Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
AVERY
I love living in a small town, but there is something so invigorating about meeting new people. I’m not sure Josh feels the same, because at the end of the evening session, I’m definitely the only one following my new pals on social media and exchanging numbers. He seems impatient to get back to the room, and I am too, but before we get naked, we need to discuss a few things. So as soon as our golf cart is out of hearing range of the others, I let him know how I feel.
“I thought you said I could decide whether or not we’re public about us.”
He glances over at me briefly, and I catch the wince on his face as we pass under a lamppost. “I didn’t really plan on it, but at that moment, it felt like I should put all the cards on the table so we get the best advice.”
He has a point, but I’m still a little grumpy about it. “Or maybe you’re just trying this on for size in a place where we don’t know anybody.”
“Maybe I was. Maybe that’s why we need a weekend away. Or two or three. So we can explore what’s here without having to worry about our families.”
“But those stressors are people. And they’re not going anywhere.”
“Believe me, I am aware of that. I have been since the moment my kids were born.”
Pain thrums behind my sternum, making me even grumpier. Because I’ll never have the feeling he’s trying to get away from.
“Don’t we deserve a little happiness, just for ourselves?” he continues. “Don’t we need that, so we can fulfill our other responsibilities?”
He’s right. It’s what all the parenting books say. You can’t be a caretaker without taking care of yourself. But I’m not ready to cede the point, so I remain stubbornly silent until he pulls up in front of the cabin.
After he turns off the cart, he shifts in his seat to face me. When I don’t turn to face him, he takes my hand. “You make my life better, Avery. When I’m around you, I feel hopeful. I believe things will be okay. And I haven’t felt like that in a long time.”
Eyes on our joined hands, I ask, “Since Lisa passed?”
“Before that. I’ve been… lost, I think. So overwhelmed by trying to be the best partner to a woman who didn’t want me, and a decent parent to children we hadn’t planned for.”
I let his words, as well as the real pain I hear in his voice, sink in for a moment. But it’s when I finally meet his eyes that his hurt reaches inside my heart and pushes away the envy. Squeezing his hand, I ask, “Would you go back and change your choices? If you could?”
He shakes his head without hesitation. “I wouldn’t give up my kids for anything. I only wish they—Mabel, really—hadn’t suffered because Lisa was so depressed, and I didn’t know how to fix it.”
“I’m not sure I?—”
“You don’t have to commit to anything right now, Avery. But I want you to know, if you’re up for taking on my package deal, I want you in our life.”
Hope of my own swirls around my heart, but something—I’m not sure what—has me holding back. “Let’s… sleep on it?”
“If by sleep you mean let me make you come as many times as possible before we pass out, sated and satisfied, then my answer is yes.”
How can I say no?
“There you are.”
The next morning, when I look up from the desk where I’ve been scribbling away, it’s confirmed. Josh is too good to be true. No one has the right to look as sexy as he does all sleep-rumpled and half-awake.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
I look down at the notebook I’ve filled with ideas. “Yes, actually.”
He shuffles over and gives me a kiss on the side of my neck that’s as sexy as it is sweet. “Did you sleep oka—” He veers past my shoulder to sniff my mug deeply. “Is that coffee?”
“Did you want some to drink or do the fumes just do it for you?”
“I like to start small,” he says. “But if there’s more where that came from, I would be forever indebted to you.”
Smiling as I think about how I might call that debt, I slip out of my chair and head for the kitchenette. As I’m pouring him a cup, I notice that he’s just standing there, gazing out the window. “Did you sleep okay?”
His smile in answer is practically beatific. “I slept better than I have since… I have no idea how long.”
When I hand him the mug, he takes a sip and then closes his eyes on a moan. “One, this is the best hotel coffee I’ve ever had. Two, how did you know how I like it?”
I bat my eyes as smugly as I can. “One, I brought my own beans and pour-over supplies. Two, I’ve had coffee with you. I’ve seen what you do to it.” One tiny splash of milk and no sugar wouldn’t work for me but I’m not here to judge people’s coffee preferences.
“I feel like I’m still dreaming. And I was having such good dreams.” The right side of his mouth quirks and his grin turns devilish. “You had starring roles in all of them.”
He sets down his mug and opens his arms wide. I take the invitation, snuggling into his chest as he wraps his arms around me tight. “Humans need eight hugs a day. I read that recently.”
“I don’t think I’ve been getting enough.”
“We need to do something about that.”
“Are you saying you’ll take responsibility for my eight daily hugs?”
“I’d like to.” His hands roam down my back. “I’d like to take on all of your hug-related needs.”
“Like kisses?”
He levers back to answer my question with a slow, sensual kiss.
“You’re hired.”
“What about caresses?”
I tap my chin, pretending to consider. “Hmm… Let’s see what you’ve got.”
When he scoops me up and heads for the bedroom, I let out an ear-piercing squeal of shock. “What are you doing?”
“Showing you what I’ve got, of course.”
It’s a good thing I got up early because he takes his time teasing me with his hands and mouth before driving me right to the edge with a joystick that was made for my console. After an equally enjoyable shared shower, he leaves me to my makeup application while he checks in on his family. But when I emerge, ready to head to breakfast and morning workshops, he’s reading my scribblings.
“Is this what you were working on this morning?” he asks.
Straightening the papers, feeling self-conscious about them, I say, “I just woke up thinking about what Regina said last night. About figuring out how to keep the spirit of Playgroup without getting dragged down by what doesn’t work.”
He turns to face me, propping a hip on the desk. “I was going to make it a surprise, but my current proposal includes Playgroup. You’ve sold me on its value. I was able to move some line items around so?—”
“What if I don’t want to keep it?”
“But I thought you?—”
“It’s my mother’s program,” I say.
“Her legacy, right. I know. Another reason to keep it.”
I shake my head, my determination growing. “Nothing lasts forever. Cutting it won’t change her impact over the years.”
“But…” His brow furrows. “You’re so good at it. With the kids and the par?—”
“I’m not a parent,” I say, the words coming out more forcefully than I intend. But instead of reining them in, I just keep going. “It’s all theoretical to me. It’s ridiculous for me to offer advice when I don’t know anything about the challenges people are facing. Trying to empathize with their complaints and frustrations when I can’t even?—”
“But you’re young. You could have kids. You have plenty of time.”
“Pfft. Time I’ve got. What I lack is the plumbing.”
“Plumbing?”
“I can’t. Have kids. There. Now you know.”
Josh just stares at me.
“I’m not sure how we got from morning orgasms to arguing about Playgroup to this but now that we’re here, if you’re really thinking you want to”—I make air quotes?—“make this work, then you should know what you’re getting into.”
Before I lose the nerve, I tell him the story of my salpingectomy, leaving out the gaslighting from the dillweed doctor and that son of a biscuit Peter. Then, before he can tell me that he’s no longer interested, avoiding what is sure to be either a look of pity or disgust in his eyes, I beat it out the door. “I think I need a walk. I’ll see you later.”
We’d already planned to split up for the morning, to cover as many workshops as possible. Last night, I’d resisted because I wanted to spend as much time as possible together, but Josh argued that if we covered more ground, we could skip the afternoon’s so-called “bonding” activities, which he said were usually lame.
I skip breakfast, needing time to walk off the agitation. The feeling of being exposed. I attend the first workshop, but I don’t have a clue what it's about, because even though I sit there and take notes, my mind is churning. Trying, and failing, to convince myself that I did the right thing. After all, if Josh really wants more kids, it’s better to end it now. Before I get too attached.
As if that hasn’t happened already.
At the second workshop, I linger in the hallway, pretending I’m not looking for him. But when they begin to introduce the speaker, I make myself slip into the back row where I can stew in peace. But just as the lights lower for the visual presentation, someone sits next to me. Someone who smells of pine, with a faint undertone of baby wipes.
He takes my hand in both of his. When I make myself look at him, even in the dim light, I can tell there’s no pity or revulsion in his light blue eyes.
Just hope.
“I know we said we’d split up, but I couldn’t pay attention,” he whispers. “I just kept thinking about how good you are with kids. How hard it must be to work with parents who don’t appreciate what they have.”
The person in front of us turns around to give us a pointed look, but Josh just scoots closer. “Thank you for telling me. Things haven’t changed for me. I’m still all in.”
I just squeeze his hand for a long moment, swallowing back the tears clogging my throat. But I eventually manage to whisper back, “Me too.”
I’m not sure if it’s being away from my day-to-day routine, having told Josh about my past, or the many ways we’ve made each other feel good in the past twenty-four hours, but I’ve never felt so inspired and alive. Like all the ways I’ve pretended to be happy for the past few years were just a rehearsal for the real thing. After the morning sessions, we’re told to dress for physical activities for the afternoon. Changing clothes back at the cabin, it’s tempting to skip lunch for a quickie, but we decide that we’ll enjoy everything better with fuel in our bellies.
I’ve been so impressed with all the presenters so far, but when the speaker steps up to the podium at lunch, I gasp.
Josh looks over at me. “Something wrong?”
I shake my head. “It’s her. The Dubliner we gave the room to.”
According to the man who introduces her, Frances O’Leary is a world-renowned expert on play. When she steps away from the podium to stroll across the stage, I know that what we’re going to get from her is a TED talk, only better. Because of her charming accent, of course.
She talks for a bit about her early research on human development and play, as well as her most recent work on its health benefits for all ages. But then she turns the tables on us.
“Why? Are? You? Here?” she asks, emphasizing each word equally. In her lovely accent.
Josh snorts, and my cheeks heat when I catch his eye. “Besides nookie,” I whisper.
“Why do you work in this field?” Frances O’Leary continues. “Or if you’re here from the corporate side, what do you gain from contributing to this work? I know it’s not money, believe me.”
She nods offstage, and a large whiteboard gets rolled out. “We’re going to find out.”
They’re really into brainstorming at this place, but this is next level from what we did last night. When Frances gets people shouting out a few words, they appear on the board like magic. Then she tells us to get out our phones, and she gives us a number to which we’ll send a text.
“Why are you here?” she repeats. “What is the value of a public place where people can enjoy parks and recreation?”
She gives us a few moments to think, sweeping the room with one of those gazes that makes you feel like she’s talking to you, and I swear the entire room holds its breath. “When I say go , I want every one of you to type in and send the first ten words that come to mind in response to that question. Aaand, go!”
I dutifully type in my words, doing my best not to edit them. When I look up, the whiteboard is pulsing with words. Some of which were on my list, some of which weren’t. When it seems like the board might overflow with them, the words begin to swirl, and after a few seconds, a word cloud appears.
The ones I fall in love with are:
Community
Fun
Inspiration
Connection
Re-creation
“You’ll all get a printout of this before you leave, and I recommend putting it by your computer or somewhere you’ll see it every day. So you’ll have a memory of what’s behind your hard work. And this afternoon.”
Her tone is almost mischievous when she gets to the last sentence, and then she gives us a wave and shouts, “Have fun!” before handing the mic off to a staff member.
“If you didn’t dress to play,” the man says, “I highly recommend doing so now. You’re likely to get dirty, and you need to be able to move all your limbs easily. But before anyone leaves, please reach under your chair and retrieve the sticky note placed there. That’s your team color. No trading now,” he warns with a smile. “Please gather by the flag in your team color on the playing fields in fifteen minutes.”
Josh holds up his sticky note. “I guess we’re not on the same team.”
“Classic move,” I say as we join the lines snaking out of the building. “Separate people sitting together to break up the cliques.”
“How are we playing this?” he asks, gesturing for me to precede him through the door.
“I don’t know about you, but I play to win.”
He grins. “Good to know.”
Once out on the playing field, however, I’m wishing I hadn’t thrown that gauntlet.
“Maybe the challenges will be more intellectual?” one of my team members suggests. She’s a librarian and looks the part, in sensible shoes and a cardigan. At least she’s wearing a skort instead of a tweed skirt.
“Doubt it.” The art teacher in our group is tall but not muscular. They frown as they point toward the center of the field, revealing a beautiful sleeve of tattoos. “First contest looks like it’s tug-of-war.”
Scanning the field, it seems that jocks are well represented, but if I were to categorize the members of my team into high school categories, we’re limited to geeks and artsy types. Only one of us looks the least bit athletic, and she can’t be more than five feet tall.
The petite dance and yoga teacher groans as she gathers her locs into a ponytail. “This isn’t fai?—”
Her complaint is interrupted by the blowing of a whistle. “Before we begin, I want to clarify a few points,” the staff member says through a bullhorn. “One, we are well aware that the team makeup may not seem fair, but we’ve found that in the end, random groups serve the learning process.”
The art teacher snorts. “Learning process, my ass.”
“Two,” the guy with the bullhorn continues, “each member of the winning team earns a one-on-one consultation with Dr. O’Leary and gets to be first in line at dinner tonight.”
“Great,” Tisha, the dance teacher, mutters. “My community center could really use that consult. But we have no hope of winning.”
“Three,” Bullhorn man says, “we will provide gloves for tug-of-war.”
“Thank goodness.” An IT guy on my team pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “You can get serious rope burns from those things.”
“Fourth and final point.” The bullhorn squawks. “The winning team will be the team that has the most fun, no matter the actual outcome of the challenges.”
IT guy snorts. “Sorry, kids, but none of this is fun for me.”
“What would be fun for you?” I ask.
“Seriously?”
“Yeah.”
“Taking a nap. My cabinmate snores like you wouldn’t believe and I got no rest last night.”
I scan the area and notice a few chairs set up along the sidelines. “Why don’t you take a load off? Maybe you can catch a catnap.”
He frowns. “But then you’ll be short a player.”
“It’s not like we’re going to win the tug-of-war,” the tattooed art teacher called Atlas says. “You may as well sit it out.”
“But I want to win this,” Tisha insists.
“Did you not hear what the man said?” the librarian asks. “The winners are the ones who have fun. So if it’s more fun for him to sit on the sideline, that’s what he should do.”
“They didn’t really mean that, though,” Atlas scoffs.
“It’s what they said,” the IT guy says with a shrug. “I’m taking them at their word.”
“Who gives a shiitake mushroom, anyway?” I say. “It’s a beautiful day, and we’re away from it all in this gorgeous place. If we have fun, that’s a win anyway.”
“So we just give up?” Tisha asks. “Let ourselves be pulled across the line?”
“Actually,” I say. “I have an idea.”