Chapter 20
WINNIE
The first morning I wake up at Jonah’s house, I learn that he’s incredibly grumpy in the morning. Specifically, before he has coffee. I’m an early riser because I love waking up to a still and quiet world, and basking in being alone. Jonah is clearly an early riser only because he has to be.
I get out of bed at six and find him in the kitchen staring into his mug of coffee like it holds the answers to the universe in it. He doesn’t acknowledge my presence as I look through the cabinets for a mug.
“Do you mind if I have some?” I ask, motioning at the coffee machine.
“I need all of it,” he says simply, and then takes a massive gulp from his mug.
“Okay, sure.” Guess I’ll just have tea.
I start moving around the kitchen, filling the kettle and digging around for tea bags. Jonah and I keep bumping into one another, awkwardly unsure of how to move around with the other so close.
“Sorry,” he says. “I’m not used to having anyone in the kitchen with me.”
For the first time, I realize what an imposition I am in Jonah’s life right now. Before me, he lived alone, and probably did whatever he wanted in his own home. Now, he’s sleeping in a smaller bed and running into me in the kitchen.
“Oh, no worries,” I say, moving out of the way and sitting at the island instead. I make a mental note to do something nice for him, like cook him dinner. I also make a note to learn how to cook something else aside from avocado toast.
“Here.” Jonah places a cup of coffee in front of me.
I bring it to my lips and take a sip, closing my eyes as I savor the taste. It’s delicious and immediately makes me forget all about tea. Clearly the man knows how to brew good coffee and must buy fancy-ass beans as well.
I open my mouth to tell him thank you, but find that he’s already gone, the bedroom door closing behind him. I take another sip of the coffee, and smile. Jonah is just as Candice described: rough around the edges, but kind.
That evening, Jonah and I head to his parents’ house for dinner. I spent an hour getting ready to meet them and still managed to wear the wrong thing. I’m in a turtle neck cream sweater dress and brown boots, and put makeup on for the occasion. I also did my hair.
Meanwhile, Jonah’s mom Meg is wearing a pair of cargo pants and a simple long sleeve shirt, and his dad, named Jack, is wearing coveralls.
Perched on the edge of the sofa, watching the three of them banter back and forth, I somehow stick out like a sore thumb and fade into the background all at once.
I take a sip of the beer they poured for me and try not to down the entire thing in one go. I feel like I need the liquid courage, even if I’ll regret it tomorrow. The movement catches Jack’s eye and he shoots me a smile. I can already tell that he’s going to be the easier one of them to win over.
“So, Winnie, what do you do for a living?” Jack asks, throwing me a bone.
Jonah’s mom glares at him sideways, as if she’s annoyed he’s so much as talking to me, and I swallow. Meg is a tough cookie, though I don’t begrudge her for it. I’d also be suspicious if my son got married to a woman he barely knows and didn’t even invite me to the wedding.
“Well, until I moved to Star Mountain, I did pageants,” I tell Jack.
“Winnie won Miss Alabama,” Jonah says helpfully, and I smile at him. He’s playing the proud husband well.
“And now?” Meg is clearly unimpressed by my former career.
“Now, I, uh, well I guess now I need to figure out what to do with the rest of my life,” I say honestly.
Meg doesn’t respond, and just picks up the pile of bright blue knitting beside her.
“You knit?” I ask, before I can stop myself. “What are you working on?”
She unfurls the top half of a sweater. I reach out and touch the yarn gently, rubbing it in between my fingers.
“It’s alpaca,” she says. “My friend has a herd and I spun and dyed this wool myself.”
“Amazing. I’ve always wanted to learn to knit.”
“Winnie can sew,” Jonah interjects. “Maybe you two could uh, teach each other or something.”
“Maybe,” Meg says, her knitting needles already clacking. But the look in her eye is softer than it was when I arrived and I can tell I’ve made progress with her.
“She’d knit even if she was stranded outside in a hurricane,” Jack says, looking at his wife fondly. “So Winnie, why don’t you tell us about those pageants you did. I’ll be honest, everything I know is from Miss Congeniality.”
“Well I definitely like doughnuts as much as Gracie does.”
This gets a big, booming laugh out of Jack, and a chuckle from Jonah. Meg just raises her eyebrows and keeps her eyes on the knitting.
“But honestly, parts of that film are spot on. We do have a talent round, and an evening gown round,” I add. “And I did become friends with a lot of the other girls, just like Gracie does.”
“What was your talent?” Jonah asks from beside me.
“You don’t even know that much about her?” Meg is looking right at us now, her gaze sharp once more.
Jonah rubs the space between his eyebrows, and Jack takes a few cubes of cheese off of the plate on the coffee table and shoves them into his mouth.
“Maybe we should just eat?” Jonah offers.
His mom and dad both nod, and I sigh in relief.
I didn’t really want to get into the specifics of pageants—especially not my talent.
Singing still hurts too much. It still remains the single thing I love doing most in the world and the one I’m most afraid of.
My memories of singing up on stage are tainted by the endless critique from my mom and dad after I’d finish.
I follow the Smith family into the kitchen and sit across from Jonah at the thick planked wooden table. I run my fingers over it, feeling the grain beneath them.
“Jonah and I made that together, you know,” Jack says. “When he was twelve. First piece we ever finished.” He shoots a fond look at his son, and Jonah smiles, his expression open and at ease.
Jonah actually likes his parents, and they like him too.
They all seem to genuinely enjoy spending time together.
My heart starts to ache with wanting, and with envy.
Because I have no idea what that’s like.
I glance around them at the table, and feel like I’m looking at them through a window.
Like I’m standing outside on the street in the cold, looking in on them as they sit together, happy, warm, and content.
Try as I might with my own parents, I’ve never been able to get through that glass barrier between us. Even as a kid, I was met with annoyance or derision. But I’m not going to let that stop me from getting to know Jonah’s family.
“Are you working on anything at the moment?” I ask Jack.
Jack starts telling me about the wooden canoe he’s building in his workshop in the garage, detailing the process and things that he’s had to redo. “I’m by no means a professional woodworker. It’s just something I picked up and started to do here and there.”
“That is not true.” Meg waves her fork at her husband. “He made me a folding bed tray to use when I was really sick from the chemo. I used it to balance my e-reader and tea on.”
It’s the first time Meg’s cancer has been mentioned all night, and despite the casual way she slips it into conversation, I still see Jonah tense up across from me. I want to reach out over the table and grab his hand to let him know that I’m there for him. That it will be alright—his mom survived.
His parents are talking about their plans to take the canoe out in the summer, and all of the different lakes and rivers they want to visit with it.
Jack makes a joke about how he has to paddle twice as hard to compensate for Meg’s wimpy arms, and Meg responds by rolling up her sleeve and flexing her muscles.
But despite the humor, all Jonah manages is a weak smile, and I can tell that something else is going on behind his eyes. His mom might be alive, but Jonah is clearly still carrying the weight of her illness around with him.
I just wish there was something I could do to help him with it.
When we get home from dinner, Jonah immediately heads into the small room he’s using as a bedroom and office.
I told him I was happy to sleep in there, but he wouldn’t hear of it.
He closes the door, and through it, I hear the faint sounds of an acoustic guitar.
I hover by it, wanting to knock, but unsure if he really wants to talk.
Jonah and I might be married, but the first time he met me, he called me a ditz and I thought he was an asshole. We’ve come a long way since then, but would he really want me prying and asking him how he’s doing?
I think back to the first time he told me about his mom having cancer, and to his face earlier this evening. He may not want me prying, but he clearly needs something. Maybe I can help him with this in some small way. Maybe I could distract him, or make him laugh.
I quickly gather what I need from the closet, and change my clothes. I redo my hair, and then rummage through the kitchen until I find a metal rolling pin. Then, I send Jonah a text.
Me: If you want to know what my pageant talent was, come into the living room.
After a few minutes, Jonah pokes his head out of his room and eyes me with interest. I press play on the Bluetooth speakers and music that I once heard my friend Claire use during her talent routine fills the room. Claire’s talent was baton twirling and she was genuinely really good at it.
I, on the other hand, am not. I twirl and prance around the room, tossing my makeshift baton up and spinning it around.
I drop it about half the time, and when I do, I make an exaggerated oops face and make a big show of picking it up.
I eye Jonah’s reaction, and see that he’s smiling at how ridiculous I am.
I do a little spin, and the short red skirt I’m wearing flares out around my hips.
I attempt a particularly difficult twirl with it, one that I saw Claire do many times, and the rolling pin smacks me in the face.
“Ow,” I say, rubbing my cheek. “That kind of hurt.”
Jonah, who is now sitting on the couch, is clearly trying not to laugh, and is attempting to arrange his features into a sympathetic expression. But a smile splits his cheeks anyways, and he rubs his face with his hand.
“Didn’t know my pain was that funny.” I stare at him with my hand on my hip, the other pointing the baton at him.
“It’s not, but Christ Winnie, how’d you win any pageants with that as your talent?” he manages to get out between laughs.
“I’m a bit out of practice.” I wink at him, and give the rolling pin another exaggerated flourish, trying to channel Cheryl from Miss Congeniality.
“Please, dear God, put my poor rolling pin out of its misery.” Jonah is laughing again, and I flop onto the couch next to him, happy that I’ve accomplished my goal and cheered him up.
“Don’t tell your mom this is my talent. She’s going to be tough enough to win over as it is,” I joke.
“Yeah, she’s difficult sometimes,” Jonah says, standing up and stretching. “But don’t worry too much about it. We won’t be married for long.”
And then my husband is walking away, retreating back into his room, leaving me stunned and alone on the couch. But I guess he’s right. There really isn’t any point in building relationships with Meg and Jack beyond being cordial.