Chapter 30 Willa #2
All three women inhaled sharply.
“I don’t understand how a dead man is leaving you a leg of lamb,” Michaela commented. “Because you had to have murdered him after that.”
“Cyanide,” Grandma said with a knowing nod.
“I told him to get lost. Then he found my phone number, figured out my name, and sent me two text messages and a silent voicemail.”
“And a leg of lamb,” Mom added.
“Was it one of those heavy-breathing silent voicemail messages?” Michaela planted her hands on her hips. “Because that shit is not cool.”
“No, it was just silent.” I didn’t tell them about today’s message because I was still conflicted about it. And I was worried that if I thought about it too much, I’d end up calling Eng and being back in his bed by sundown.
Everyone stared at me, and I knew the question they were all afraid to ask.
“I’m not getting back together with him.” If only my voice hadn’t wavered at that announcement. “And I’m taking a break from dating, or hooking up. I want a real relationship and I need to figure out how to weed out the players and the jerks before I risk getting hurt again.”
“Here, here.” Michaela nodded solemnly.
Mom reached an arm around my shoulder and hugged me. “I’m so sorry, Willa. You deserve better. And I’m glad you’re finally insisting on getting what you want from men. Don’t compromise.”
I leaned my head against her shoulder, breathing in that familiar and soothing scent of her skin, the vanilla of her soap, and that ever-present, faint aroma of Halston perfume. “Thanks Mom.”
Michaela did eventually end up eating the leg of lamb, aside from her repeated reservations. The meat was amazing, and I made a mental note to splurge on another one at Wasserman and Lemberger and have the girls over for a celebratory dinner once I’d completed a month at my new job.
The dinner was full of our own family celebrations.
Jamie informed us that he’d scored a one-hundred-percent on his recent algebra test. Leroy told us that his wife Sarah had closed a big deal at the financial consultancy firm she worked at.
Mom let us know that Emmajean and her family would be coming up from Atlanta for Christmas this year and staying for a whole week.
Terrance and Jacob had booked a ski vacation in Jackson Hole for the second week in January.
And I told everyone about my new job.
There were shouts, applause, excited comments and questions about whether I would be able to get them good seats for upcoming Tusks’ games.
I was glowing with happiness even after we’d finished the dishes, energized by my family’s support and happiness over my success.
They’d been worried when I’d chosen this career, but a position as a team trainer for a National Hockey League team wasn’t chump change.
The owner may be paying me bargain basement wages, but this was the opportunity of a lifetime and my chance to break into the world of professional sports.
Even if the team didn’t soar into the playoffs, even if the owner decided to fold or sell after another year, I still would have this on my resume.
I wanted the team to improve. I wanted to be able to claim I had some part in that improvement.
But either way, this opportunity would change my life for the better.
Maybe I could actually save up for that trip to Spain.
After the dishes were clean and the leftovers were carefully boxed into take-home containers and stored in the fridge, we all headed outside.
I sat out the first few rounds of basketball, stuffed and needing to digest a bit before I started running all over the driveway trying to score points and block throws from my siblings.
The ancient aluminum and woven-nylon webbed folding chair squawked as I sat down beside Terrance and his husband Jacob.
My phone beeped.
It had done this just before dinner and I’d spent five minutes debating whether I should check the message or not before giving in, only to see a reminder from my doctor to schedule an annual checkup.
This time I went ahead and yanked the phone out of my pocket, expecting to see a scammer message about a fake toll balance or something from a local diner about a brunch deal.
It was from Eng.
I froze, trying to steady my breathing before opening the message.
It was a picture of some horribly burnt bacon and a soggy, overly white piece of toast.
Eng: I tried, but cooking does not come easy to me. Your fried bread, bacon, and coffee are amazing. Mine are not even edible.
My chest tightened and I couldn’t hold back a laugh.
Jacob laughed as well. He’d been eyeing my phone as I’d read the message and elbowed me gently. “That guy is downright sad. Hope he’s got money or he’s going to starve to death.”
“He’s got money. He’s a prince, so he’s never had to cook before. Hadn’t even stepped foot in his kitchen. I’m surprised he figured out how to turn the stove on.”
“Judging from the look of that bread, he still doesn’t know how to turn the stove on,” Jacob replied. “Is that supposed to be French Toast? Or did he accidentally dump a glass of milk on a slice of Wonder Bread?”
I laughed again, telling him how I’d cooked Eng breakfast weeks ago and he’d evidently been trying to recreate the meal.
“Hope he’s rich enough to hire a chef, or you’re going to find yourself cooking all the meals,” Terrance added, joining in the conversation.
“Or just eat out all the time,” Jacob added. “Door Dash is a thing, you know.”
“We’re broken up.” My chest ached again, sharp and painful.
“Does he know that?” Terrance asked. “Because in my experience guys don’t text failed breakfast food attempts to their exes.”
“I think he’s trying to resume the booty-call portion of our relationship, but I want more than that.”
Jacob whistled. “I get it, girl. Before I met your brother I had the mother of all dry spells because I’d decided I was done with casual sex. It’s not easy out there in the dating world.”
“It’s getting harder to ignore him with these texts,” I admitted. “And I’m going to see him every day at work. How long will I able to hold out?”
Jacob slung an arm around my shoulder and gave me a sideways hug. “Sometimes it takes two or three times going back to the wrong guy before you can completely convince your heart he’s the wrong guy.”
“Not that he’s saying that’s an excuse for just giving in and having sex with this ex of yours,” Terrance said. “But if it happens, if you slip up, then don’t beat yourself up too much. He’ll screw up, show his true colors again, and the next time you dump him, your heart will be a little harder.”
I sighed, not wanting to go through that, not wanting my heart to be hard even about Eng.
“You’ll find the right guy,” Terrance added. “And you’ll know it’s him because in his eyes, you’ll be a princess.”
I snort-laughed at that, knowing he was referring to my childhood when all I’d wanted was a tiara and for my prince to show up at the door with a glass slipper that only my foot would fit.
But that was a fairy tale. I’d never be Eng’s princess, and from how he’d described his future marriage, I probably didn’t want to be.
Terrance stood. “Anyone else want a beer? Or iced tea?”
Jacob and I both opted for iced tea, and my brother headed into the house.
“You know when I first met Terrance, I figured this whole thing between us would just be a one-night stand. Sex only,” Jacob told me once the door had closed behind Terrance.
“You’re not going to tell me about how my brother’s giant cock convinced you otherwise, are you?” I teased.
Jacob laughed. “Okay, maybe initially I stuck around because the sex was so good, but I quickly realized that Terrance wasn’t just some suave finance-bro.
That was the Terrance he showed the world, who he was in the clubs and at parties.
When we were alone and not smashing, I saw a very different man—one who believed family and close friends were the most precious gifts in the world.
I realized the beautiful watercolor portraits in his home had been made by him, that he had transformed a spare room into a studio and loved to spend Sunday mornings there, listening to lo-fi and splashing his soul across the canvas.
But the moment I truly fell in love? It was when he invited me to spend the night and came to bed wearing a bonnet. ”
I nearly choked, because Terrance never let anyone see him in his nighttime hair-care accessory, as opposed to me and my sisters who’d occasionally gone out to breakfast wearing ours.
“I knew hair that fabulous didn’t come without a cost,” Jacob continued with a grin, “but I’m a white guy. I never even saw a woman with a bonnet on, let alone a guy.”
It was almost impossible to keep the giggles at bay. “When he wore it short he had a doo rag, but when he decided to grow it out, he needed an actual bonnet.”
“He prefers to call it a turban.” Jacob rolled his eyes. “I told him that Methodists don’t wear turbans, and he informed me black Methodists most certainly did wear turbans, but not in public.”
“Many do wear them in public,” I contradicted. “Not outside of their close friend groups or outside their neighborhood though.”
“Ah.” Jacob chuckled and shook his head. “Must be why I haven’t seen any guys with turbans, or bonnets, or even doo rags at Morgan Stanley.”
“I can imagine not.”
“Either way.” He turned to me, his expression serious.
“You’ve seen beneath the surface of this guy you’ve been sleeping with.
And he doesn’t sound like the kind of man who lets anyone see that side of himself.
Don’t discount that. If you truly think there might be something more between you two, then give it another shot. ”
“Yeah, I’ve got nothing to lose except my heart. Which really can’t take much more shattering,” I told him.
“Hearts are more sturdy than you give them credit for. Would you rather wrap that heart in fluffy gauze and Kevlar and wonder for the rest of your life what might have been? Or take a chance and keep the glue ready just in case?”
“I’ll never be his princess,” I confessed, feeling raw and exposed.
“Are you sure? The joy about finding a prince or princess is that they show up where you least expect them, looking like you least expect them.”
For a brief fleeting second I had hope. Then I sensibly crushed the feeling and put my phone back in my coat pocket.
I wouldn’t respond. No matter how much I wanted to, I wouldn’t respond. And tomorrow when I saw Eng, I would be all business.