Chapter 8
EIGHTEEN MONTHS LATER
When she moved in a year and a half ago, Grace, who was Asher, her ex-husband/baby daddy’s wife’s sister, and Jenna’s realtor, said the house “needed a woman’s touch.
” Jenna still wasn’t sure if that was code for run-down-piece-of-shit or just small-town optimism.
Either way, she’d hung string lights in the pack patio and a seasonal wreath on the front door and, for the first time in her life, let herself think about what “home” could mean without a man being attached to it.
As she zipped up her rig, the hallway vibrated with the staccato pop of someone’s phone keyboard.
Her daughter, Blake, appeared in the doorway, mid-text, hair bundled into an artful bun on top of her head, face scrubbed in that too-clean way that made Jenna’s heart pang, she was, as the Britney song said, not a girl, not yet a woman, and Jenna was perpetually behind the curve in figuring out which one she was talking to.
“Can I stay the night at Rayna’s?” Blake didn’t look up from her phone. “We’re doing a Dune marathon. It’s for her birthday. Also, they’re getting a chocolate fountain.”
“On a school night?” Jenna responded absentmindedly. Her brain was somewhere else. That had been happening a lot lately.
She knew the answer already. She’d seen the group chat notifications roll in at 1:00 a.m., had read the itinerary Rayna’s mother sent in a group email three days ago. She was briefed, operationally and emotionally.
Blake’s thumbs hovered, then she looked up. “It’s Saturday, Mom.”
Right, Saturday. Of course it was Saturday. That’s why she had weddings. Why did she think it was a weekday?
All Jenna’s days blurred into wedding weekends and custody hand-offs and whatever else the algorithm of divorce co-parenting produced.
She wanted to say ‘no,’ not because of the chocolate fountain or the fact that she’d be alone on a rare shared weekend, but because she missed her daughter, and the math of their final years together was stark.
Out of 365 days, Blake split her time with her dad, so that dropped it down to 184.
Then you have to factor in sleepovers with friends and activities, mood swings, homework, work work, errands, logistics, and tense, brittle silences as Jenna waited for the other shoe to drop.
The “quality time” she had left with her only daughter was slipping away faster than sand through a colander.
She’d be sixteen in a few months, and once she drove… forget about it.
Blake cleared her throat, and her eyes widened, which was universal teenage code for: well?
“Sure, peanut. Just text me when you get there.”
Blake offered a distracted, “Thanks,” already half-turned to leave, then stopped and glanced back. “Oh, and cheer is moving from Tuesdays to Wednesdays after this week.”
“It is?” This was the first Jenna was hearing about it.
“Yeah.”
“So Tuesday is the only night you’ll have free?”
“I don’t know. I guess.”
Blake was so busy with volunteering, extracurriculars, and babysitting that she rarely had a weeknight off.
She used to have Wednesdays. Now it seemed it would be Tuesdays.
Tuesday was the one night Jenna did something for herself.
It was Girl’s Night. They did Trivia Night at JT’s Roadhouse.
But as she stared at her daughter, she made an on-the-spot executive decision: this Tuesday would be her final Tuesday Trivia Night.
Not only that, for the next three years she was not going to take on any projects, any responsibilities, or any extracurricular activities, including dating.
Every spare minute she had was going to be soaking up the time she had left at home with Blake, because she’d never get this time again. Once she left for college, that was it. Game over on raising her baby girl.
“Oh, yeah.” Blake lifted her head once more. “So, then we have to move prom dress shopping to next Tuesday. I already asked Viv and Ava and they can both come.”
Of course she asked Viv and Ava and just assumed that Jenna would be free, because she always was. And she would be because she’d just decided this Tuesday would be her last Trivia Night. “Tuesday works.”
“Rayna thinks it’s so dope that you’re not threatened by Ava.”
“The more strong women in your life that love you the better.”
Blake tapped her forefingers and thumbs together in silent applause, the way the kids did it these days. “We love a secure queen.”
Jenna grinned as her daughter disappeared from her doorway, glad that’s how her daughter saw her, but not exactly feeling worthy of the crown or title.
She wasn’t gonna lie, when her daughter asked if she could ask Ava and Viv, prom dress shopping had it felt like a stab in her heart? Sure. But that was a Jenna issue, not a Blake, Ava, or Viv issue. She was mature enough not to make it about any of them.
Ava was Blake’s stepmom. Viv was Ava’s sister.
In another universe, Jenna would have resented the way her ex-husband’s new wife and her three sisters had absorbed Blake into their family so seamlessly.
But here, in Hope Falls—a town whose main export was well-adjusted blended families—it was just another thing to be grateful for in a way that sometimes felt like swallowing gravel.
Jenna had grown to appreciate Ava and her sisters. They were even friends. Although, she had to admit, it was hard seeing her ex find his soul mate. It was all she’d ever wanted, if she were being honest with herself.
When she’d moved across the country eighteen months ago, it was supposed to be a fresh start.
Jenna had been determined to model “resilience” for her daughter.
She landed on her feet, opened The Beauty Spot and built a client base.
She’d even taken up Pilates and become besties with the yoga studio owner, Tiana, another transplant who had just survived a horrific divorce.
She laughed at the right volume during girls’ nights, posted selfies, and convinced everyone—maybe even herself—that she was exactly where she wanted to be.
The Miss Independent act was, she could admit, just that: an act.
In her private moments, Jenna sometimes wondered if anyone believed her. She wondered if she believed herself.
When people tried to set her up, she told them she wasn’t interested. It was what she told herself she wanted because she knew she could never depend on anyone, especially a man. Life taught her that lesson at a very early age.
But she’d secretly signed up for dating apps. Which reminded her... She pulled out her phone and deleted Hinge, Bumble, and Match.
She sighed as she stared down at her phone.
The truth was, she wanted to have someone who took care of her, just like she took care of them.
She thought that was a fairytale, but since being in Hope Falls, those relationships were everywhere, she witnessed them on a daily basis.
Her ex-husband was currently in one. His wife’s three sisters all found their happily-ever-afters.
Hell, they had a town slogan that Viv had come up with called the Hope Falls Effect.
It was plastered on all sorts of Hope Falls swag.
Tourists had it on mugs, shirts, and hats. She had it on merch in her shop.
HOPE FALLS EFFECT?
Hope Falls:
noun (place)
1. a small, picturesque town tucked in the Sierra Nevada with an idyllic landscape backdrop of lush, deep green pine trees and dotted with colorful aspens.
The heart of the town, Main Street, is a five-block stretch of small storefront businesses, lined on each side with wooden sidewalks filled with a cast of colorful characters sure to enrich your life.
Effect:
verb (action)
1. someone who never thought they would ever fall in love or fall in love again, and suddenly they meet their soul mate
2. a person who thought that their career was over
suddenly gets a new opportunity that changes their life forever
3. someone who is running from something bad in their past or has issues with their family, they move here and the situation resolves itself
4. those who are lonely find support from the community
5. things magically fall into place in the following areas: love, career, friendship
6. saves people
7. heals people
8. is the missing puzzle piece in people’s lives that was all about finding your soul mate.
Every day she was faced with the HFE and saw it working in real-time.
But the only man she’d had any feelings for in years, feelings other than betrayal, frustration, anger, and hurt, was D, the one-night stand who had moved into her brain and lived there rent-free for an entire year and a half.
She’d been totally unable to evict him no matter how hard she’d tried.
The man had become a neural parasite, a recurring fever dream she couldn’t medicate away.
He was the only man she’d been with since the divorce.
She’d gone on about a dozen dates and hadn’t even kissed another man. She hadn’t even been tempted. He’d set the bar so high it felt like she was cheating on him, which was insane. She didn’t know his name. He didn’t know her name, he’d heard James call her Jen, but he’d never even called her that.
She’d tried to intellectualize her attachment, telling herself it was the thrill of the forbidden or the high of being seen—truly seen—for the first time probably since Asher saw her when they were fourteen. She’s not sure he ever really saw her as an adult, but he did see her as a teenager.