Chapter 10 #2
He’d mentioned his grandmother a few times now.
From the way he spoke, it was easy to see he cared about her.
No one ever talked about Jack’s parents.
As far as I knew, they’d never been in the picture.
But that was more than I was willing to ask.
No sense in dredging up painful memories when we could have a nice lunch instead.
Just then, a server came to take our drink order.
After she’d walked away, I said simply, “I don’t think I’ve met your grandmother. What’s she like?”
He took a sip of his water, and, distracted, I watched the long column of his throat work. “I don’t imagine your paths cross very often. She does grandma things.”
I smiled. “I love grandma things.” Jack grinned and rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Does she knit? Have a garden?” I leaned forward dramatically and whispered, “Does she can things from that garden?”
He laughed, and I felt like I’d won a prize at the deep rumble of his amusement.
“She would absolutely eat you alive,” he said.
That had me throwing my head back. “What? Why?” I finally managed.
Jack shook his head a little, still amused.
“You might have similar hobbies, but you’re both so different.
She’s hard in a way I don’t think you could ever be.
We’ve never been good at being affectionate or open.
Lia’s been on her own so long. She’s tough.
Made herself that way. There wasn’t a lot of room left over for softness. ”
“But she loves you.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Yeah.” He nodded. “Yeah, she does.”
“And you think I’m a marshmallow,” I accused, but sanded the edges down with a small smile.
He wasn’t wrong. I felt more vulnerable now than I ever had in my life.
I wished I was tougher, like his Lia. But when you’d had the rug pulled out from under you, it was hard to regain your balance or to trust that the rest of the rugs in the house wouldn’t upend you the next time you walked by.
That was what made Danny’s infidelity and the end of our marriage so difficult. I’d been blindsided, completely caught off guard. As a result, I had a hard time trusting my instincts, and if you couldn’t have faith in yourself, then courage was hard to come by.
“I didn’t say that,” Jack replied flatly.
“I just said you were different. It wasn’t a judgment.
Lia’s a gruff old woman who’s set in her ways.
You work with kids every day. You’re patient and kind and generous with your time.
And you have this big family that you’ve devoted yourself to. Lia only has me.”
I glanced down at the tabletop. It was nice of Jack to leave out all my bad qualities.
“But,” he added, as if reading my mind, “you’re also stubborn. So maybe you do have something in common with my grandmother after all.”
“I am not stubborn,” I argued. I was totally stubborn.
His hazel eyes sparkled. “If you say so.”
“I’m not,” I insisted.
Jack grinned and opened his menu. His attention was focused on the list of food items when he said, “Stubborn isn’t a bad thing, Clyde. It’s easy to see that you’re dedicated to your students, your family, and your friends. Stubborn just means that you don’t give up on people. You hold on.”
My stomach did a back handspring at his matter-of-fact words.
The simplicity and certainty there. Jack was right, but my inclination to hold on wasn’t necessarily a good thing.
I’d stubbornly refused to give up on my marriage until it blew up in my face.
I’d taken all my hurt and betrayal and held on to that, too.
I used to think blind devotion was something to be proud of.
Now I knew the truth. Something had better be worth your time and effort.
It should be deserving of your love before you went all in.
“You’re a glass-half-full person,” Jack was saying. “An optimist. You trust and love freely, and you care about other people. You see the beauty in the world around you.” He gestured to the mountain view I’d been mooning over since we got here.
“You make me sound like some dewy-eyed romantic.”
He closed the menu and placed it beside his elbow. “You disagree?”
I didn’t know why this felt like an admission. Like Jack had seen a little too much, peeling back the protective layer around my heart. Or maybe my reluctance was due to the fact that all those traits he’d mentioned made me his opposite—someone he saw as silly or na?ve.
But the old Bonnie had been like the woman he’d described. And maybe I was still mad at her for being so clueless, but part of me wanted her back.
I was a person who read romance novels and listened to Taylor Swift.
I loved Pride and Prejudice and North and South.
I appreciated manners and wanted someone to bring me flowers for no reason at all.
I secretly wished for a serendipitous meet-cute or a surprise birthday party.
I hoped lightning might strike and that the love of my life would turn out to be someone who put me first and not the man I’d wasted half my life loving, the one who’d thrown me away for a bachelor party in Gatlinburg.
Instead of saying any of that, I huffed a quiet laugh and admitted, “No. You’re right. I suppose I am a romantic.”
“I guess I admire that about you,” Jack said.
“You’ve probably noticed I’m pretty cynical.
I don’t see the world the way you do. My family is small and complicated.
I haven’t known people with healthy marriages.
My parents weren’t married. Well, my dad was married, but not to my mom.
And working in the bar, I see guys picking up a different woman every week.
Occasionally, with a tan line on their ring finger. ”
I fought an internal wince at that, a reminder of my own marriage.
Jack cleared his throat and glanced away from me, a flash of something, there and gone in an instant.
I didn’t have time to wonder as he continued, “I guess what I’m saying is, relationships have always seemed like this alien thing where you have to check in with someone constantly, and you can’t make your own decisions without consulting whoever’s in charge.
It’s feeling jealous or possessive or any number of overbearing emotions.
It’s keeping the peace at the expense of your own.
Or it’s just a tool to announce to the world that you have ownership of someone else. ”
I wasn’t sure how much to read into Jack’s words. Part of me thought he was warning me away. Subtly telling me not to get any ideas about the two of us. But that optimistic, glass-half-full girl thought maybe we were just having a conversation, getting to know one another.
With most people in my life, I knew their backstory. All the history. I’d been part of the timeline from the beginning.
With Jack, everything was brand-new. I was learning as I went, and while the big picture was there—this cynical, aloof, cool guy with a chip on his shoulder—all the little details would need to be uncovered and brought into focus.
So, I went with my instincts and treated this like a conversation between two people who were trying to understand each other. And I decided to tell him the truth so he could know me better. Not act like some woman on a date worried about scaring a guy off with too much honesty up front.
I said with a shrug, “I can see that. But I was lucky enough to have good examples of loving, healthy relationships. My parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents were all happily married. And, honestly, I liked being married. I liked saying to the world that we were a team. We were in it together. No keeping score unless it was us against everyone else. Someone to have your back and give you high fives. A best friend and a roommate and a secret keeper, all in one. The person that you could share an eye roll with and a million inside jokes. Someone who is always on your side, no matter what. Even if that means telling a hard truth. Because all they want is the best for you. A teammate.” I paused. “That’s what I wanted anyway.”
A dull ache opened up in my chest. I’d hoped for all those things, but my marriage had turned into something else.
There had been loneliness and disappointment.
Missed calls and unanswered texts. Walking on eggshells amid obligation.
Danny went from being the person I knew best to a stranger sharing my bed.
Jack watched me carefully. He looked like he wanted to say something. Maybe to disagree with me.
But again, I went with honesty.
“Danny used to buy me these chips I loved,” I started. “And he loved them, too. Nine times out of ten, I’d go to grab a snack, and the bag would be there, but when I opened it, there would only be crushed bits at the bottom. He’d joke that he hadn’t eaten them all and made sure to leave me some.”
Jack was frowning, and I gave him a sad little smile before continuing, “But what was left in the bag wouldn’t have amounted to more than a single chip.
I know it sounds silly or arbitrary or nitpicky, but that felt like a metaphor for our marriage, you know.
I think what I really wanted was to know that he’d been thinking about me.
That he couldn’t stop thinking about me—my wants and needs.
I wanted to hear it in his voice and see it in the way he couldn’t stop looking at me.
I wanted a love that pulled its weight. Not just me and my determination dragging it around like a reluctant dog on the end of a leash.
I want the love I deserve. Something bright and loud and undeniable.
Not the leftover crumbs in the bottom of an empty bag. ”
I watched Jack shift uncomfortably in his seat.
“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “That was probably more than you wanted to know. No one wants to hear about someone’s ex.”