Chapter 14 #2
She shakes her head. “I’ve never been so hurt in my life. Terry’s daddy was going on about ‘that gold digger and her child,’ and saying he’d cut Terry off if he didn’t get rid of me. I waited for Terry to defend us. Instead, he just said, ‘I’m handling it, Dad.’ Like he agreed with him.”
Whoa.
Terry looks ashamed, as he should. “I didn’t agree with my dad. I was looking for another job. Didn’t want him to know I was planning to quit so he wouldn’t cut us off before I had a way to take care of my family.”
“I could have gone to work,” she says. “You should’ve stood up for us.”
“I know. And I’ll never stop apologizing for it.”
She leans across the table and kisses him. “Good man.”
Their kiss is more than a peck, and I almost feel like I shouldn’t be watching these two 70 year-olds kiss, but I have to know what happened.
“My dad wasn’t all bad,” Terry says. “But I made that excuse for too long.”
Oliver’s fingers drum against the table once. I take a drink of my cocoa, but it’s still too hot, and it burns the whole way down.
“So what happened?” I ask.
“I barged into the room and told him if he didn’t want us, we’d find where we were wanted.” Pat’s matter-of-fact tone makes the words hit harder. “I packed a bag for me and our daughter, and all the while, he told me I didn’t understand, that he was looking for another job so he could quit.”
“Did you believe him?” I ask.
“Funny enough, I sorta did. But I couldn’t stay, not after what I’d heard, not with how mad I was. I took our daughter and drove home to my parents in Las Vegas. Two thousand miles away.”
“In a 1972 Buick that barely ran,” Terry adds with a grimace. “I should’ve stopped her.”
“You couldn’t have stopped me with a roadblock,” Pat says firmly. “I was hurt and betrayed. Even if he was telling the truth, we weren’t gonna last with him treating me like I was some delicate flower who couldn’t be trusted with the hard stuff.”
My ankle gives a guilty pulse.
“I figured she’d come back,” Terry admits, looking sheepish. “Thought she’d realize I was just trying to be a good husband. But after three weeks, I couldn’t risk it anymore.”
“You waited three weeks?” Oliver asks.
“Took me a week of being angry to admit I made a mistake, a week of calling her and her not returning my calls. And then another week of trying to figure out how to make it right. I didn’t care about the money or my relationship with my dad anymore.
Problem was, Pat took our only car with her when she left. ”
Oliver chuckles. “Please tell me you stole one of your dad’s trucks.”
Terry grins. “Close. I got him to put me on a route out to Oregon. Drove to Vegas, instead.”
“One day, Terry shows up at my parents’ house at six in the morning,” Pat says, a smug look on her face, “and he looked like he’d been dragged there by wolves. Hadn’t showered or even slept. Had three weeks’ growth on his face, and believe me: my sweet husband does not grow facial hair well.”
Terry frowns. “Not sure that was necessary.”
Pat winks at him.
“What did you say when you saw each other?” I ask.
Terry clears his throat. “I asked to borrow her phone. Called my dad and told him where I was. And then I said I quit. Told him I could either leave the truck in Vegas and never see him again or he could accept my family and I’d drive the truck home for him.
But either way, he would never talk about my family like that again, or he’d never see the truck or us. ”
“Wow,” Oliver says. I look at him to see he’s already looking at me.
Terry shrugs. “After I hung up, I told Pat I was scared I wouldn’t be enough for her all on my own.
I knew she didn’t marry me because I was a Morrison, but I was so scared of not being enough for her that I became a puppet, instead.
I thought if I could fix everything myself, maybe she’d never know what a mess I was. Maybe I’d earn her love.”
A heavy silence follows this. Oliver stares at his empty mug.
“What did you say, Pat?” I ask.
“I told him I fell in love with the man and the mess. I didn’t need a provider, I needed a partner. Someone to trust me enough to let me see him—choose him— every day, mess and all. You can’t earn something that’s already yours.”
“And it worked?” Oliver asks, his voice strained.
“After a few weeks of groveling,” he says, exchanging a look with his wife. “But we drove home together eventually, and we’ve been driving together ever since.”
“It’s been a bumpy road,” Pat says, “but you don’t get married and then sit the hard roads out. You don’t get married for the destination, you get married for the journey.”
Terry kisses her hand. “And you gotta choose to take that journey together every day.”
“Now we take this drive every year when we visit my parents in Vegas,” Pat says. “Same route I took when I left, same route Terry and I took home together. It’s our reconciliation anniversary.”
The silence stretches between the four of us. Outside, the wind continues to moan, throwing snow around the cozy cafe, yet it makes this small space feel all the warmer. Like we’re in a snow globe.
Finally, I make eye contact with Oliver. It feels like we’re sharing a moment, though I don’t know what or why. “Thanks for telling us your story,” I say.
“Hopefully it helps you two sort out yours,” Pat says, and I don’t even have to suppress a laugh. “Enjoy the road. The journey is the destination.”
We all stand up, like her words were some kind of signal. Oliver busses the table before I can, and even though it’s probably for the Morrison’s sake, I appreciate it.
I appreciate it so much, it makes my eyes sting.
“You know, you two should probably kiss and make up about now,” Pat says.
Oliver and I share the most awkward chuckle in history.
“I don’t think we’re there yet,” Oliver says gently.
Pat’s eyebrows could hit the ceiling. “Son, did you listen to a single word we said? Apologize to your lovely girlfriend and fix this now, or we won’t get Maggie back there to drive you back to the hotel.”
They’re going to have someone drive us back to the hotel?
My sore ankle screams for Oliver to kiss me already. I give him a challenging look instead of a pleading one, though. There’s no way Oliver will kiss me if he thinks I want it.
Even if his expression has never seemed so curious, so open, so—
Scared.
Terry slaps a hand on Oliver’s back, prompting him. Oliver’s brows shoot up, like he’s trying to tell me something.
I don’t care what he’s trying to tell me. Doesn’t matter if his eyes are saying, “Don’t read into this, Sprinkles,” or “Try not to enjoy yourself, Tinsel.” If kissing Oliver Fletcher means I don’t have to walk a mile back to the hotel, I’ll make out with him on the spot.
So when he leans in, I tip my head up.
And when he pulls a “Hitch,” keeping his face a half an inch from mine, I raise up on one foot and meet him where he is.
My lips meet his softly. I expect him to pull away fast, but he holds his mouth gently against mine.
And it is not the worst thing.
Not even close.
In fact, when his lips part and wrap around mine, deepening the kiss, it’s a lot better than “worst.”
The closeness, the touch, the feeling of his breath on my face, the tickle of his stubble, all of it is more physical connection than I’ve had with anyone in longer than I can remember.
It’s like water to a dying plant, and I can practically feel every drop rushing through my body, restoring dry, wilted limbs, giving me new life.
I’ve held back from people for so long, it should be pathetic how much this fake kiss means to me.
But then he puts one hand to my cheek, cupping it carefully—maybe even possessively—and nothing about this feels pathetic.
It feels incredible.
It feels real.
I’m so used to being the one who gives, who listens, who helps, who makes everything easier for everyone else.
I forgot what it feels like to be on the receiving end of gentleness.
Oliver’s careful touch reminds me that I’ve been starving myself of the very thing I freely give to others.
I don’t know whether this kiss will keep nourishing what was withering inside me …
or leave me dying for something I’ll never get to have.
“Now that’s more like it,” Terry says with a chuckle.
Oliver and I break apart, but he keeps his hand on my cheek for a heartbeat longer and his eyes locked on mine for one beat longer than that. I didn’t realize I’d grabbed his hoodie, but I blush, letting go of the soft material and smoothing it.
I hear Terry say, “They’ll be just fine,” and it makes me pull my eyes from Oliver’s and smile at the couple.
“Well, Maggie,” Pat says, “think your snowplow can get these two back to the hotel?”
Maggie smiles. “Let’s go.”
As they lead us back outside into the cold, Oliver puts his hand on my lower back, keeping up appearances. And as much as it hurts to hide my limp, hiding how good this feels hurts even worse.