59. Everly
The smell of freshly baked fruit pies wafted through my grandmother’s cozy kitchen, enveloping me in a sweet feeling that was both comforting and suffocating. For the last three months, I had hidden out in Emancipation, caring for my sister and her new, wonderful son and privately licking my own wounds, most of them admittedly self-inflicted.
Lord, I missed Real Hamilton… real bad. So many times, I lifted the phone to call him, then chickened out when I remembered how cold he’d been the last time I’d seen him.
Em and the baby were sleeping, so I had ambled into the dining room to be close to my granny. I sat across from her at the long wooden table that PawPaw had designed to seat at least twenty-four. It was crazy that it was now too little. My fingers traced the intricate patterns on the tablecloth, my heart racing in my chest. She looked up from where she was peeling rutabagas.
“Love, when you gon’ stop this?” Granny Nette asked. So much for beating around the bush . She looked at me with those wise, knowing eyes that had seen more than I could imagine. “You can’t keep hiding from your feelings, from Real. You been moping around for months. You need to go after him.”
My heart sank at the mention of his name. “Granny, why you assume this is on me? Anyway, I’m sure he’s moved on.”
That thought made me sick, made me feel like acid was bubbling inside me. Granny leaned forward, her expression firm yet gentle. “You won’t know unless you try. Life’s too short to let fear control you. You deserve love, baby. You need to fight for it.”
I sighed, glancing down at my hands. “That man was tired of me.”
She scoffed.
“As he should’ve been. You’ve spent years, mad and hurt because a few bad apples couldn’t love you out loud. And when you found a man who did, a man who followed you and showed you and loved you in front of all of us, you ran him off.”
I stared at my granny, not believing her little self had just read me for filth.
“Granny—”
She held up a hand, silencing me.
“Listen to me, Love,” she said, her voice steady. “You are more than enough. You’ve always been. You are so very special. You say you know that, but you don’t act like you do. You hide all that light and joy behind a mask. If you love him, tell him. You owe it to yourself and… well, you know the rest.”
Her words settled in my chest, and I felt a little bit of determination. Maybe I could do this. Maybe it was time to take a leap of faith, to believe what Montréal had been telling me.
“Okay, I’ll go,” I said, surprising even myself.
Granny patted my hands. “Good. I knew you would. You get your good sense from your granny.”
I smiled. “Oh, really?”
“Yep. That and that big ol’ booty. You can thank me whenever.”
For the first time in months, my laughter rang in the Big House.
“What you getting into today?” Granny asked as she stood. I followed her into the kitchen where she walked to her wall oven to check her pies.
“Hy has an in-service today, so she’ll be done a little early. I’m meeting her for happy hour. She says she needs it,” I divulged.
“Probably does. The kids show out, the administration can be a headache. My poor baby,” Granny sympathized.
We talked a little longer before I left, headed for town. I beat Hyacinth to The Underground and grabbed a booth for us. The combination bar and restaurant buzzed with the familiar sounds of clinking silverware and laughter, the air thick with the smell of fried catfish and collard greens. I studied the menu, like I didn’t already know I was going to get a strawberry lemonade and the honeyed lemon pepper wings.
Hyacinth slid into the booth across from me, her eyes sparkling with excitement, just as a bouncy little server set a glass of water in front of me. Her ornate nails fidgeted with her key fob as she requested a lemon drop.
“Girl, you won’t believe what happened at work today!” she started, her voice animated.
I leaned back, ready to immerse myself in one of her entertaining little stories. The jingle of bells sounded, and we looked up as the door swung open. Tall and imposing, Braeden Christopher stood, squinting as his dark eyes scanned the diner’s interior. His posture relaxed as his gaze landed on our booth, the hard lines of his handsome face easing into something softer as he studied my cousin.
In my opinion, Braeden was Hyacinth’s person. He agreed. In fact, ninety-nine percent of Emancipation agreed. Unfortunately, included in the one percent who didn’t, was Hyacinth. In my cousin’s mind, Braeden had messed up his one chance, and she wasn’t in the business of giving second ones.
“Hyacinth,” he said, his tone soft but firm. “We need to talk. Right now.”
Hyacinth’s expression shifted from surprise to annoyance. “Seriously, Braeden? I know you see I’m busy?”
He sighed. “Hey, Everly. How are you?”
“I’m great. What about you?” I asked with a small smile.
“I’d be doing better if your cousin wasn’t so difficult,” he groused before turning back to her. “Hy, just give me five minutes, please. It’s important,” he insisted, his eyes almost begging.
It was crazy. Braeden was known as one of the most ruthless, dangerous men around. Yet, Hy could reduce him to pleading. She glared at him for a moment, her fingers tapping against the plastic-encased menu.
“Fine,” she relented, finally, shooting me an apologetic glance as she slid out of the booth. “I’ll be right back.”
Braeden dropped a bill on table and mouthed, “ Sorry .” I nodded. No way she’d be back. Bray knew to hold on whenever he got lucky. I watched them walk away, wondering what that was all about. I had just picked up my glass again when the door jingled again, and my stomach twisted at the sight of Tate Thibadeau. What the fuck was he doing here? I sat perfectly still, as if not moving could make me invisible. It didn’t work, of course. I noticed the moment he saw me. I rolled my eyes as he stepped off in my direction.
“Everly,” he said, his voice low and urgent as he reached me. “Your grandmother said I’d find you here.”
Damn, it just wasn’t Hy’s day or mine. I couldn’t believe Granny Nette sold me out. I hesitated, memories flooding back— especially that last one at that long ago dance.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded.
“Campaigning,” he said, sounding totally unconvincing.
I kissed my teeth. “I doubt that little Emancipation requires two campaign visits.”
He chuckled. “Okay. Campaigning… and trying to see you, Youngin’. Can we talk?”
“Tate, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Please,” he begged, desperation etched across his features. “I need a minute. Just hear me out.”
I took a deep breath, torn between the past and the present. I glanced toward the exit, where Hyacinth had disappeared. “Alright. Just for a minute,” I said, motioning for him to sit.
He slid into the booth, and his next words immediately made me regret agreeing to this bullshit.
“I’ve missed you,” he said, his voice softer now. “I know I messed up, and I can’t change that. But I’ve thought about you every day since...”
“Yeah, well, that doesn’t change what happened,” I replied, crossing my arms defensively. The hurt from our breakup still stung a little, like a bruise that hadn’t fully healed.
“I know I hurt you, Youngin’,” he continued, leaning in.
“Stop calling me that,” I stopped him coldly.
His face fell, but he pressed on. “Everly. But I want you to know that I really loved you. You were so beautiful, so smart, so full of life. I’ve never met anyone like you, and I regret how I treated you.”
His words hung in the air, and for a moment, I was that girl again, the one who had fallen for him so hard. But then I remembered the way he had denied me in front of his friends, the way he’d made me feel so small. Montréal would never , I thought unexpectedly. But he wouldn’t. He wanted to take me places, show me things, even when I was fighting him every inch of the way.
“I’m glad you’ve realized that,” I said, my voice cool. “But I’ve moved on, Tate. I have no interest in revisiting that.”
He looked at me, frustration and regret mingling in his gaze. “I get it. But I just wanted you to know how I felt. I’m sorry for everything.”
“Thank you for saying that.”
I felt a sense of vindication wash over me. It was nice to hear him acknowledge the past, but it didn’t change the fact that we were no longer the same people. Actually, maybe he was. Still trying to please everyone. Still caught in a popularity contest. Still trying to live up… or maybe down, to someone else’s standards. I almost felt sorry for him, but I wasn’t that big of a person. Until he stopped worrying about what others thought, he’d live exactly how he deserved.
Then he shifted the conversation. “What about that guy from the carnival? Is he treating you right?”
The question caught me off guard. I thought of Real’s easy laughter, the way he made me feel seen and valued, not just tolerated. He was everything I had wanted for so long, and suddenly, I missed him with everything in me.
“He is,” I said, a smile creeping onto my face despite myself. “He respects me. He makes me feel like I matter.”
“Do you love him?” Tate asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
The question sent a jolt through me, and I had to pause. DidI love him? The answer bloomed in my chest, carrying more certainty than anything I had ever known. “I do,” I finally admitted. “I really do.”
Tate’s face fell, and I could see the realization sinking in. “I just wanted to see if there was a chance… but I guess I understand now.”
“Yeah, it’s time for me to move on completely,” I said, speaking more to myself than him. I felt lighter with each word. “I’m done with the past. Thank you for helping me realize that.”
He nodded slowly, and I decided to close this for good.
“Take care of yourself, Tate,” I said, as I pushed myself up from the booth. I glanced back at him one last time, feeling a strange mix of gratitude and finality.
“Goodbye, Y— Everly,” he corrected himself, and I left the diner, stepping into the cooler night air with a newfound clarity.
Granny Nette was right. It was time to embrace the present. It was time to embrace Real. And with that thought, I walked away, ready to start my new chapter.