15. Impulsive #2
Firstly, I may not be fully ready to kiss Jordan yet, but desiring him is not the problem.
Even now, watching him flip and fumble an omelet half onto the pan, grinning wide, blushing under Molly’s adoration, and taking Jack’s good-natured ribbing in the background in stride, something in me wants to march over to the stove and claim his lips in front of everyone.
A makeout on the counter. A Knot Girl tradition of sorts.
Jordan is sweet and incredibly sexy, and he makes a fine omelet. But something is holding me back.
One of those somethings, though I hate to admit it, is this house. My sister and the rest of the Book Baes were right. I’ve made this home a mausoleum devoted to James and, in doing so, buried myself within it. I need to make some changes.
What would James do if he knew I wanted to change the floors of the kitchen we danced on? To paint over the walls? To make changes to the farm? And to rip that horrid wallpaper from our bedroom ceiling?
“Finally, Red,” I hope he’d say. “What took you so long?”
So, I’m really going to do it. I’m gonna start project by project and dig myself out of this grave.
And, lastly, on the tenth anniversary of his death, I’m going to remember my husband well.
To cherish the memories and laughter and love we shared, but I’m going to say goodbye, and I intend to move forward.
“I want to spread James’ ashes,” I announce as everyone is in various states of eating their breakfast. “Today.”
“Em,” Dinah begins, apologetically. “If this is about last night, I'm sorry if I was out of line.”
“It's not,” I promise, shaking my head. “I mean, it is, but it isn’t.” Unbidden, my eyes flick to Jordan, who’s neglected omelets altogether and has pulled Molly towards himself, letting his hands rest on her shoulders.
He doesn’t do or say anything, just offers quiet support to us both by simply being here.
And Jordan being here feels weirdly necessary. And so very, very good. It’s messing with my brain chemistry.
“I also want to replace the floors and paint the house.” Now I'm just spitballin’. Throwin’ ideas out to see what sticks. Spread my dead husband’s remains. Check. Start my own HGTV show. Check. Invest in shiplap and become the next Joanna Gaines… Could be. The sky’s the limit.
“Oh! Pink?” Molly asks excitedly. She totally gets me. “And can we paint flowers on the walls?”
“Maybe.” I shrug because who knows what I’ll do next. “But, ashes first. I really need to do this.”
Before the ten-year mark. Before Molly’s birthday and the Fifth-Grade Festival. Before I kiss a beautiful man on the lips.
“If that’s okay with you, bud?”
It’s shameful that I'm only now realizing I made this huge decision without considering whether Molly would want the same. James’ parents haven’t been involved in our lives since he died, therefore I won’t be asking their permission.
Their relationship was strained before his death, and as I know all too well, grief changes people.
It causes strain and unrelenting sadness even if, previously, none existed.
But in this case, it did. And his parents chose a path I wish they hadn’t.
One where they miss out on knowing the most incredible little girl in the world, and my daughter must add her only living grandparents to the long list of people she will never know.
Molly should have input, though.
“Where will he go?” Molly asks in a soft, sweet voice.
Closing the gap between us, I meet Molly and Jordan at the stove, crouching to her eye level.
“Oh, sweetie,” I say, reaching out and taking her little hand in mine.
“Daddy has been gone for a long time. He closed his eyes one night and then the first thing he saw when he opened them was Jesus. Those ashes… they’re just the remains of what was left behind. ”
“Yeah.” She nods, a bit exasperated. “I know all that, Mom. What I mean is… are we just throwin’ him to the wind or like… dumping him in the field? Where’s he gonna go?”
The room bursts into laughter.
I can’t believe I get to be this girl’s mama. Despite her losses, the huge events that shaped everything about her life, my girl is thriving. She’s a firecracker, and yeah, James and Jesus had a whole lot to do with that, but I’m proud that I think I did, too.
“Oh…” I squeeze her hand, amazed at how something I thought would break my heart is proving to be almost easy. Natural, even. “Maybe we could scatter them by the river. James loved that part of the farm. We could bring a picnic and spend the afternoon there.”
It also happens to be on the piece of property Trey Ashcroft is purchasing today. He’s supposed to be signing the paperwork this morning. So, just for today, we can say goodbye to James and to the land.
Molly looks up at the man who, in such a short time, has begun to fill a gap I didn’t want to acknowledge existed. Jordan squeezes her shoulders, giving her an encouraging head nod, but again, says nothing. Whatever language these two are speaking, it’s a silent one.
Molly bites her lip and nods in response before she says, “I’ll bring the balloons.”
“Are we sure this is legal?” Dinah asks, looking up and down the length of the river like the human remains police are about to fall out of a tree and arrest us. “There have to be laws about human ashes in water sources and soil and…”
“Didn’t you girls drink human placenta last night?” Jordan asks, skipping a rock across the water. “You weren’t too worried about water sources then.”
Jack inhales an unfortunately timed sip of the beer he’s been working on, spitting half from his mouth and another spray from his nose. Jordan pats his back, then throws another rock.
“What’s a placenta?” Molly throws her own rock. It plops into the water without skipping a bit.
“Em!” Dinah shrieks. “I thought we swore to secrecy! We weren’t gonna tell anyone about that!”
“I never swore to secrecy,” I say, shrugging and looking for the perfect spot to illegally spread my husband. “Must have been after the placenta shot and your diabolical meddling where you sent me home against my will.”
“You didn’t seem to mind my meddling this morning… on the couch.”
Jordan chuckles, skipping another rock. The blush creeping up his neck is adorable, but rather than jump in to defend my honor, he picks the perfect rock out for Molly, demonstrates how she should hold it in her hand, then guides her as she sends it across the water.
When it skips twice, everyone cheers, but Molly throws her arms around Jordan and lets him twirl her in a spin before setting her bare feet back onto the ground.
I am, in a word, smitten.
And Dinah is annoyingly smug. She purses her lips and juts out her hip in a way that says, “Tell me again how inconvenient your night was.”
So I reach down, snatch up my own rock, and throw it at her feet. I have terrible aim, so no harm, no foul, but she scoffs anyway and grabs a rock of her own, as if to throw it.
“You know these are my favorite Converses!” she screeches.
“Nope.” Jack grabs her wrist and takes the rock from her hand.
She attempts a reach. A desperate little raccoon, clawing—to no avail—at a much bigger and brawnier opponent.
“Just saving you from yourself, Polly. You girls quit.” He kisses her cheek then rushes to take the rock from Lola’s hand, who’s been learning all the best moves from her mom and aunt.
Dinah stomps but, just as quickly, reaches out to hold my hand. This—her ability to shift from grit to grace so quickly—is one of my sister’s greatest qualities. Something she inherited from our mama. I like to think I did, too.
“I’m sorry I trapped you at book club and made you talk about your feelings.”
I pull her closer, wrapping my arm around her waist and watching as Jack and Jordan pick the perfect rocks for the girls to skip.
“I forgive you, Dinah Belle. And I’m sorry I threw a rock at you and told your secret.”
“I forgive you,” she says, then whispers, “Can I tell you another secret?”
“Always.”
“I kind of liked the placenta shot.” When I cover my mouth to keep from gagging, she cackles and shushes me. “Oh, you’re so dramatic. I mean, it's disgusting, and I never want to drink it again. Obviously.”
“Obviously.”
“But,” she continues, giggling behind her hand, “it gave me an idea. All the essential oils and everything… What if you offered lavender shots here at the farm? Or, like, smoothies or something? Really showcase how lavender can be beautiful but also tasty.”
It isn’t a bad idea. Just not one I’m sure I can manage. “Where, though?”
“Open a shop.” Her excitement grows.
I think she’s probably been waiting since last night to discuss this with me. More than she wants to discuss the man I woke up with, or paint color selections, or my sudden plan to scatter James’ ashes. When Dinah has an idea she knows will be good, she’s unstoppable.
“You should be running a gift shop here, Em. One with your pet products, alpaca stuffies, and lavender treats. I can help. I stayed up all night with Jack and thought of menu ideas and a way for me to hire more teens at Knotty & Nice so I can be here to help you.”
“I knew he seemed crabbier than usual.”
“The man is cranky if he doesn’t get his beauty sleep. I’ll make it up to him later.”
I spit my tongue out. “Ew. Gross. But… please, continue.”
She puts a hand in the air, highlighting her imaginary menu. “I see lattes. Lavender Vanilla. And lavender slushies, with wine or juice, for hot summer days. We’ll make Purple Pastures a tourist spot. A wedding destination. A…”
“Dinah—” I stop her. “I sold the farm.”
“What do you mean, you sold the farm?”