did when he took my order. It’s funny how people do that. New Yorkers sound more New York when they talk to each other, too.
“Yes, sir. And I’ll take the cod in caper sauce. And then a special to go in a bit for Jim.” Cod? From this place? Bold. Rick just knocks his knuckles against the edge of our table and disappears.
“Alright, sugar, who licked the red off your candy?” I shrug. Like I don’t know when I absolutely know. “Alright well, how ‘bout where’s your fiancé?” Sandy asks.
“Probably sitting at the dinner table where I left him.” Sandy breaks out in a gregarious laugh.
“I’m sure rightfully so, too!” A small smile breaks out on my face at her response. “And why, pray tell, aren’t you at Britain’s then?”
“She’s mad at me.” I shrug like I have no clue why, when I have absolutely every clue why.
“Hmm,” Sandy says, mulling it over. Rick sets down what looks like a negroni in front of her before whisking away again.
Sandy picks up her drink and holds it up to me in cheers, “To absent friends.” I clink my glass against hers and swallow my beer (and the lump in my throat.)
“You’re gonna be there tomorrow, right?” Sandy asks after taking a drink. Honestly, am I? I might meet with Brit, tell her I’m friends with Damian, add that to the fact that I’m engaged to Alex, and she just might write me off .
“I was supposed to be. She asked me to meet for coffee tomorrow morning.”
“You wanna talk about it?” The thing you have to understand about Sandy is the investment to her friendship is low. If I say no, she’s gonna move on. She’ll leave it alone. She’ll start telling me gossip about townspeople I’ve never met. But if I say yes, she’ll be all in, completely devoted.
“Sort of.” I give her a small smile and she settles into her seat with a nod. I take a deep breath and dive in. I actually tell her all of it. ALL of it. (Things I haven’t even told y’all.) Things I haven’t talked about in years. Things I literally black out from my memory.
But I tell her about meeting Alex, the real story. The weird text messages. The weirder time we met in a bar. I tell her about Amy. I tell her about how I came to work for Brit (through Alex), and how I’ll never understand why she hired me after everything that happened.
I tell her about Tommy (and Jamie), about how I can’t be their third, about how I’m scared I’ll always be the second-string quarterback. The B team. The practice squad. Whatever you want to call it.
And then I tell her about Alex and me now, the arrangement. She doesn’t say anything, but her eyes go a bit wide at the truth. I tell her how I’m pretty sure I’m just some sort of weird consolation prize to Alex. The wife and daughter he could’ve had. It’s fucked up, and it’s weird, and I accept it because I want so badly for him to want me because I loved him the moment I saw him crouched over two headstones. And what kind of person does that make me?
Sandy leans forward, wiping a tear off my face. “Oh, sugar. ”
“Alright, ladies,” Rick says, setting plates in front of Sandy and myself. In front of Eden, he sets down a grilled cheese already cut up into bite-sized pieces and an applesauce. Bless him.
“Thank you, so much. Really. You have no idea,” I say to him, almost certain I’m still crying.
“Thank ya, baby.” Sandy echoes me.
“Holler if you need something,” Rick just barely gets out before backing off quickly. (Doesn’t like tears, does he?)
“Well, honey, they say honesty is the best policy for a reason,” Sandy says. It doesn’t come off condescending like one might think. “You just gotta be brave enough to make that jump. And you will.” She sounds so sure. Like everything will just be alright.
“And everything will be fine then?” I ask her, hoping she says yes. Because if Sandy says yes, I think I could really believe her.
“Oh heavens, no!” she laughs. “But at least you’ll be able to sleep at night.” Fuck me.