6. Jillian
SIX
Jillian
The sound of a doorbell drags me out of sleep. The sunlight invading my room through the partially open curtains tells me it’s morning. Who’s ringing the bell on my only day off? The sign on the door clearly says we’re closed on Sundays. I find my slippers and drag myself downstairs, mentally cursing whoever dared to wake me up before 9:00 a.m.
The shape of a man is visible behind the glass door. He waves when he sees me. I tug at my T-shirt and fix the waist of my sweatpants. Point at the closed sign from behind the glass.
The man points at a box in his hand. “Delivery.” His voice comes clear, even with the door closed. The man waves at me and I disable the alarm and unlock the door. I rub my eyes, squinting in the light, half-asleep still. Before I can say anything, he pushes the white box in my direction.
I fold my arms. “I didn’t order anything. ”
“You’re Jillian Heart, at Scent of Love, yes?” He looks up at the storefront sign.
I blink. “Yes, that’s me.”
“It’s yours then.” He holds the box up for me to inspect.
I look at it like I’m about to disarm a bomb. He pushes the box closer, and I have no choice but to take it from him.
He nods at me and steps back. I pat my empty pockets, looking for money for a tip.
His hand comes up. “No need. Got tipped already. Good tip, too.”
I lock the door again and engage the alarm, peering into the box through the clear cutout on the top. A frenzy of colors inside. “Cupcakes? Who would send me cupcakes?”
Once upstairs, I set the box on the table and open it. A dozen cupcakes, each unique and beautifully iced with colorful flowers—roses, sunflowers, carnations, and daisies—greet me.
I find two cards tucked inside. I open the first card and recognize the logo from an expensive custom bakery in Manhattan. It lists the flavors, three of each: Vanilla, chocolate, red velvet, and carrot cake.
I open the envelope for the second card and find a masculine handwritten note inside.
Dear Jillian,
I didn’t mean to offend or cause you pain.
Please accept these cupcakes as a peace offering. I will check myself into the hospital and have my foot surgically removed from my mouth.
Elliott Foster
Is this guy for real? Who does this? I laugh at the last line. He couldn’t have known about CJ. A dull ache settles in my chest as the smile leaves my face. I replay the scene in my head, wincing at the way I reacted. A prickle of shame creeps up my neck, and I wish I could rewind, smooth over my jagged edges. My throat tightens, guilt, my old friend, wrapping around it like a noose.
Daisy squawks and saves me from my own thoughts. I remove the cover from her cage and open the door so she can leave it if she wants. She flies around the room once and lands on the back of a chair. Tilts her head while checking the contents of the box.
I give her a scratch behind her ear, the way she likes. “Look, aren’t they pretty?”
“Pretty,” she repeats.
“What should I do, Daisy?” Now I’m the one who owes him an apology. Not that I’ll have the chance. I doubt he’ll ever order from me again.
Daisy squawks again. Looks at me like I’m an idiot. “Silly girl.” She throws the phrase I often say to her back at me.
Jamie comes into the kitchen, rubbing sleep off his eyes as I text Sheila to confirm the time to meet her this morning.
I smile. “Hey, bud. Are you hungry?”
He nods, eyes barely open.
“Did you brush your teeth?”
Another unenthusiastic nod.
“Would you like to have cupcakes for breakfast?”
He stops, eyes wide now, sleepiness gone.
“Come on, you can have first pick. We have vanilla, chocolate, and?—”
He rushes to the table and pulls a chair back so fast it nearly topples over.
“Easy there, buddy.” I move the box closer to him.
Jamie kneels on the chair, half of his small body over the table. He points at a vanilla sunflower cupcake.
“Good choice. Sit back and I’ll get you a plate and some milk.”
He raises his hand, two fingers up.
“Yes, you can have two, but eat one first, and if you’re still hungry, you can have another. We can save the rest for later. Guess what? I talked to Sheila and we’re meeting her at the park in an hour.”
His head bounces up, like a puppy reacting to the word park. Jamie graces me with a rare smile, and my heart melts.
Jesus. My eyes sting and I turn my back to him, then open a drawer so I have an excuse to look away. It’s been two years without CJ. Two years without Jamie’s voice, without the sound of his laugh, and only a flitting smile here and there to keep me going.
The walk to the park is under ten minutes. We meet Sheila at our usual bench in front of the playground. Jamie gives her a quick hug and is off to the slides. I sit next to her in silence as we watch him play for a few minutes.
All around us, there are families with children. Chirping birds and giggling kids mask the low hum of cars. The balmy weather attracts more people than usual. I tug at the hem of my T-shirt and pull my legs up, crossing them on the bench. I sigh. “You know that guy I joke about? Mr. Monday?”
“The dude who always sends the Dear John flowers on Mondays? What about him?”
I take my eyes away from Jamie for a second so I can catch her reaction. “He came into the shop Friday, late afternoon.”
Her eyes widen, and she turns her whole body toward me. “Shut up!”
“Yep.”
“Mr. Monday? The guy we’ve been trying to figure out what’s up with all the flowers and what he looks like for like five years?”
“That’s the one.” I track Jamie as he climbs the monkey bars.
“What does he look like? He’s hot, right?” Her voice lowers to a conspiratorial tone. “He has to be hot with all those women he’s sending flowers to.”
I open my mouth to answer, but her hands come up. “No, don’t tell me. If he’s a rich, old, bald guy, I’ll be heartbroken.”
I roll my lips in to hold back a grin. My shoulders tense with the effort.
Sheila looks me up and down. “You making fun of me? Enjoy torturing me?” She follows the accusation with a light smack on my knee.
I give in and smile. “He’s very attractive, a big flirt, and a bit cocky.”
Sheila rolls her eyes. “The hot ones usually are.”
“What? A flirt or cocky?”
“Both. They know they look good, and there are a ton of desperate women out there. Present company excluded, of course.”
“Of course.” I wave at Jamie as he runs off to the swings.
“What brought him into the shop?”
“I have no idea. He always orders the flowers online. But he looked like he was jogging, so maybe he was in the neighborhood.”
She rubs her hands together. “So what does he look like?”
“Tall, really tall. Over six feet. Six-two or three, maybe. Brown hair, gray-blue eyes, slim but muscular. A killer smile. A player, for sure.” A player. Not someone I can trust. And yet he made me aware of how much I miss intimacy and being touched, wanted, desired. There was interest in his eyes. Now, looking back, I’m sure of it.
Sheila waggles her eyebrows at me. “Tell me more.”
“Oh, Daisy took a liking to him. She flew off her perch and called him pretty.”
Sheila laughs. “Daisy does have good taste in men. She always likes the pretty ones.”
“Yeah, he’s pretty all right, but then he opened his mouth and ruined everything.” Everything? Wait. What am I even saying? There was nothing to ruin.
Sheila opens a pack of gum and offers it to me. “What do you mean?”
I take one. “First, he thought Jamie was my little brother and not my son.”
“I can see that happening. You look much younger than thirty, especially without makeup and wearing the stuff you wear for work.”
I look down at myself. Leggings, sneakers, T-shirt. Normal clothing. “What’s wrong with my clothes? ”
She waves off my question. “Nothing, go on.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “When I explained Jamie was my son, he assumed I was single because Jamie’s father left us.”
Sheila tilts her head. Not unlike Daisy. “What did he say?”
That moment flashes in my mind and pokes at an old wound. I repeat what he said, word for word, surprising myself that I remember it verbatim.
Sheila’s hands go to her chest. “Aww.”
That’s not the reaction I expected. “Aww?”
“Yes, that’s kind of romantic.”
“Romantic?” I can’t believe she’s saying that.
“Yes, like in a romance book, touch her and die kind of way.” Her hands come up to appease me. “Think about it. He didn’t know what happened to CJ. He thought you were a single mother because your boyfriend left. That’s a much more likely scenario than you being a widow. Especially when you don’t look your age.”
“Ugh. I guess if you look at it like that.” Now I feel bad. I was kind of mean to him. My shoulders drop. “He was so apologetic, too. And then this morning . . .”
“What happened this morning?” Her voice is eager.
“He sent me a dozen apology cupcakes. Cupcakes that look like flowers. They were almost too pretty to eat. And delicious too.”
“He sent you cupcakes? I want cupcakes. I want someone to piss me off and apologize with cupcakes. Why is that not a thing? I’ve never heard of that. We need to make apology cupcakes a thing.” Her hands move as she speaks .
I laugh. “Beats the heck out of sending apology flowers, but then I’d be out of business.”
Jamie comes running to me and throws himself at my lap. “Hey, bud. What’s up?”
He makes the ASL sign for water.
“Thirsty?” I give him a water bottle, and he drinks half of it and runs off again.
Sheila runs a hand through her new haircut. The short and layered pixie cut makes her look like a curvier Halle Berry. “So . . . any cupcakes left?”
“Yes, we have eight left. Jamie and I had two each for breakfast.”
She nudges me. “I’m so coming over today.”
“There was a card too. Handwritten, sincere, not the sterile messages he usually sends to his dates.” Being the recipient of that kind of brush-off must suck. I was lucky that I met CJ at such a young age and never had to deal with rejection.
“What did it say?” Her interest grows.
“Oh, you must read it for yourself. I’ll show you when we go back. It was funny.”
“I like a guy with a sense of humor.”
I track Jamie as he runs past us again. “I do too.”
“Yeah”—her voice goes dreamy, and she spreads her hands apart—“I’d love to meet a guy with a sense of humor and a big, huge, enormous, massive, humongous, co?—”
I cover her mouth with my hand, laughing, and look around. “Shh, there are kids here.”
“What?” She pulls away. “I was going to say colossal heart.” Her hands make the big gesture.
I’m laughing so hard now, tears wet the corners of my eyes and I nearly fall over. When my gaze meets her face, she’s smiling at me, her eyes bright.
My laughter dies and I’m reminded of all the reasons I should not laugh.
Sheila’s face hardens. “Stop it.” Her voice is low and sharp. “You’re allowed to laugh. You’re allowed to go on and live and be happy. Jamie needs you to be a whole person. Not a shadow of who you used to be. CJ would be so mad if he saw you like this.”
I swallow the knot taking root in my throat. “Not now, Sheila.”
“Yes, now.” She hisses. “You can’t keep going on like this. It’s not good for you or Jamie or anyone else. It wasn’t your fault. It was an accident. Like thousands of others that happen every day.”
“But if I hadn’t called him, if I had waited five minutes, if I had gone to the store myself?—”
“If, if, if. You can play that if game in your head a million times, but it won’t change the outcome. It was not your fault or CJ’s fault or Jamie’s fault for wanting to FaceTime you. The only person who could have prevented it from happening was the asshole texting and driving. Having your child talk to you on the phone while CJ drove didn’t cause the accident.”
My shoulders slump under the weight of my never-ending guilt. “I know that.” My voice cracks.
She sighs. “It’s been two years. It’s time to move on, to be happy again.”
I’m shaking my head before she even finishes speaking. “Grief doesn’t have an expiration date. ”
Her face softens. “No, it doesn’t. But life does. Don’t let yours expire before you have a chance to live.”
My heartbeats echo in the hollow space CJ left inside me. And behind the echo, the sound of his voice reaches to me. I’m the one who died, but you are a ghost of yourself. You have to let me go.
We sit in silence for several minutes, my eyes trained on Jamie. He seems happy, running from one spot to the next. But if one were to pay careful attention to him, they’d notice he never talks or engages with other children. When another kid talks to him, he runs off to play with something else. And that’s on me too.
I allowed it to happen. I allowed my grief over losing CJ to spill over Jamie’s life. My happy, carefree little boy, who talked nonstop, went silent the day of the accident. All the therapist and hospital visits, hours upon hours of research online, tens of thousands of dollars spent on doctors, experts, exhausting every possibility, all with the same response. There’s nothing physically wrong with him. He’ll talk when he’s ready. But what if the reason he’s not ready is me?
Jamie peers at me from behind a slide. His smile turns into a frown. Damn it. So much of what I feel affects him. I force my lips to spread into a smile. Let the love for my son fill me and push away the darkness hiding in the corners of my soul until I don’t have to force the smile any longer. My eyes mist with gratitude for my boy. A part of CJ will always be with me. I could have lost them both. I’m sure I would not have survived it.
Jamie runs to me and throws his skinny arms around my neck. I pick him up and settle him on my lap. Hug him tight, inhale his sweet scent of sugar and sun-warmed skin. I run my fingers through his too long hair and kiss the top of his head, then whisper in his ear, “I love you, baby. I’ll love you always, forever and a day.”
Jamie squeezes me harder and then pulls back, his gaze searching my face. I smile, and it comes easier to me now. Satisfied, he hops off my lap and runs back to the playground.
Enough. Enough of feeling sorry for myself. I sigh. “You’re right. I need to move on. Jamie needs me to move on. I have held us both hostage to my pain. For Jamie’s sake, I need to let CJ go.” I’ve lived in denial for far too long. I’ve been selfish in my sorrow. Not careful enough. Jamie follows my lead, learns from me.
Sheila grabs my hand between hers. “You need to move on, for both your sakes.”
“I miss him so much.” I choke back the urge to cry. Pull my sunglasses from the top of my head and hide my eyes.
She squeezes my hand. “I can’t ever know what you feel, how hard it hit you when CJ died. I miss him and he was just my friend’s husband, not someone I’d known as long as you have.”
I scrunch my eyes closed, but a tear escapes anyway. “He was always there. My entire life it was CJ and Jill against the world. And now . . .”
“You have to learn to be Jill against the world. You have to learn to be a whole person again. For Jamie, yes. But for yourself first.”
I nod. “I know. I know you’re right and what you’re saying makes sense, but why do I feel so guilty then? It feels like I’m being selfish.”
Sheila shifts to face me. “Loving yourself, looking after yourself, is never selfish.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know . . .”
She puts a hand up. “Do you want Jamie to be happy?”
Her question is so ridiculous I’m momentarily rendered speechless. “Of course!”
“Do you want Jamie to love himself?”
No hesitation now. “Yes!”
“Would you ever tell him loving himself is selfish?”
I press my lips together as Jamie climbs a mock rock wall. “No, never.” My voice comes out in a whisper.
Sheila waits for me to look at her again.
“Then extend yourself the same kindness. Give yourself grace. You are no less deserving of being happy than Jamie is.”
I try to speak, but she puts a hand up again.
“And before you go on with an excuse that it’s different with your child—don’t. Kids learn what they live and see, not what you tell them. They learn by example. If you want Jamie to be happy, then you have to start with yourself. Show him you both deserve to be happy.”
My chin trembles and I gnaw the inside of my cheek. “You’re right. I know you’re right. But I don’t know how to do that. How to be happy when I’m so alone.”
She puts an arm around me and tugs me into her. “You’re not alone. You have me and Jamie and your family, even if your mom is a pain in the butt. I know we are not a replacement for CJ, but we all love you.”
“I love you too.” The words come out garbled with sniffs.
“Maybe it’s time to make room in your heart for someone else, Jill. ”
My body tenses.
She squeezes me harder. “Now, now. I’m not saying you should go on Tinder and announce you’re DTF or anything like that.”
I frown. “DTF?”
“Girl, you’re so out of touch. DTF. Down to fuck.”
This has me giggling through the tears. “Definitely not on Tinder and not down to fuck.” I murmur the last three words.
Sheila lets go of me. “Allow yourself to be open to the idea that there’s someone else for you out there. Promise me that. Promise me you’ll be open and kick guilt in the ass next time it shows up.”
I nod. I don’t want to be a ghost of myself anymore. But how can there be someone else like CJ? How could I ever keep from comparing him—this future man, whoever he is—to CJ? Meeting someone, dating someone, wouldn’t be fair to them. They will always lose.