Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Jocelyn
It’s happy hour. I’m sitting on Hutch’s lap at the bar while Al makes us drinks. “You kids look good together,” he says with a warm smile as he sets a beer down for Hutch and a mojito for me.
“Thanks, Al,” I say, returning his smile. Everyone is here. It’s an unusually warm late winter evening.
“I’m pretty sure that groundhog was wrong. It already feels like spring,” Bray says as he plays tic-tac-toe with Ava.
“What groundhog?” Ava asks, not looking up from where she’s making an “x.”
“There’s a groundhog in Pennsylvania that every February second predicts whether we get six more weeks of winter or not,” Carly explains.
Ava frowns. “But…why?”
“No idea,” Carly answers.
“That’s weird,” Ava says.
“Well, that’s the answer,” Carly says.
“I, for one, am happy that it’s warm,” I state. “I hate the winter. I want it to be hot and steamy.”
“Hot and steamy, huh?” Hutch whispers in my ear as his giant hand sprawls across my thigh.
I blush. “Yep,” I manage before taking a sip of my mojito. This man can turn me on just by a single touch.
“Are you going to marry Mr. Hutch?” Ava asks as she looks over at us.
I spit my drink out and start coughing as Hutch laughs, a big belly laugh. “Not right at this moment,” he manages as he pats my back.
Everyone is laughing along with Hutch, and Ava just grins at us as if she knows something we don’t.
All of a sudden, I feel overwhelmed. Am I ready to marry Hutch?
I don’t know. I still have to finish my last six weeks of classes and my paper.
Plus, I have to figure out what the hell I’m doing with my father. I’m a mess.
And then there’s Hutch. He clearly has to sort out things with his family.
Is now even the right time for us to start a relationship?
“What’s wrong, princessa?” Hutch whispers in my ear as everyone else goes back to their conversations.
“Nothing,” I mutter. “Just tired.”
He rubs my shoulders. “We can go if you’re tired,” Hutch says quietly in my ear.
I shake my head.
“Who wants s’mores?” Cam asks.
About half the group raises their hands.
“I need to head to bed. I’m going to go bird-watching with a friend early tomorrow,” Troy says with a yawn.
“I should get some sleep, too, then. Lord knows you’ll wake me up when you leave,” Jessa adds as they stand.
“We should probably go too. We’re meeting with a local magazine to talk about the store tomorrow morning,” Fletcher says.
“Speak for yourself. It was my idea,” Cam argues.
“Fine, one of us is going to bed early,” Fletcher says with an eye roll.
“I have to be in the recording studio early tomorrow,” Gray adds as he follows Fletcher downstairs.
“These young people need more energy,” Margie says. “When I was their age, I ran on sex, booze, and rock ’n’ roll.”
Cornelia laughs. “Don’t forget the shrooms.”
“Aunt Cornelia!” Piper scolds from where she sits perched on Kasen’s knee.
“What? Times were different back then,” Cornelia says with a shrug. “Did I ever tell you the story about when we went to Burning Man and I smoked peyote with a shaman?”
Piper’s eyes widen. “Uh, nope. I think you somehow glossed over that.”
“Maybe we should tell that story another time,” Carly says as she glances at her daughter.
Cornelia waves her off. “It’s harmless. Besides, Bray just put those giant headphones on her ears. She’ll be transfixed by whatever the heck is on that tablet.”
Carly sighs. “Bray. She shouldn’t have any more screen time today.”
“It’s educational. It’s a video about groundhogs,” he explains.
“Everyone, focus. Are we making s’mores or not?” Roxy asks.
“I think it’s a lost cause tonight,” Al says as he leans out from under the awning that covers the bar area. “Looks like we might get a little rain soon.”
“Bummer. I really wanted something sweet,” Roxy mutters.
“Uh, just walk over to the bakery,” Hutch suggests.
“Fair point,” she says.
“Fine, I’ll tell the Burning Man story at book club,” Cornelia states as she gets up and sets her glass on the bar. “I suppose I’m off to sleep.”
One by one, others leave until it’s just Hutch, Al, and me.
“You kids want anything else?” Al asks.
“No. We’re good. You want us to help you clean up?” I ask as I lean back against Hutch.
“Nah. I just have a few glasses here. I’ll have them clean in no time,” he says.
“Goodnight, Al,” Hutch says as we leave.
“’Night,” I add.
Al waves at us, and we walk down to Hutch’s apartment.
Hutch sets his keys down and goes about turning lights off while I head to his bedroom. This whole evening has felt normal, yet I feel anything but normal. It’s all too much.
I pull out my bag and toss my things in it. I need space. I need to figure things out, and I can’t do that here. Hutch needs to figure out his own shit. There’s no way we both can do that together. I’ll be in his way, and he’ll be in mine.
When Hutch walks into his room, his eyes dart to my bag.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
“Home. I need to think,” I explain as I stand.
“You can’t do that here?” he questions.
I shake my head. “No,” I say quietly.
“So, this is what you were thinking about all during happy hour?” he accuses, and it stings.
“Sort of. I just think…I need to figure out things with my dad, and you need to figure out things with your family. We need some time to sort out our shit, Hutch,” I state.
“What if we sort it out together?” he suggests, coming to stand in front of me, as if he can block me from leaving. I step around him and look back over my shoulder.
“It’s better if we do it alone,” I argue.
“Jocelyn, that’s crazy. It won’t be better alone. We work great together. We can help each other,” he pleads.
“Can we? You’re consumed by your accident still. You bury yourself in this flower mystery so you don’t have to think about it. I’m over here freaking out about my father. Neither of us has done anything to resolve either issue. So how exactly are we helping each other?” I ask.
“We are talking, aren’t we?” he says, his voice sounding desperate.
I drop my bag and walk back to him, taking his face in my hands. I lean up and kiss him. He clutches my upper arms, holding me in place.
“Don’t leave me,” he whispers against my lips.
“I’m not…leaving you…I’m just…we need to cool down.
This is all so much so fast. Let’s just…
breathe for a minute, OK?” I stammer, my gaze finding his hurt one.
I feel like shit. I hate that I’m hurting him.
I’d rather rip my arm off than hurt him, but we need this.
How can we trust that this will work if we can’t even trust ourselves to fix the relationships that should be the most meaningful in our lives?
“Trust me, OK?” I ask him as I search his eyes.
“I don’t want to lose you,” he whispers.
“You aren’t losing me. We’re just…spending some time apart,” I promise.
“Why does that sound like breaking up?” he questions.
“Because you’re calling it that,” I state.
“Promise me you’ll be back here in a few days?” he urges, and I want to promise that, but I don’t know how long I need.
“I promise I’ll be back here as soon as I can,” I say, because that’s as much as I can promise right now.
“I…OK. But don’t ghost me,” he stammers.
“I won’t. I’d never ghost you, Hutch,” I promise, and I lean up and kiss him quickly before I turn and grab my bag. I need to leave now, or I’ll not have the willpower to do it. I hurry from the room and out the door. By the time I get to the street level, tears are falling down my cheeks.
I’m not paying attention to where I’m going as I walk down the sidewalk. As I round the corner, I run into someone.
“Sorry,” I mutter, sidestepping.
“Jocelyn?” my dad asks.
I look up, shocked to see my father, even though he does live a few blocks from here. “Dad?”
“Hey.” He frowns as he looks at me. “What’s wrong?
” he asks, and for reasons I don’t understand and maybe never will.
I throw my arms around his neck and hug him.
I hug him like I did as a little girl when my pet fish died.
I hug him like I did when he’d come into my room after a nightmare to comfort me.
His arms come up slowly around my back, holding me tightly as I cry for the second time in one week. I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m scared and upset. And right now, I just want my dad to tell me everything will be OK. I’ve wanted that for so long.
“Tell me everything will be OK,” I whisper.
He rubs my back. “Everything will be OK,” he says, and I know he means that.
And for the first time in many years, a small chunk of the wall I built up to protect myself from the hurt he inflicted by leaving us falls away.
We can’t fix all of this now, but maybe we can start to.
Maybe we can form something new, like he said.
I just have to trust that it will work out.
I’ve never tried that before, but right now, it feels… right.