Chapter 21
Twenty-One
“Hey, girl. How are you feeling?” April asks when I arrive at work as scheduled Monday morning. “You look a lot better than when you left on Friday.”
“Much better. I never get that sick. Thank you for rescheduling all my appointments. Were there any problems?” I ask, leaning my arm on the counter.
“None.” She shakes her head. “I added one small design to your schedule today and then split the rest up and booked them over the next two weeks.”
That’s a relief. Missing work on Friday was bad enough, and if I couldn’t reschedule those appointments, I would have been in even worse financial trouble.
At least I won’t have to worry about groceries anytime soon.
My cupboards and refrigerator are overflowing from Ryan’s late-night shopping spree.
I want to ask April about why Vaughan has a guy that gets stuff done, but that would lead to questions about how I know.
Maybe it’s from watching too many true-crime documentaries, but my mind immediately goes to organized crime. I laugh to myself—as if.
Ryan has texted me multiple times to check on me. I have assured him I’m fine but keep all our conversations short and sweet. How do I tell him I need space to think when he has been so good to me?
The day slips by quickly. Before I know it, my last client is heading out the door, and I’m cleaning up my station, getting ready for tomorrow.
It has mostly been a good day. All my clients arrived on time and paid in full.
Unfortunately, anytime my brain was idle, I heard Braden’s words from yesterday echoing in my ears. Does Ryan really see me as a project?
“Beck?” Logan raps his knuckles on my door. “Can I talk to you for a minute before you go?”
“Sure, what’s up?” I ask, sitting down on my stool and gesturing to an extra chair.
He steps inside and sits across from me. Rubbing the back of his neck, he says, “So, I’ve been thinking…”
“Are you okay? Did it hurt?” I mock. Logan and I get along great, but I give him a hard time as much as possible. Serves him right for hurting my best friend.
Rolling his eyes, he takes a large breath and lets it go. “Are you done?”
“Proceed,” I chuckle. “What have you been thinking about?”
“Hannah and I are getting tired of bouncing back and forth between the yellow house and her cabin. I think we want to settle down in one place and call it home.”
“Is she ready to live with you?” It’s a valid question. They’ve only gotten back together recently after spending years apart.
“I think so. We’ve talked about it. I would never ask her to move to town with me. The cabin is important to her, and she loves living on the water.”
“So, what’s the problem?” I ask, picking up a bottle of lotion I keep on my desk and applying it to my hands.
“There’s no problem; I have an idea.”
“Okay…are you going to tell me what it is?”
“Would you consider moving into my place?”
When I say nothing, he continues. “Hear me out. I bought the house only four months ago. Selling it now would totally fuck me over with mortgage penalties and taxes.”
“I’m going to stop you right there,” I interrupt him, raising my palm. “I can’t afford to rent your house. I would love to help, but the house has been a rental before. I’m sure you won’t have any trouble finding someone to live there again.”
“I’m not asking you to pay rent.” He sits back farther in his chair and spins a bracelet around his wrist.
“Be for real.” I glare at him, crossing my arms across my chest.
“Consider it a personal favour. I don’t want to rent it and deal with all that bullshit. You can live there for free, so the house doesn’t sit empty.”
“I can’t live there for free, Logan,” I mutter, rubbing my temples. “That’s crazy. You can’t afford that.”
“Let me worry about what I can afford, okay? I wouldn’t make this proposal if I couldn’t.”
“Oh, how could I forget?” I drop my hands to my lap and roll my eyes. “There’s a math genius buried under all those tattoos.”
“You think I’m a genius? Thanks, Beck,” he says with his hand held over his heart.
“I retract that. Not a genius, just insane?”
“Now you’re trying to hurt my feelings.”
He thinks for a moment before saying, “How about you help with the utilities? Electricity. I’ve already paid to heat it for the season.”
“I need some time to think about it, okay?” I ask quietly, worrying my bottom lip. This is ridiculous.
“Great!” He stands and claps his hands together. “I think this would be a fantastic arrangement for all of us. You would really be helping me out. Hannah and I have lost a lot of time, and I want us to make a home together.”
“I know. I’ll let you know soon.”
Standing, I make sure I have everything and shut off the light. We are the last two people here, and after yesterday, I appreciate his sticking around and waiting for me to lock up and walking me to the car.
I see him wave to me in the rearview mirror as I pull out of the parking lot and head home.
I love the idea of living in the yellow house. It has a fabulous history.
Logan and his brother, Jackson, grew up there. They referred to it as the yellow house as kids because it was the only yellow house on the block. The name stuck.
When their parents split and his mom left town, she kept it as income property.
Multiple students moved in and out over the years.
I don’t know who started it, but anytime someone new moved in, they brought a garden gnome to add to the collection she left behind.
There are dozens of them scattered around the yard, much to Logan’s dismay.
When he bought the house this past summer, he kept them even though they freaked him out.
He told me he read folklore online that they’re good luck and removing them causes misfortune.
He’s not taking any chances with that superstition, even though the current number of gnomes is greater than the number of people living on his street.
As I drive back to the trailer, my mind ping-pongs between Braden’s comments yesterday, what’s going on between Ryan and me, and Logan’s offer. I honestly don’t know what to do with any of it.
I should stop procrastinating in making an appointment with my new therapist, Cynthia. I’m sure she’s great, but I don’t feel like unpacking my history—again.
When I pull into the driveway, I see Aunt Maggie’s home and make the impromptu decision to go see her.
“Auntie,” I call out as I knock and open her front door.
“In the kitchen, Sunshine,” she yells back.
When I was a little girl and visited my grandparents here, I was forever being scolded. Stop running. Sit still. Don’t touch that. Be quiet. Everything was pristine and delicate. It wasn’t exactly the right environment for a busy little girl who was excited and wanted to explore.
I’m not sure how Aunt Maggie survived growing up here.
Much like me, she laughs a little too loud, enjoys music, bright colours, and collecting trinkets and things she loves.
Though my collections must be limited in my small space, Aunt Maggie’s collections flow throughout her large house.
Books, plants, crystals, and interesting rocks.
Her impressive record collection is decades old.
When I enter the kitchen, Maggie looks up from the meatballs she’s rolling and placing on a baking sheet.
“Right on time. I was going to call you and see if you wanted to come over for dinner. I’m making spaghetti,” she says, lifting her shoulder to brush the hair away from the side of her face.
“That sounds amazing.”
“So, how are you feeling? All better?” she asks as she washes her hands in soapy water and dries them on her apron.
“Yeah. Friday was the worst of it. Once my fever broke, I felt much better.” Sitting down on a stool across the island from her, I ask, “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“I’ve got everything under control. You can set the table when it’s time. How about that?”
“That’s probably the safest choice. I would hate to give us both food poisoning.” I laugh at myself.
“I’ll teach you to cook yet, my dear.” Shaking her head, she chuckles. “Would you like a glass of wine?” she asks, pouring herself a glass of red.
“No, none for me. I’ll get myself a glass of water before we eat.” Running my fingers distractedly along the petals of the fresh flowers on her counter, I ask. “So, what happened with the wedding cake? Did you have to bake and decorate a new one?”
“It was a disaster. Splat right on the floor, less than twenty-four hours from when it needed to be delivered. All’s well that ends well, though.” Leaning over the counter towards me, she says, “Well, I’ve waited long enough.”
“For?” I raise an eyebrow.
“For you to tell me about Ryan, of course.” She stands back up straight and claps her hands together.
“Well,”—I pat my fingers on my lips before dropping my hand to my lap—“there’s really not much to tell.”
“I beg to differ.” She crosses her arms and smirks. “That man is positively smitten with you.”
“Smitten?” I scrunch my nose.
“Yes, smitten. Charmed. Bewitched. Captivated. Infatuated. Take your pick.”
“Well, I don’t know about all of that, but we are becoming friends.” I pause briefly before saying, “At least I think we are.”
“And what would make you think otherwise?” She moves across the kitchen to the pot of water on the stove and salts it generously.
“Umm, it was something Braden said,” I mumble, picking at my cuticle.
“I heard there was a confrontation in the parking lot yesterday.”
“Let me guess. Brian.”
I honestly don’t know how she can stand having that man sitting at the same table in the bakery day in, day out. She has kicked him out more than once for being rude to customers, but she always allows him to come back once she thinks he’s learned his lesson.
“Brian,” she confirms. “If I had known sooner, I would have come outside and given Braden a piece of my mind.”
“It wasn’t that big of a deal, really,” I try to reassure her—and myself.
“I don’t know about that,” she huffs. “When Ryan came inside to grab your coffees, he looked like he could spit nails.”
She thinks for a moment before saying, “Braden has had a grip on your heart and your mind for far too long. Now that you are finally free from him, allow yourself to heal and move on.”
I wish it were that simple. After that display in the parking lot, I wonder if I will ever be able to truly move on.
Not wanting to talk about Braden any further, I change the subject. “There is something else I would like to get your opinion on while I’m here.”
“I’m all ears.”
“Logan asked me whether I would consider moving into the yellow house. He would like to live with Hannah but doesn’t want to rent it or leave it sitting empty.”
Her eyes dance with amusement. “Think of the gnomes. I’m sure he’s concerned that they will be lonely.”
“I’m going to tell him you said that,” I vow with a chuckle.
“So, are you going to take him up on the offer?”
“I don’t know. I’ve gotten used to living in the Airstream. It’s…cozy and mine.”
When I say nothing further, she picks up the conversation. “I think there is more to it than that. What other objections do you have?”
Sighing, I confess, “I feel like I’m behind.”
“What do you mean?” she asks gently.
“All my friends and other people my age are so much further ahead in life than I am,” I say, wiping my bangs from my face.
“I thought I would be more—I don’t know—settled by now.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful for everything I have; I just thought I would have more.
You know, a solid relationship, family, home.
I hate feeling like I’m mooching off everyone.
I was hoping to have my shit together before now. ”
“I hear what you’re saying and understand to a degree. But I don’t think you are behind; I think you had a different path with a few more detours. You will find your way in your own time. Let your friends help you. They want to, and you are truly blessed to have them.”
“See, I sound ungrateful and jealous. I swear that’s not it. I just had higher expectations of myself.”
“I think my brother and sister-in-law may have contributed to those feelings as well.” She places her hand over mine.
“Have you talked to Dad lately?”
“No, it’s been a few months. I assume you haven’t either.”
I shake my head. “He has texted me a couple of times, though.”
“What does he want?”
“I’m not sure. He said Braden has reached out to them.”
“Good Lord, that boy doesn’t give up, does he? Do you want me to talk to your dad?”
“No, leave it for now. I’ll let you know if I change my mind.”
Before limiting how much contact I had with my parents, Braden and I made the trip to Maine to visit them twice.
Both times he turned on the charm and won them over.
What I couldn’t do over the course of my life, he managed to do in a weekend.
Anytime I talked to them on the phone, the conversation would turn towards Braden and what a wonderful man he was.
About how lucky I was to have a man like him in my life.
When we broke up, and he realized I wasn’t coming back, he called them.
Of course, they took his side. I was being unreasonable.
Everything he said, they doubled down on.
In the end, setting boundaries with them proved easier than it did with Braden.
“Can I make a suggestion?” she asks gently, with sad eyes.
“Yes, of course.”
“You need to put an end to this ongoing cycle you have with Braden. Ask for help if you need it. He has used you long enough.”
Before I can say anything, she continues, “I know you still support that boy. Beyond the house and truck—you’re still giving him money.”
“I’m trying to stop. It’s just hard. He makes me feel so guilty.”
“And that, my dear, is abuse. Even though you no longer live together, he still controls your thoughts and influences your decisions. He has been your biggest detour from getting where you truly want to be.”
I let that sink in for a moment.
“So, if you are asking my opinion about moving into the yellow house, my answer is go for it. That may be the opportunity you need to help find your fresh path.”
“Thank you, Auntie. I’ll think about it.”
“Now can we please circle back and talk about you and Ryan?”
“Ugh,” I moan, leaning forward and resting my head on the counter. “I don’t know anything, but I have really enjoyed spending time with him.”
“You know the quote, ‘When someone shows you who they are, believe them’?”
“Yes, Maya Angelou.”
“I think it applies to both Braden and Ryan.” She looks at me pointedly before saying, “My advice is to choose wisely.”