Chapter 15
My therapist refused to tell me what she thought I should do.
Over the last few weeks, we’d spent a lot of time talking about what I like to do outside of work, but not so much time talking about what I should do next.
“Do you want to go back?”
“I don’t know. Do you think I should?” I’d told her all about what my life was like the last six years, and how by the end, I couldn’t enjoy my time outside of work, either. I thought maybe she’d say something like: Of course you shouldn’t go back to a place that made you feel that way.
But instead she said, “Do you miss it?”
Sometimes I wished she would opine more during these sessions. It seemed like her method was to ask me open-ended questions, let me fill the time talking, and then she would give me some things to think about at the end.
As I considered her question, images of my office, my computer, my phone, and my closet full of business casual attire flashed through my mind.
Emotionally, I didn’t miss it at all. But then I thought about the deal announcements, the accolades, my enviable salary, people’s impressed reactions when I told them I was a Peters I have to use it.
Don’t I?
“I don’t know,” I said again.
“You mentioned you like writing. Is that something you’ve ever considered doing as more than a hobby?”
Honestly, it already felt like more than a hobby.
Lately I’d been writing for at least a couple of hours per day.
My first short story was complete. It ended up being longer than I expected, and I’d decided to turn it into at least a novella, maybe a novel.
I read writers’ blogs every day and looked for new prompts to spark new ideas.
I had several partially written stories on my Google Drive now.
“Not seriously, no.” Why was it so hard for me to be open with her on this topic? She gave me the perfect opportunity.
“Maybe you should think about it. Before next week I want you to imagine doing something else and consider whether it would bring more or less satisfaction than your old job.”
On Wednesday it rained buckets, and I met Luna at the bus with an umbrella.
She didn’t have any homework since her school year was ending in two days, so we had over two hours to kill before Luke got home.
When we got inside, I took stock of the walk-in pantry and found a bag of chocolate chips, flour, sugar, and vanilla extract.
Plus, they had butter and eggs in the fridge.
“Want to bake some chocolate chip cookies?” I called to Luna in the living room. I assumed she had flopped down on the couch and was about to turn on the TV, which was also fine with me, but I was endeavoring to not be the world’s most boring babysitter.
“Yeah!” Before I turned around with all the ingredients cradled in my arms, she’d appeared in the pantry. “Do you know how to make those?”
I handed her the bag of chocolate chips. “Pro tip: there’s a recipe on the back of the chocolate chip bag.”
“Cool!”
Within the hour, Luna and I were insulated from the raw chill of the rainy afternoon by the rising temperature in the kitchen and the smell of sugar and butter and melting chocolate.
“Be careful, don’t burn your mouth,” I said as she took a small test bite of the hot cookie that threatened to fall apart in her hands.
She gave me a thumbs up before taking an even bigger bite.
I’d held her off for all of five minutes after the first batch came out of the oven.
A little smile lifted her cheeks while she chewed.
I stepped around her and grabbed one for myself.
Luna told me about her friends in her second-grade class between bites. I tried to keep track of all the names, but I could use a notebook. I was glad she was sharing things with me, even if I was the one to ask. She was becoming comfortable with me, I could tell. The cookies likely helped.
Luna was reaching for her second cookie when we heard the front door open. I raised my eyebrows at her and she took a huge bite of the gooey treat in her hand, her eyes wide. As Luke rounded the corner into the kitchen, she shoved the other half in her mouth, as if to hide the evidence.
“Hey! You’re home.” I said.
At the same time he said, “It smells like baked goods.”
“Your nose is correct,” I said.
“Oh my goodness.” Luke laughed as he took in the disaster that used to be his kitchen—streaks of flour and dirty mixing bowls and measuring cups covering every surface. Then he smirked at Luna, who still couldn’t speak because of the whole cookie she’d crammed into her mouth.
“We were about to start cleaning up. Last batch is in the oven,” I said.
“How’d they come out?” He walked over to the stove and picked one up from the baking rack.
“Great!” Luna said, finally able to speak.
Luke took a bite and made eye contact with me, his brown eyes amused as he rubbed his pointer finger on the side of his nose.
“Flour?” I wiped my hands on both sides of my nose.
“Yup.” He looked back at Luna. “So, whose idea was this, you or Val?”
“Val!”
I shrugged. “She didn’t have any homework.”
“Look, the recipe is on the back of the chocolate chip bag!” Luna showed Luke the bag like it was a grand revelation, and I felt an odd sense of pride.
Something so simple sparked so much enthusiasm.
We had fun making the dough, too, going through each instruction together.
Luna was definitely ready to learn fractions.
“Nice. That’s convenient.”
“You must bake sometimes. You have all the ingredients,” I said.
“Usually just when Nan is here. She makes banana bread,” Luna said.
Luke lifted his palms, a diffident look on his handsome face. “I buy baked goods at Morning Glory.”
The timer on the oven sounded. Luke grabbed the oven mitts off the counter and turned around to take the last tray of cookies out.
“They’re really good. Nice job.” He held his hand up for a high five, which Luna completed with a clap.
“Alright, Luna. Should we start cleaning up?” I asked.
She sighed. “I guess we have to.”
I gathered the mixing bowls and measuring cups and walked over to the sink.
Luke placed his hand on my shoulder as I passed him, leaned into me, and said, “Thank you” in a low voice. I could tell he was referring to my baking with Luna, not just cleaning up.
I smiled over my shoulder at him.
Between the three of us, the cleanup took too little time.
Two days later I searched the pantry for a cookie to have while I read my book and waited for Luke and Luna to get home, but those little cookie monsters already ate most of them. Noticing there were only two left, I shut the pantry door and headed back to the couch empty-handed.
Since it was Luna’s last day of school there was no bus service, and even though I offered to pick her up, she insisted it had to be Luke because “everyone else was getting picked up by their parents.” So he agreed, even though he’d need to go back to work for a couple of hours afterward.
Four chapters of the most recent Edward Phelps romance novel later, they threw open the front door.
Before I could say hi, Luna ran upstairs with her backpack still on. The loud crack of a door slamming shut echoed down the stairs.
I glanced at Luke. His fists clenched and his jaw ticked. I could only imagine they’d had many a discussion about door slamming.
He sunk down onto the other side of the couch, dropping his elbows to his knees and his face into his hands and sighing loudly. “I was late. She’s pissed.”
“Ah.” Everything made sense now.
“She was one of the last kids there. She said it was so embarrassing and then proceeded to not speak to me the whole way home.” He groaned.
Man, he’s really beating himself up for this minor transgression. I ignored my urge to scooch closer to him. “Luke, you’re only twenty minutes later than I thought you’d be. It’s not like you forgot about her.”
He turned to face me, a smirk breaking on his frustrated face. “Do people really forget their kids places?”
“I don’t know. Maybe not so much anymore, but my parents have all kinds of stories about being forgotten places when they were growing up.”
Luke chuckled before leaning his head all the way back on the couch and closing his eyes. I’d probably find how distraught he was about this amusing if it wasn’t so genuine. It must be really hard being a single parent with a full-time job.
“I got stuck in this new client meeting. If it was a client I knew better, I would’ve told them I had to leave.
But it’s a big project and I didn’t want to be rude…
I wish I just said something.” I assumed most of his work was at the actual construction sites; he so often came home with dust on his boots, a hard hat tucked under his arm.
He must help with some of the back-office stuff, too.
“I get it. No need to explain to me. Sometimes it’s impossible to find an opportunity to extract yourself when you’re in the middle of it.”
He nodded but didn’t seem to feel any better.
“I have an idea,” I said.
Luke opened one eye and cocked his eyebrow.
“Why don’t you take her for dinner or ice cream or something when you get home?”
“I like it.” He stood, walked over to the stairs, and took them up two at a time.
After a knock Luke’s voice said, “Hey Luns, wanna go to Edgartown Pizza for dinner when I get back?”
A door creaked open. “Can we get bacon pizza?”
“Yes, we can get bacon pizza.”
A pause. “Okay.” The door closed again, but the change in her tone was noticeable.
After Luke got back downstairs I said, “I think she’s still a little too young to fully grasp the concept of bribery. Use that to your advantage.” I grinned conspiratorially.
“You’re brilliant.”
He looked so relieved, I felt it in my own chest. A chuckle escaped my lips. “You’ll be forgiven in no time.”
“Thank you,” he said, picking up his keys and heading for the door. He always said it so sincerely, like I was doing something much more remarkable than hanging out with his generally delightful eight-year-old and doling out arbitrary parenting ideas.
As soon as Luke’s car pulled out of the driveway, I went upstairs, knocked on Luna’s door, and convinced her to come down and watch a Disney movie with me until her dad got home.
Not long after our movie ended Luke came back in the front door and Luna popped off the couch. He didn’t bother taking off his shoes or moving beyond the entryway. He knew they’d be turning right around to go get pizza, as promised.
“Is Val coming to pizza with us?” Luna asked her dad.
“She can if she wants.” Luke looked at me, expression open. He hadn’t asked me to stay for dinner since last week when I declined because I had a date.
When Luna turned around and said, “Please!” I was grateful I didn’t have a date with Max tonight.
We slid into the worn, red leather booth at the casual pizza parlor. It was a cacophony of order-ready bell chimes and conversations. All the tables were full when we walked in, but a booth opened up just before our pizzas (one bacon, one veggie) were done.
I snagged two pieces of veggie. Luke leaned back in the booth, extending his legs. Several people nodded at him or said hello as they passed our table. Luna happily munched on her bacon pizza, all traces of her earlier attitude gone.
I took a bite of my pizza crust, then a bite of the slice, then one more bite of the crust, from the other side. It tasted like my childhood. They’ve been making the pies the exact same way since I was Luna’s age. It was my grandfather’s favorite pizza place on the island.
“Do you eat the crust first?” Luke asked me, one of his dark brown eyebrows raised.
I lifted one shoulder, unashamed. “It makes the topping and cheese to crust ratio better for the last few bites.”
He scrunched up his face, said, “Let’s test this theory,” and took a comically large bite out of his own crust.
Luna and I made eye contact and chuckled as Luke struggled to keep his mouth closed while he chewed.
A few minutes later my phone vibrated loudly on the little wooden table, and then again thirty seconds later. Then again, three times, after that.
My hand shot out to grab it. “Sorry, group message.”
Luke grimaced. “I wouldn’t wish that many group texts on my worst enemy,” he said, dead serious, a look of utter disgust on his face. Not even a hint of sarcasm.
I giggled. He clearly meant it to his core, and for some reason, I found it hilarious. His expression remained disgusted as my phone continued to vibrate in my hand. Uncontrollable laughter bubbled out of me.
“I honestly don’t understand why you’re laughing. I’m being completely serious.” His expression matched his stony tone.
I clutched my stomach. “I know you’re serious. That’s why it’s so funny.” His face finally cracked. He turned to Luna, a glimmer of a smirk on his mouth. “I don’t get her,” he pointed his thumb at me. But Luna was also laughing. “Oh no, Luns not you, too.”
“Look, see.” I held up my phone, showing them both a picture of baby Mina trying to lift a Wiffle ball bat.
“It’s pictures of my friends’ baby. And all the notifications are people liking the photos and saying how cute she is.
” I turned the screen back and smiled at my phone as I swiped through the photos.
When I looked back up Luke was staring at me. “What?”
“Nothing,” he rasped. He shook his head, like he was trying to expel a thought.
Luke turned to Luna. “I remember when you were that little. I can’t believe you’re going to be in third grade next year, Luns. You’re getting so old,” he teased her.
“You’re old!” she insisted.
“It’s true. I am so old.” He rolled his eyes and Luna giggled.
I shook my head, cheeks tugging my mouth into a smile, as they’d done frequently throughout this meal—pizza off of paper plates at the local pizzeria.
When we were done, Luke insisted I take some slices home for Mimi.
I laughed at myself on the car ride home for the little crush I’d had on Luke after I first met him at Morning Glory Farm. Little did I know he’d end up being my employer.
I couldn’t help but wonder—again—what happened with Luna’s mom. I’d never ask. He’d have to volunteer that information at some point, or it would remain a mystery. It occurred to me as I turned onto Mimi’s road that I could do some sleuthing on social media, but I didn’t want to.
I wanted him to tell me himself. If he ever chose to share that type of thing with me.