18. 18
Annabelle
Now
T he past weeks have been a blur of activity. Between mothering Grace and Claire, working full-time, grabbing lunch with Hayes, holiday shopping, packing, and staging the house, I’ve had little downtime.
Today has been another grueling day, and it’s not even over yet. I’m exhausted.
Claire is her happy-go-lucky, loving little self. The hugs she gave me when I got home from work helped recharge my drained battery a bit.
However, Grace is every bit her usual exasperating and precocious self.
I keep a close eye on her because she’s always testing boundaries and pushing limits.
Kyle and I used to joke we were going to plant a huge cactus underneath her bedroom window so she wouldn’t be able to sneak out when she’s in high school.
“Remember to set an extra place at the table,” I tell Grace. “Aunt Laura is coming over for dinner.”
“Got it, Mom,” she replies, grabbing four plates from the cabinet.
We always used to set the table for four, but sometime over the past sixteen months, we’ve gotten accustomed to setting only three places.
Shaking my head, as if to clear my mind, I ask, “What green vegetable would you like with dinner? I can make green beans or broccoli. Have a preference?”
“I’ll have grapes, Mom,” Grace replies as she sets the forks atop the napkins.
I look up from the stove as I stir the simmering spaghetti sauce. “Grapes aren’t vegetables.”
Never having been a vegetable lover, Grace huffs, crossing her little arms and scowling. Then, her face brightens, and she asks, “Did you buy red or green grapes?”
“Green. Why?”
She shrugs with feigned nonchalance. “Just curious. Are they seedless?”
“Yes,” I reply, drawing out the word. I sense she’s laying a trap for me, but it’s like she’s playing chess and I’m playing checkers. My sluggish brain can’t keep up.
The doorbell rings.
A Cheshire-cat smile crosses Grace’s face. “Cool. I’ll have grapes as my vegetable then.”
“Grace!” I holler as she scampers out of the kitchen to open the door for Laura. “Come back here, young lady.”
Grace reenters the kitchen, looking proud, with Laura behind her.
“What, Mom? You said I had to eat a green veggie. You bought green seedless grapes. Fruits need to contain seeds to be considered fruit; otherwise, it’s a vegetable.
So, since you bought seedless green grapes, I think they should count as my green veggie.
Oh, and I’ll have some strawberries as my fruit, Mom. ”
Checkmate.
“Fine.” I begrudgingly concede defeat to my seven-year-old daughter. “But you’ll also eat some steamed broccoli.”
“Fine,” she mimics me as she flounces out the back door to go play in the backyard with her little sister.
“Oh, and Grace, technically, strawberries aren’t fruits, they’re flowers,” I yell after her.
“You know she didn’t exactly lose that argument, right?” Laura smirks as she opens the fridge and pulls out a couple of cans of La Croix, handing me one.
“Believe me, I’m well aware.”
“But nice save by exacting your authority with that strawberry knowledge nugget.”
“Shut up, Laura,” I mumble, smothering a smile.
With a slight frown, Laura asks, “Are you getting enough sleep? You look exhausted. No offense,” she adds quickly.
“I’ve been staying up late most nights.”
“Packing?”
“Some, but mostly talking to Hayes,” I admit, the corners of my lips curving up.
“Better to be spending your sleepless nights talking to Hayes than ruminating about Kyle.”
Tapping my can of sparkling water to hers, I agree. “Cheers to that.”
With her hip leaned against the countertop, Laura watches me finish the sauce. “What have you told Hayes about Kyle?”
“Just the basics. ”
“Not everything?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“You don’t have to keep his secrets, Annabelle.”
This is a conversation I’ve had many times with my therapist over the past twelve months, but it’s the first time Laura has pushed me about the topic.
A topic I’m not ready to discuss.
“I know,” I sigh. “I’m burning the candle at both ends right now, Laura. At some point, I might tell him, but… not yet. Not until I know that we have something serious.”
After saying goodbye to Laura and tucking the girls into their beds, I take a deep, cleansing breath. Then, I pour myself a glass of wine, my reward for making it through another day. I sip it as I change into pajamas so I can call Hayes from the comfort of my bed.
Almost every evening, we talk after I get the girls to sleep. Sometimes we only talk for a few minutes, but sometimes we stay on the phone for hours. As much as I love seeing Hayes at lunch, I also love our nightly phone calls, too.
Remembering my earlier conversation with Grace, I can’t help but chuckle.
She makes me want to pull my hair out sometimes, but God, she’s such a little dynamo.
Hayes will get a kick out of hearing about her latest story.
Although I’m hesitant to introduce him to my daughters, I can’t help but talk about them often.
I place a FaceTime call and wait for him to answer.
“Damn, Jeopardy. You’re a sight for sore eyes. ”
“Thanks, Hayes.” I relax into the multitude of pillows propped against my headboard and pull the bedcovers up around my waist. “Every time you call me Yankee or Jeopardy, I feel like I need to come up with a good nickname for you.” Squinting my eyes, I contemplate some options. “Maybe…”
“Can’t force a good nickname, Annabelle. It needs to arise naturally.”
“I guess I could stick with Cowboy.”
He shakes his head. “Too generic.”
“Fine. I’ll keep thinking then.”
“Man, tonight you look like you did when we first met. Hair pulled up, no makeup, and wearing an old band T-shirt.” He smiles at me, letting me know he likes what he sees. “Brings back good memories.”
"Great memories."
As always, I marvel at how attractive Hayes is.
In this lighting, his blue-gray eyes look more prominent, surrounded by his long, onyx lashes.
A chestnut curl lays across his forehead, and I wish I could reach through the phone to brush it off his face.
As if reading my mind, he runs his fingers through his hair, flexing his bicep as he does.
My mouth runs dry, but my panties grow wet.
Good God, that bulging bicep is freaking sexy.
Fiddling with the sheet, I change the subject to get my mind out of the gutter. “My real estate agent called. The house goes on the market tomorrow.”
“You ready for that?”
Chewing my lower lip, I bounce my head around in a half-nod, half-shake.
“I think so. I’ve cleared out all the clutter and gotten all the unnecessary stuff packed up or donated.
” Moving seems like such an unbearably hard, monumental thing to do.
“Before we move, I’ll have to pack up Kyle’s office, and I’m dreading it. ”
The room that has had an emotional stranglehold on me since he died.
I’ve been putting off this daunting task for over a year, but I can’t avoid it any longer.
After he died, I tried cleaning it out once, but I gave up before I finished the job.
I closed the door to his office, and I’ve barely stepped inside since.
Just straightening up and dusting the space to get it ready for showings was hard enough.
What scares me most is what I might find.
More proof of the affair. His affair partner’s identity.
Evidence of the seriousness and duration of their relationship.
Not knowing—living with all the unanswered questions about Kyle’s betrayal—has been its own kind of agony, but over the past year, I’ve come to terms with not having all the answers.
I don’t have the whole picture, but I know enough.
More than enough, honestly. Discovering any new information now could rip open wounds I’ve worked hard to heal.
“Oof. That’s rough. I’m available if you need any help.” The care and concern etched on Hayes’ face make me feel less alone. “But I understand if that’s something you need to conquer on your own, Annabelle.”
“Conquer, huh? Makes me sound like I’m going to war or something. Certainly, makes me sound stronger than I am.”
“Annabelle, you were forged in the fire. You’re the strongest fucking person I know.”
I blink, holding back the tears welling in my eyes. Preparing to sell my house has been more emotional than I expected, and Hayes’ kind words unlock feelings I’ve been trying to keep buried.
Somehow, Hayes always knows what to say when I need to hear it the most.