Chapter 18
I’m here early. I’m gonna grab a coffee while I wait. Do you want anything?
Josie
Order me an Americano. I’m running late. Sorry.
You’re good. Don’t apologize.
Josie and I have finally carved out a day to spend together and I’m so freaking excited to spend the day with my friend. Right as the barista calls out my name, she bursts through the door of the bookstore, looking even more frazzled than usual.
“I’m sorry I’m late. You know how I am.” She’s out of breath as she drops down beside me at the bistro table in the corner.
“You’ve been running on your own time zone for as long as I’ve known you. It’s fine.” I turn to face her, taking in her bloodshot eyes. “What’s going on, Jo?”
She rubs her eyes, her shoulder sagging. “I don’t even know. Abby spent the night at Samantha’s house last night."
I sit, waiting on her to continue while internally cringing. Samantha and Abby don’t have a good track record together. This new friend seems to be bad news.
"Samantha’s mom got up to get some water in the night and she heard voices. At first, she thought it was the TV, but as she got closer she realized the girls had snuck two boys into her room. Apparently, they came right through the fucking front door without a care in the world.” Josie drops her head onto the table with a soft thud.
“Holy shit,” I say under my breath. “What were they doing?” I’m not foolish enough to buy into the mentality that kids are worse these days. When I was in middle school, a lot of girls were probably doing the exact same things, but still, this is our Abby, and the thought of her growing up too quickly makes me feel sick.
“Samantha’s mom said they actually looked innocent. They were lying on her floor watching a movie. When she walked in, none of them had that just-jumped-apart guilty look on their faces. But what the hell? She's thirteen! My baby girl is trying to grow up way too soon.” Josie’s eyes well up, and I scoot my chair closer to hers. It’s rare for her to cry, but it seems like single parenthood is overwhelming her more than usual lately.
Josie is way too hard on herself, claiming she’s no different than her own mom, who had two children with no father to show for it. She’s wrong, though. Josie goes above and beyond to be both mother and father to her kids. She can shoot hoops with Jay and show Abby how to apply makeup or fix her hair with ease. She jumps in and learns as much as she can about whatever her kids take an interest in. I know those things don’t replace an actual father figure, but she works her ass off trying.
Abby’s the result of a one-night-stand with a stranger in college who Josie hasn’t seen since. She’s never even told me his name. She’s very vague about it, and I’ve always respected her privacy on that matter. But when she and Chad got together, he was really good to Abby—until Jay was born. His favoritism did not go unnoticed by anyone, including Abby. Honestly, she’d have been better off if Chad had also been a one-night-stand for all the destruction he left in his wake.
Suddenly, her entire demeanor shifts and she looks at me with mischief in her eye.
“Enough about me. How was the drive-in?”
I arch a suspicious eyebrow at her. “How’d you know I went? It was late when we got home. I figured I’d tell you about it today.”
A smug look crosses Josie’s face. “Well, Austin might’ve texted me early yesterday morning asking me for some romantic spots for a date around here. He said he had some ideas of his own, but he was trying to make a list.”
“Well,” I begin after allowing myself a moment to swoon, “we had a perfectly chaste evening enjoying a double feature.”
“Did you like the car chase scene?” Josie asks, expectantly.
Searching my brain, I try to remember that scene, but since it was a movie with cars in it surely saying yes is a safe bet. With my most convincing face, I nod confidently.
“You’re a dirty whore, Penelope Elaine. There is no car chase scene.” Josie throws her napkin across the table at me, laughing at my effort. “Spill it. Cause there’s no way in hell y’all watched that movie.”
“It really was much tamer than your dirty mind probably thinks. I mean, for one, we were in public. Basically, we kissed, and his hands might have wandered around a bit. I’ve said this already; this is new for both of us. We really are trying to take things slow.”
“Mm-hmm,” Josie hums.
I roll my eyes at her, and we stand to do a little browsing.
Abby Jimenez’s newest book came out recently and I snatch it up to read the first page. But today is a window shopping only day for me. As badly as I want it, the price of a new book might mean the difference between catching up on bills or not. Plus, I have plenty on my shelf at home, and I haven’t been getting much reading time in anyway. My reading life has definitely noticed the presence of a certain country singer this summer. I usually finish two or three books in a week, but during the time Austin has been here, I’ve only finished one. So, with a twinge of disappointment, I place it back on the display.
Josie elbows me in the ribs, jerking her head to our left, where I spot Mrs. Debbie Bishop, the Baptist Church pianist, holding an armload of monster romance.
Josie edges closer to Mrs. Debbie and says, “That one there is extra spicy. It’s forked.” She spreads out her index and middle finger as a visual. Mrs. Debbie turns a bright shade of pink, but I’ve gotta hand it to her. She holds her head high and walks right up to the register with those monster romances.
When the door closes behind her, Josie turns to me. “That right there is old lady goals.”
“Lucky Mr. Bishop,” I say with a snort laugh. But can’t help but wonder what it would be like to lie in bed with the love of my life forty years from now, reading my favorite monster romance.
After an hour of browsing and chatting with the bookseller, Josie pays for her books and we walk down the sidewalk toward where she’s parked.
“Oh, wait!” Josie calls out. “Let’s go to the new record store! Have you been yet?”
I haven’t been, so I wait as Josie puts her books in her car, and we head to the record store.
It’s been open about a month. The building has a crisp white paint job, with a fun turntable mural painted on one side of the brick exterior. The interior decor is a delight to my senses, with houseplants hanging in the large floor-to-ceiling windows, and vintage concert fliers framed on the walls.
As I flip through the first case of albums, a voice I haven’t heard in years reaches my ears, and my body instantly freezes. Slowly, I turn toward the voice, thinking it’s possible I’m mistaken or someone in Singing River sounds exactly like him. But the minute I turn, I spot Eric standing at the register. And then I do what any mature thirty-three-year-old woman would do. I crouch so he doesn’t see me, but I’m not quick enough as he turns to head to the door. He stops with a look of surprise on his face.
Eric and I didn’t have a bad break up—far from it, actually. It ended with “we’ll still be friends” but then he moved away and we never spoke again. Even though our relationship had fizzled out long before, it still left a gaping hole where an Eric shape had once been. I was still left trying to figure out how to do everything as a single woman when I’d spent years being the other half of a couple.
A myriad of emotions flood my senses as I stand, and before I know it he’s in front of me, wrapping me in a big hug. One hand lies limply at my side while the other awkwardly pats him on the back.
Eric must notice I’m not hugging back because he steps back, stuffing his hands in his pockets. The tips of his ears have turned scarlet.
“What’re you doing here?” My words come out sharper than I intend, and he rears back like I’ve physically hit him. Sure, Eric was raised here like me, but it’s been a long time since he even visited. Now he’s like an interloper in my town.
“It’s Mom’s sixtieth birthday. Dad is having a party for her and wanted all the kids home,” he replies. This softens my expression. Eric’s mom has always been lovely, even though I still play my own solo version of hide-and-seek to avoid bumping into her at the grocery store or a town event.
We continue polite small talk for a few minutes when, out of nowhere, a firm arm tugs me against him, and I smell a familiar spicy, clean smell. Eric jerks backward in surprise. A large hand shoots out to shake Eric’s, and when he opens his mouth, I hear, “I’m Penny’s boyfriend, Austin. And you are?”
My head swivels up, trying to wrap my brain around what he’s just said. “Boyfriend?”