Chapter 5
Fable
“Let me know if those work.” I slide the box of screws across the counter to Cathy. “If they don’t, call us and we can special order some.”
She got me into this mess with Theo, and I can tell her blue eyes are glittering with questions.
I saw her stalling as she walked around the store, waiting for her chance to press me about Theo.
But I’ve refused to indulge her. I’ve done my own stalling, hoping Logan will walk back in and rescue me.
He has very little patience for nosy people and even less patience for Cathy.
When there was a rumor of a feud between Logan and Diana, who owns the thrift shop, apparently Cathy pestered him for details until he got so frustrated that he shouted, “For fuck’s sake, Cathy! ”
That was very offensive to her delicate ears, but it’s become a secret motto around town.
“I appreciate your help.” Cathy leans her hands on the counter. “Again, so sorry for interrupting you and Theo—”
Logan slips into view just in time, with two to-go cups from Coffee Cottage. Cathy presses her lips together, tips her chin up, and walks toward the exit. Logan tucks one cup into his elbow to grab the door for her.
“Logan.” She stares down her nose at him as she leaves.
He dips his chin in greeting and once the door shuts behind him, we both murmur, “For fuck’s sake, Cathy.” We have matching grins as he hands me a cup.
“Thank you. What did you get today?”
“Some lavender honey shit.” He brings it to his lips for a wary sip and shrugs. “It’s not half bad.”
“Mabel really knows what she’s talking about, huh?
” For a man whose office coffeepot looks like it was made fifty years ago, Logan’s been awfully adventurous with his drinks when Mabel’s serving them.
Last week, it was some sort of mango-flavored concoction and yesterday he came back with what he called a rainbow latte.
I’m starting to wonder is she’s pranking him at this point.
His cheeks flush pink and he clears his throat. “She’s good at her job.”
“She must be. Got you trying all kinds of stuff.” I hide a smile behind my cup.
He takes another sip. “What’s that look for?”
“You know, just thinking about how much you’re visiting Mabel lately.”
One brow arches. “I see. And how often is Theo going to be visiting now?”
I choke on my tea, spewing it across the lid. “Not at all!”
“Oh, don’t kid yourself, Fable.” He shakes his head, turning to walk toward his office. “You’re smarter than that. That boy was fumbling all over himself in front of you.”
“No, he was scared of you,” I call after him, but he just chuckles.
With a huff, I drop onto the stool behind the counter and stare out across downtown.
The long, open park has a gazebo in the center, where carolers sing in the winter and kids eat drippy ice cream cones in the summer.
A farmers’ market fills the northwest corner every Saturday from May until the end of October, and when there’s a festival, the whole block comes to life right before your eyes.
On the other side, at the far corner of downtown, I can just make out the blue-trimmed building where Theo works.
It’s not that I sit here watching for him, but I do happen to see him coming or going through those doors occasionally.
Sometimes he has lunch or a coffee in his hands and sometimes he’s walking a dog in the park.
I can’t help but notice him. It’s the same tic that makes me look for him early in the mornings when he runs by the A-frame.
And the same one that made me hyperaware of him every day of high school.
It’s a homing beacon in my brain that won’t shut the hell up when he’s around.
It makes me want to get as far away from him as possible so I don’t have to hear it.
My stomach twists when I remember his idea. Pretend to be together?
It’s insane. Ridiculous. No one in town would even believe it after the parade incident.
The moment that changed everything for us.
We were fourteen—the summer before freshman year—and newly assigned to our high school athletics teams. It was my first event with the girls’ soccer crew, and I was nervous as hell, hoping to make a good impression.
Football, baseball, soccer, golf, and swim team were all walking in the parade just before the marching band.
Theo had been quiet all morning—uncharacteristically broody and closed off. Mia and her mom were notably absent from the event, and all of it together had my nerves prickling. Something was going on, and I had no idea what it was. And no time to ask him.
As our section of the parade reached downtown, Theo was walking beside me, arguing with Todd, one of the guys on his baseball team, about who knows what.
All of a sudden their argument escalated.
To this day, I don’t know who started it or how it happened so quickly, but before I could fully focus on it, Theo’s nose was bleeding, and he was throwing a punch back at Todd.
Everything got out of hand in an instant. Todd stumbled back with a shout. I tried to get out of the way and tripped over my soccer ball, rolling my ankle in the process. And as I tumbled to the ground, I remember thinking that the marching band sounded really good together.
That was until the front row tripped. Over me.
They toppled. Fell like dominoes around me—trombones, baritones, French horns, trumpets. Instruments were colliding, loud honking sounds blasting out of them as their momentum came to a stop.
There were people shouting, music still playing from a parade float somewhere, and plenty of laughter, but all that faded away when I looked up at Theo from the ground.
He had blood running down his chin and a wild look in his eyes.
I watched his lips shift around my name, and then he was gone. Running without a single glance back.
Within days, the photos and video had spread.
People found it hilarious—the contrast of the adorable, small-town parade, floats and balloons and flowers everywhere, the angry teenagers fighting in the middle of it, and the girl who brought the entire thing to a screeching halt.
Good Morning America cohosts were commenting on it, Kevin’s Diner was hanging a poster-size image of the incident on the wall, and it was the talk of the town for way longer than necessary.
It was so public, so seen by everyone, that there was no way to escape it.
Of course, the most embarrassing moment of my life would happen right before I started high school.
The girls on the soccer team brought it up at every practice that summer, teasing me about the incident and stoking my fury with Theo over the whole thing.
It was humiliating to be the laughingstock of the team I’d worked to be a part of, and Theo’s temper had been the cause of it.
The day after the parade, my parents told me Theo and Mia would be spending the summer with their grandparents in Oregon, and I didn’t see them again for months.
It wasn’t until school was about to start in the fall that my parents explained what was happening in their family.
I was angry, hurt, and devastated and had no idea how to sort through those feelings when it came to Theo.
It took Mia and me only minutes to get back to normal when we reunited.
But Theo and I never recovered. He came back to town with a dark shadow around him, two fresh scars on his nose and jaw, a new long-distance girlfriend in Oregon, and no comment about the parade.
And I couldn’t forget the fact that he’d deserted me. He’d caused the entire scene and ran away. Left me to deal with the fallout.
Now I can put together the pieces and see how hard that summer must’ve been for him.
I can forgive him for the fight and the parade—he was going through a lot at the time—but we’ve never made it back to our friendship.
We’re on opposite sides of a giant ravine.
Over the years that space has filled with snippy comments and avoided conversations.
Angry glares on my part and arrogant smirks on his.
Our rivalry in high school became a self-fulfilling prophecy at some point—egged on by everyone around us.
Which begs the question, Why would anyone even believe Theo and I could be together now?
From my spot on the ground, I watch the light-gray clouds slip across my view.
The raised wooden garden beds on either side of me fill the air with the earthy smell of fresh soil.
My parents wander the garden around me, having some sort of mild disagreement about the placement of the cabbage versus the broccoli, but Dad will give in eventually and push full steam ahead with Mom’s idea.
They didn’t bat an eye when I wandered into the garden and plopped myself in middle of the walkway. They didn’t gasp when I explained the story behind the photo of me and Theo, and they didn’t give me a look when I mentioned my phone has been dead since last night.
They didn’t ask any questions beyond, “Are you okay?”
A noncommittal hum was my only response. I’m not sure exactly what okay means.
Okay can encompass a whole slew of feelings. Okay can be sad, happy, scared, and being okay doesn’t cancel out any of those. Okay can still hurt really bad, but even two years later, the grief of losing my favorite person in the world feels very not okay.
Sometimes that grief is a storm cloud I can feel looming right behind me. Other times, it’s a heavy weight on my chest that spreads out to my limbs, and those days, it’s hard to get out of bed and fake my way through a customer-service smile.
That’s how it feels today—like the memory of Gramps is pressing me down into the earth, making my muscles difficult to move.
“Look at this one.” Dad proudly thrusts a seedling into my view.
“So cute. What is it?” I ask, trying to add some enthusiasm to my tone.
“Little kale plant!”
“Kale chips!” Mom cheers from the other side of the garden.
“Oh, wait, look at this one.” Dad holds up another plant.
A few clumps of soil fall onto my shirt. “Looks exactly the same.”
“Nah, this one’s about an inch taller. Healthy little guy. Spring is officially here.”
One of my parents’ dogs, Maple, curls herself up next to me.
“The tulips still haven’t sprouted,” I announce, my voice somber.
I’ve been checking every morning, hoping to see a hint of green in the flower beds in front of the A-frame.
They never appeared last spring—almost like they were grieving the loss of Gramps too.
“I bet they show up soon,” Mom assures me. “The weather is getting a tad warmer every day.”
“Have you added any compost into the soil?” Dad asks.
“Yeah. Hopefully the bulbs are okay.”
“We can get some new ones. Your dad and I are heading to a gardening store in Wilhelmina in the morning. We can look there.”
“No thanks.” I sigh. “I want to keep trying Gramps’s original bulbs.”
“Okay, sweetie,” Mom says soothingly. “Want to come with us tomorrow? We’re staying to see the girls after they get out of school. They have soccer practice.”
“I wish I could, but I have work.” I grin, imagining my nieces in their little shin guards and cleats. “I love that they’re playing soccer.”
Dad laughs. “Millie says they dance around the field for most of the game.”
“Well, they are six,” Mom points out. “I’m sure that competitive streak will come, especially with Finn and Millie around.
” She sets a basket of garden tools down beside me.
“Sorry we won’t be here for dinner tomorrow, though.
You’ll be on your own, but there’s leftover casserole from last night, if you want that. ”
I close my eyes, assessing this new low I seem to have dropped into. My parents apologizing to me—their twenty-eight-year-old daughter—for having plans. It’s pretty pathetic, when you think about it. Here I am, star-fishing in their garden, waiting for them to finish so we can go inside for dinner.
As a kid, my twenties felt like this shiny time I couldn’t wait to get to.
I’d be going to parties, surrounded by friends.
I’d have a job I love, an adorable apartment straight out of a Nora Ephron movie.
I’d be jet-setting somewhere on a whim and have a camera roll full of hilarious memories. Living the dream.
Now, I’m turning twenty-nine in a couple weeks. Which is basically thirty. Which is basically middle-aged. Menopause is on the horizon, and I still don’t have my life figured out.
“How’s everything at the cabin?” Dad asks, interrupting my spiral.
“Great.” A lie.
“Need help with anything?”
“No, I’ve got it.” Another blatant lie. My voice is pitched too high. There’s probably A Look passing between them right now.
Dad clears his throat. “You know, if the A-frame is getting to be too much work . . .” A pause. He totally heard the truth beneath my lies. “We can sell it. Gramps wouldn’t want it to be a burden.”
The solid ground beneath me wobbles. A sharp pain shoots through my stomach. I place my hands over it like that might help.
“He would understand,” Mom adds. “His memory lives in our hearts, even if the A-frame doesn’t make it.”
My breath stops altogether at those words. They’re completely contradictory to how I feel. He doesn’t live in my heart . . . he’s in that house.
They’re offering me an out. Just like they always do when I run into difficulty.
It’s all right, let us pick up the pieces.
It’s so easy to say yes. But, goddamn it, I’m tired of quitting things and running away from my problems. I’m sick of giving up when shit gets hard.
So frustrated with looking in the mirror and not recognizing my reflection.
I’ve been coddled and taken care of through every failure, and I’m done.
It’s a struggle, but I muster the strength to sit up. Dad is two garden beds over, dark soil caked up to his wrists. Mom turns on a hose, showering her herbs.
“I’m not giving up,” I announce. This is one project I plan to see all the way through. I’m going to accomplish something Gramps would be proud of.