Chapter 20 #2
My sister’s gaze moved past my shoulder to the beautiful cabinet near the front door. I knew what she was seeing. All the time and effort. The details. The love that went into building it, whether Jack wanted to admit that or not.
“Well, that’s what he’s used to,” she finally said, meeting my eyes once again. “People leaving. Feeling like he’s not enough for them to stay. Maybe he didn’t want to give you the chance to prove him right, too.”
I nodded. Jack kept himself contained for a reason.
He’d rebelled and acted out at a young age.
It was easy to trace those mistakes back to his childhood and his abandonment issues.
He’d grown up and taken charge of his life, but he still carried the scars.
I hurt for that little boy who’d needed help falling asleep.
For the teenager who hadn’t been able to find a place he belonged, so he’d created his own.
And for the man in a bar across town who’d denied himself my love before I could take it away.
He might have been lying to himself about our relationship, claiming it was casual right up until the bitter end, but Jack had been right about some things.
I hadn’t wanted to hear it at the time, but I did try to be perfect for everyone. I hid my emotions and faked being fine.
Mac wasn’t the only person who’d seen the bright, optimistic version of myself instead of the messy real one.
Initially, I’d told myself that I was putting people at ease, keeping the peace with my lies. What did I have to complain about? I had a good job, a home, and a family who supported me. I’d been married to my high school sweetheart.
Sure, I’d been lonely, but it hadn’t felt right to speak up. It seemed selfish and ungrateful to want more when I already had so much. Comparison was tricky like that. It provided the excuse to take what you got and claim it was what you deserved.
And when my life fell apart, wanting it back—even the solitary bits and the cheating husband—was easy and comfortable. That was the awful, painful truth. For once, in a moment of weakness, I’d been honest, and Jack had borne witness to it.
For whatever reason, he’d clung to that drunken confession with both hands and held me to it—held it against me. It had given him the excuse he needed to break things apart.
But I couldn’t spend my life being afraid to be honest, and I told Mac as much.
“It’s okay to let your guard down,” she said sincerely, passing me a carton of ice cream.
“People love you—and not just the perfect version everyone expects. They love you, the heart of you. And they want you to be happy, whatever that looks like. I can understand you not wanting to talk to Mom and Dad or Will about relationship stuff. But you can always talk to me or Larry. You should tell Candace what’s going on, too. She’s been so worried about you.”
I winced, knowing that I hadn’t been fair to my best friend. “She has the wedding so soon. I don’t want to add more to her plate.”
“Nu-uh,” Mac mumbled around a bite of chocolate chip cookie dough.
“None of those excuses. That’s not how love works.
It’s not there only when it’s convenient.
The best sort of love isn’t shiny or pretty.
It’s showing up when things are hard and messy and weighing you down.
It’s knowing you’re hurting and hurting because of it.
Let Candace be your friend. Let me be your family.
Let yourself be vulnerable with us, and trust us to be able to be there for you.
You’re not something that needs to be handled, Bonnie. ”
Emotion stung my nose. “When did you get so smart, baby sister?”
She shrugged and licked her spoon.
“Is this Brady’s influence?” I teased.
“First of all, rude. Second of all . . . yes, probably.”
We shared a smile. Mine was a little watery, but Mac didn’t call me on it.
Instead, she used her spoon to dig a bite out of my pint of ice cream before asking seriously, “Okay, can you explain the rabbit-stealing thing now? Because that has been driving me crazy.”
My laugh burst out of me, but I hopped up and retrieved Oreo from the bedroom.
Then I made my sister an accomplice to petnapping.
Jack
Lia opened the door and then frowned.
I’d only rung the doorbell because my hands were full.
“Where’s Bonnie?” she asked, looking behind me like I might be hiding her somewhere.
“With the Clarks, I imagine.”
Then I passed my grandmother the bottle of wine I was holding so I could use two hands to support the bowl of mashed potatoes I’d made.
It was Christmas Eve, and as our two-person tradition dictated, we shared dinner together to celebrate the holiday.
Lia made the ham, green beans, and rolls.
And I brought the potatoes, deviled eggs, and pie.
I’d whipped up the potatoes this afternoon, but the deviled eggs were courtesy of Magnolia’s kitchen, and the pumpkin pie was from Pied Piper over in Miller Creek.
“I thought you’d bring her,” Lia called. She was still standing there with the door wide open.
Maybe she thought this was all an elaborate prank, and Bonnie was going to pop out at any moment and yell, “Surprise.”
“Nope,” I hollered back, unloading my burdens onto the countertop.
It wasn’t like I needed Lia to remind me about Bonnie. Of course, I’d thought of her. That was all I’d done for the last week.
I could easily imagine her here, joining us in my grandmother’s cramped kitchen, even though it had only ever been the two of us spending Christmas together.
Bonnie fit wherever she went. And that was part of the problem.
She sure as hell had carved out a space in my heart, making it hard to breathe when I thought about what I’d done.
I pulled the aluminum foil off the bowl of potatoes and added a serving spoon from the drawer. I placed it on the kitchen table along with the deviled eggs, but paused when I took in Lia’s offerings, ready and waiting.
“You didn’t make green beans,” I accused. “You always make green beans.”
Lia stood in the doorway wearing a frown that looked nearly identical to the one on my own face. “I made okra. Things don’t always have to stay the same. Bonnie mentioned liking okra the last time she was here. So I made okra.”
I stared at the offending deep-fried vegetable.
“So why isn’t she here to eat my okra, Jack?”
Wincing, I straightened and cleared my throat. “It wasn’t like that with Bonnie, okay? We weren’t serious. She has her life, and I have mine.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it.”
My grandmother stomped over and roughly gathered up the extra place setting that I’d missed earlier in my distraction over the green beans.
Lia had expected Bonnie for Christmas Eve dinner. She’d made space for her at the table and made okra for her, too. She’d obviously gotten her hopes up where Bonnie was concerned.
Well, hers weren’t the only expectations I’d blown up recently.
“It just didn’t work out,” I replied, and it sounded lame to my own ears.
Lia turned her steely gaze on me. “Why? Because she was divorced? You think she has too much baggage?”
I frowned. “No, of course—”
“Or did she impede on your precious freedom and independence?”
“Jesus, Lia. No. None of that. Is that what you really think of me?”
She eyed me. “Well, how am I supposed to know? You show up out of the blue with a nice girl. Look at her like she hung the moon and the stars, too. And then you claim it’s not serious. Sounds to me like you have commitment issues.”
I stared.
“What?” she huffed. “I read things. I listen to podcasts. I know about the male loneliness epidemic.”
I scrubbed a hand down my face.
“Which is complete bullshit, if you ask me,” she added grandly. “Women have just finally gotten their priorities straight.”
Exasperated and desperate to end this conversation, I snapped, “I’m just not right for Bonnie. She’s meant for marriage and babies and someone worthy of her.”
Her weathered face creased in confusion. “Why can’t that be you?”
“Because of how I am.”
A pause. “So, it is a commitment issue?”
Frustration warred with shame. Why was she making me spell this out? She knew my whole sordid history. Lia was the one person I’d expected to just get it. “It’s not in my genes.”
A beat passed while she stared, eyes wide.
“Oh, Jack.” More than understanding or realization, her expression held so much damn disappointment.
“It’s the truth,” I countered defensively.
“My father—whoever he is—never even tried to be in the picture. And Mom—Mom left. She’d rather be homeless or struggling or wherever she ended up than be saddled with me.
I’m not a good bet for someone like Bonnie.
She deserves so much more—so much better.
Someone reliable. Someone worthy of the life she wants. ”
Not someone with a shitty reputation who’d only drag her down.
Bonnie had goals and plans. I’d derail all of that.
Changing things up just so she could be with me—starting over from scratch—would only make her resent me more.
And once she figured out that I’d inevitably disappoint her, then it really would be over.
Or worse, she’d stick it out and be miserable because that was the loyal kind of person she was.
Lia sighed heavily and dropped into the seat across from me, resignation practically radiating from her.
I sat too. Nothing about this conversation felt like having the upper hand, and standing over her made me feel worse somehow.
“Jack, you are my grandson, and I love you. But you are an idiot if you think you’re anything like your parents. You are your own person. Always have been.”
I opened my mouth to argue, to remind her I’d been a hellion, just like my mother.
But Lia raised a hand and kept talking. “Sure, you did some troublemaking in your youth, but luckily, people mature beyond their teenage years, thank God. It’s silly to think that’s the only version of you folks remember.
People aren’t assigned value at sixteen, for crying out loud.
You grew up to be dependable and trustworthy.
You’re a hard worker and a good listener.
You’re a good man, Jack. I’m damn proud of you.
You take care of me and that bar and your employees.
Those girls on your soccer team that you can’t stop talking about.
I don’t think you see yourself very clearly at all. ”
Something squeezed my chest as a memory assaulted me. I remembered saying that same thing to Bonnie when she’d called herself broken, sitting on the stairs outside my apartment. I swallowed roughly. Basic factory settings and her hand clasped in mine.
“Do you think people really have a limit on their love?” Lia asked, voice as soft as I’d ever heard it.
“That your mother’s well ran dry and she didn’t have enough for you or me?
Do you truly believe she passed that on to you through blood?
Because I don’t think that’s true. You have enough love for me and for the bar and your friends and staff and teammates.
Are you worried you won’t have enough left over for Bonnie, too? Is that it?”
“Of course not,” I replied reflexively, throat tight. “I love her. I—” I broke off helplessly before finishing, “I love her.”
“Good.” Lia’s smile was shrewd. “That’s a start. Now what are you going to do about it?”