18. BEAUTIFUL THINGS
18
BEAUTIFUL THINGS
BENSON BOONE
JACK
Strawberry Ice cream.
Poop shoes.
Dinner O & W.
It’s been three days since I’ve been myself, but the only notes Jackson wrote are tiny blips and disjointed thoughts that leave me stuttering throughout the day. He’s remembering.
Strawberry ice cream . I ate that with Dinah last weekend. Poop shoes , thanks to my jaunt around the pasture with Molly.
Another one on the bathroom mirror: I remember the kiss .
Not a surprise. Dinah mentioned that Jackson had memories of my first kiss with her in the store.
And then, tied to Chipper’s collar: She loved the door.
She did love the door. When I brought Dinah home the night of her birthday and showed her the cat door I had installed in our joint hallway while we were gone for the day, she’d broken into tears again. Ever since, I’ve had a hard time remembering whether it was me or him who had the idea for the gift in the first place.
Jackson’s emerging memories are beginning to make my own harder to ignore. And I know that’s what they are. Memories.
A date to the farmers market.
The whispers of a kiss with glowing green light around us.
The faint memory of my hands pulling pale pink rose blossoms from a bucket, knowing they’ll put a smile on Dinah’s face.
A conversation with Owen I never had. Winnie’s laugh as she sings at the karaoke bar I haven’t been to in years. Washing dishes at my folks’ place after Monday lunch.
I don’t know what it all means or whether it will make a difference in the long run, but something is changing.
Owen and Winnie show up to my loft right after I close the shop for the day, and just as Chipper’s bell—because the woman I’m completely gone for insisted he needed one—jingles at my door.
“What in the world is he wearing?” Owen snatches the cat up, pulling the note in his collar out and pushing through the door. When Winnie grabs the message from his outstretched hand before I can, I huff and shut the door behind them.
“Come on in, y’all.” I stomp to the kitchen where dinner is on the stove, give it a stir, and open up the fridge. “Want a beer?” I ask Owen.
“Nah. Can’t in season.”
“Right.” Owen is extremely strict about his diet during baseball season, which is why I made a low calorie, high protein hash for dinner. “I knew that,” I say a little more defensively than necessary.
“I’ll take one,” Winnie chimes, unfolding my note.
“Give me that note and I'll give you a beer,” I hold out a bottle by the neck, giving it a little shake to really entice her.
“Oh… so it is a note?”
I growl and begin to prowl around the island.
“Nah.” She bats her eyes, and I’m ready to die for the note pressed between her fingers. “I think I want this more.”
I place the bottles gingerly on the counter then make my move, chasing her around the island like it's a baseball diamond, before she can get her crazy-big bird eyes on it. But if anything gives Winnie supernatural little sister energy, it’s a challenge. She leaps over a chair, walks across the couch, unfolding as she goes, and reads pieces as I chase her around the loft.
“ Thanks for the ”—she hurdles the recliner, and I lunge for her but miss—“ sweet good morning .”
Winnie faux gags and then erupts in laughter, setting my nerves on fire. “ Hoping for — Ow, Jack!” She swats my shoulder when I manage to grab her by the arm and slide her onto the hardwood floor, dragging her through the hallway and back to the living room by her wrist. She continues reading my personal business aloud, and I’m pretty sure I saw Owen with his phone out, likely sending a video on the group chat with our parents.
See if I ever offer her one of my beers again.
“ Hoping for a good night too. Meet me in the hallway at 11. ” Winnie doubles over in a laughing fit, rolling into a ball while I wrestle the paper from her hands. “Jack!” She laughs, fighting me to the death. “You are a cad! Meeting women in darkened hallways at… oof. Ewwwww!”
When I give her a wet willy, she squirms, and I’m finally successful—not taking the time to look at the way Dinah always ends her notes with a tiny pretzel heart, an echo of the flowers I draw for her on my notes. Instead, I stuff the precious cargo in my jeans pocket and give Winnie the noogie she deserves before returning to my forgotten drink on the counter, swiftly punching Owen on my way.
“So, that seems to be going really well,” Owen says, leaning against the counter while I return to our dinner prep. “We liked havin’ y’all at lunch again this week. She’s a sweetheart, bro. Mom and Dad are obsessed.”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure Gram has a mental mood board for your wedding flowers.” Winnie grins, tucking her hair behind her ear. “She’s totally a fan.”
I scoop hash onto plates, dolling it out to them, and hum a response in the affirmative. Honestly, I love that as I fall harder for Dinah, my family does too. She fits. Accepting the unknowns with grace and understanding, and learning the different parts of me when it’s sometimes felt like others didn’t take the time to try.
I wish I knew a bit more about Monday lunch and the days and times I’m not myself, but the sting of not knowing isn’t as prevalent today. It’s hard to be bitter when day to day life right now is so very, very sweet.
I’ve had coffee with my dad, invited Maloy and Nate over for video games one night, and both parts of me are, strangely, starting to feel unified. Mentally and emotionally, I feel healthier, though the migraines are still present. Even now, my head throbs with a dull ache that I pray won’t stop me from seeing my girl for that good night she mentioned. But when I pray, it isn’t for my old life to return. It's for contentment with the one ahead of me, whatever it may look like, and that Dinah is a part of it.
“You’re, um…” Owen shifts in his seat and glances at Winnie uncomfortably. “You’re treating her well, right? Being”—he clears his throat—“safe?”
“Grosssssss!” Winnie drops her fork dramatically. “Guys, don’t have the birds and the bees chat while I’m here. I’ve already seen Jack make out with two different girls… I won’t survive this.”
“Stop,” I groan, leaning back in my seat. “We aren’t… Dinah and I are waiting.” I’m not embarrassed about the decision, but I don’t exactly like discussing this with my siblings.
“Whew.” Winnie waves the proverbial sweat from her brow. “I was afraid I was gonna have to stop eating, and this is delicious, Jacky.”
Owen gives me a nod of approval, and it sends warmth through me. The silent exchange, though small, feels like us. Like the unspoken language my brother and I have always shared.
“I saw the doctor today,” I announce, throwing back a bite.
“Oh, with the psych ward? You still crazy?” Winnie asks, putting a huge bite into her mouth.
I throw a potato chunk at her, hitting her straight in the nose. “No, you loon. I saw neuro today. I’ve been having…” I hesitate. I don’t want to get their hopes up, but when I remember the way Dinah was so brave on her birthday, sharing a piece of herself with Emory she’d kept locked away for so long, I want to be courageous, too. “I’m having memories. So is Jackson.”
Both Winnie and Owen freeze like cartoons, forks paused just before their open, slack-jawed mouths, eyes widened in shock.
“What?”
“Are you serious?!”
“What does it mean?”
“How are the migraines…? Do Mom and Dad know…? What about Dinah?”
They parade a series of questions that I anticipated but don’t have the answers to, so I simply shrug and take a bite, letting them work out their excitement on their own for a minute.
“I’m not sure of anything. They’ll run tests and do all the normal scans and everything in the next few weeks. I’ll meet with the neuropsych for it all and maybe try some new cognitive therapy the doc mentioned. He’s… hopeful.” I rest my hands on the table, and on either side of me, without pause, both my siblings place their hands on top of mine. “I just… I guess I wanted you both to know. I feel good. I don’t remember much, but I feel like…”
“Are you scared?” Winnie asks when I can't quite get my thoughts together.
I shake my head and turn my hand over, giving hers a squeeze. “No, Win. I’m not scared at all. I feel like no matter what happens, even if I can’t be the old me—if the doctors never figure out what’s going on—maybe I can still choose to be something new.
“And what I do know is that I wouldn’t have gotten to this place if it weren’t for the two of you. Covering Petals. Taking care of me when I’m sick. Dealing with my moods… Giving me time. I… Thank you.”
They both sniffle into their dinners but don’t last long before abandoning the meal altogether, coming at me from either side, and pressing me into a group hug. I may not have all of Jackson’s memories, nor he mine, but I know that this moment is the best I—J. Jones—have felt in three years.
“I know, Mr. Cotten. You're a very lucky man. Mrs. Cotten will love the tulips.” No matter how many flowers I throw at this man weekly, I cannot get him to stop yapping about his personal life.
“You never know when you’ll need a bouquet, son.” He raises his brows and nods his head towards the tent across the street where Dinah’s set up for the Saturday morning farmer’s market. “Keep that in mind when ya eventually mess things up. A woman wants flowers not donuts.”
I want to tell him he doesn’t know my woman. Dinah very well might have a diary entry hidden away with poems dedicated to those raspberry lemon custard-filled donuts. She raved about them for an hour last week, so I immediately placed an order for a dozen with Mrs. Holmes at The Gravy Boat . Though I didn’t personally get to see her reaction, Jackson’s notes on the matter lead me to believe that my girl may like a bouquet now and then, but she’s far more easily swayed by sugar and carbs.
Dressed in her distressed, black overalls, a white top, and the pink tennis shoes I bought her, I can hardly keep my eyes off her. Dinah is spring itself—daisies blooming, bright and cheery. Her hair, tucked behind her ears, falls in fluid waves like a field of wildflowers. A strawberry patch, ripe and fragrant. Everything in me wants to stalk across the street right now and tangle my hands in it.
When she looks up, catching my blatant gawking, she answers back with a flirtatious gaze of her own and laughter in her eyes. But something in this exchange hits differently. A thought blooms, igniting my heart.
I’m in love with her.
Overcome with wonder, my breath staggers out of step with my heart beat. I love Dinah Knot. It’s so simple and so profound, and I don’t quite know how I ended up here so quickly, but here I am.
She says something to one of her employees, but doesn’t take her eyes off mine as she begins a tantalizing walk across the street. I think Mr. Cotten may finally have taken pity on me and left, because it’s only Dinah and me on what was, only a moment before, a bustling Main Street. I hear and see and feel only her. In the breeze. In the warmth against my skin. In the excitement building, pressing up against my sternum.
The spring sun shines down on her, and I’m a sunflower, aligning every part of myself in her direction, just hoping to catch some of her light. All my focus and every ounce of energy narrows in on the woman sauntering towards me.
But then something in my memory shifts, and Dinah’s suddenly standing in a crowded room.
She’s not wearing pink shoes but mint, and her gorgeous strawberry blond hair is curled perfectly—the way she styles it when she’s trying to make a good impression. The cropped Pretzel Queen t-shirt and pale jeans she’s wearing hug her curves like they were made solely for her. But there’s a radiance about her, a captivating sweetness that’s even more compelling… I want—no, need—to be closer to her. The single-minded necessity to pursue and know her, consumes all my senses.
Unwittingly, I take a step towards her, but get dragged back to my senses when a familiar throat clears at my side. I’m brought back to reality but know, in my mind’s eye, I just saw Dinah for the first time… again.
In real time, she’s almost made it to my tent when, beside me, the throat clears a second time.
“Hi. Jackson?”
Reluctantly, I turn away from Dinah and shake my head so the woman greeting me knows I’m not who she wishes I was.
“Oh, um… Hi, Jack.”
“Hi, Stacy.” I sigh and feel Dinah’s hand brush across my back then circle my waist in a hug. I gather her under my arm, but she quickly realizes I’m strung tighter than usual.
Looking up at me, she furrows her brow, searching for something—reading me like one of her romances. “Hey, I was hopin’ you could slip away for lunch, but if you’re not feelin—”
“Hi.” Stacy reaches a hand out to shake Dinah’s, while her other hand remains tucked in her husband’s. “I’m Stacy. I’m an old friend of Jackson’s.”
I know I’ve misstepped when Dinah’s usually sunny disposition darkens for a moment. She hesitates, but stretches out her hand. “Hi. I’m Dinah Knot. I own the bakery next door.”
“Oh that’s amazing. I tried one of your Cinnamon Twists earlier. They’re to die for.” Stacy’s voice lifts an octave with excitement in the way that I know means she’s sincere. I hold Dinah tighter. “I can’t believe you got Jackson out here this morning… at the farmer’s market. Talking to people?! Total miracle.”
I know she doesn’t mean to come off as pretentious, but as Stacy alludes to our familiarity it rubs me the wrong way. She turns to her husband, Liam, whom I’ve met only once when they hand-delivered their wedding invitation to my shop and asked that I create their floral arrangements. Thankfully, my boisterous sister was working that day and laughed in Stacy’s face with a “ Bless your heart” before sending her on her way.
“When we were together, I could never get him to leave the shop or his apartment. He was just cooped up there all the time. But now look at him. You look great, Jackson.”
“Jack,” Dinah corrects her and tightens her grip on my waist. “His name is Jack. And I had nothing to do with him signing up for the market. I mean, he’s not here under duress. He’s a grown man with a business and a life. He even dressed himself today, too, if you can believe it.”
She’s lying through her teeth, but it makes me want to kiss her all the same.
Dinah begged me to have a tent at the farmer’s market this season. She offered me Bacon Pretzel Bites and my pick of our next romance read if I put Petals in the spring market, arguing it would be good for me to stretch my peopling muscles again while reminding everyone in town I sell flowers not bike repairs. She then all but begged me to wear a shirt she bought with a Joe Dirt quote written across it: “ Life’s a garden. Dig it. ”
And because I’m no fool, I’m wearing it today.
“Now, Polly. Bribes were offered.” I smirk down at her. When I flip my hat backwards, because I know it drives her crazy and her eyes heat up, I almost forget we have an audience.
She winks and licks her lips. “And accepted.”
We’re totally heading to the storage closet after this.
Now that we’re here, I can’t help but think Dinah was more than right to encourage me to set up shop. I had hesitations about being around so many people at once, but standing in front of a woman I once wanted to spend my life with, I’m reminded of how different I am today than I was three years ago, when Stacy left. Or three months ago, when I met Dinah for the first time. And three minutes ago, when I was under the illusion that I wasn’t completely in love with the woman now smiling at me like I’m someone to be proud of. Like she doesn’t care what I call myself as long as we’re together.
This version of me may not have been enough for Stacy, but Dinah chooses me again and again. I let my hand graze down her spine and rest on the small of her back, pulling her closer when I wrap it around her waist.
“It’s good to see y’all,” I tell Stacy and Liam and almost mean it. “Grab a premade bouquet from the table.” I hold it out for them and offer a curt nod. “Here. It’s on the house. Dinah and I have somewhere to be.”
I throw a sign on the table that says I’ll be back in ten minutes, grab my girl by the hand, and lead her towards the Petal’s storage closet. Flicking on the light and closing the door behind us, I trap her against a shelf and cup her warm cheeks in my hands. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Stacy.”
“It’s okay, Jack.” She wraps her arms around me, rubbing soothing strokes up and down my back. “I knew she existed. And that you’d talk about it—about her—when you were ready. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
She knew, and again, gave me time to work it out. My feelings somehow grow larger. Overwhelming. They’re filling up every empty nook and cranny in this closet—and my life and brain and heart. I’m buzzing.
“I…” My fingers sink into her hair exactly like I’d been daydreaming about before the temporary interruption from my past. I let my thumbs drag along her jaw. Her lips. The spot under her ear that I know sends chills across her skin, studying every trembling reaction I garner. I’m breathless, ready to lay every mistake, worry, hope, and prayer out for this woman.
“She didn’t want me. Couldn’t handle what I was like after the accident and… It doesn’t matter now because…” I kiss the side of Dinah’s perfectly pink mouth and linger there. “You may have known about her, Dinah, but I… I forgot she existed.”
She snorts and kisses my lips, but I won’t be silenced. Not when I want to tell her exactly what she’s doing to me. She leans in again, pressing her sly grin against my mouth and soft curves against my body when the door flies open and we rip apart like we’re teens playing seven minutes in heaven.
Gram stands in the doorway, arms crossed and Charlie—absolutely delighted with the show—at her side. “Will you ever learn, Jacky? Stop kissin’ women in the storage closet.”