41. Roderick
RODERICK
Let it be said that Audrey makes terrific fried chicken. It’s crispy and juicy and even a little spicy. I’m in heaven as I sit elbow to elbow with my man, eating this terrific food.
And I’m pleased to report that during the blessing, Kieran did hold hands with me under the table. I never thought this day would come. But here we are.
Kieran was a little quiet on the ride to Tuxbury. He hates attention. And tonight is the first time he’s seen all his extended family at once. But now he’s communing with his dinner and spreading butter on a piece of cornbread that I made for tonight’s feast.
There have been several not-so-subtle glances toward this end of the table, but—lucky for Kieran—it’s not us they’re looking at. In a bizarre twist of events, we’re not tonight’s biggest story. Not even close.
Grandpa Shipley invited a guest for dinner. A woman . Her name is Lydia. She’s seventy-nine years old, and she’s eating her fried chicken daintily with a knife and fork.
The Shipleys are mesmerized. Every one of them.
“So, Lydia,” Ruth says sweetly. “You’re new in town?”
“I was new in town when FDR was president,” she says. “But my family traveled extensively. My father was in the army.”
“We met in high school!” Grandpa says, reaching for another piece of my cornbread. “I thought I might ask her to marry me, but she moved away again. If she hadn’t, you all might be different people.”
Lydia sets down her fork and turns to him. “That is a creepy thing to say to your lovely family. And you don’t even know if I would have said yes.”
Grandpa blinks. “I’m sorry, Miss Lydia. You’re right. I shouldn’t presume.”
Every Shipley jaw hits the floor.
He doesn’t notice, though. He uses his knife to swipe a pat of butter, which he applies in a thick layer to the cornbread. “Roderick, this is fabulous stuff. You can come back any time.”
“Thank you, sir. Good to know.”
“Do you make this for my grandson?” he asks, giving me a pointed look.
“Well, I make lots of things. But I don’t think I’ve made the cornbread at home.”
“Hrmf,” he says through a bite. “Well, you should. It’s delicious. And that boy works hard.”
“Indeed,” I agree, although I feel as if I’ve been cast in the role of a fifties housewife, somehow.
“He doesn’t know how to cook,” Grandpa continues.
“Actually—” I start to argue.
“If he did know how to cook, I’d’ve been invited for dinner already at your new house in Colebury.”
My jaw snaps shut.
Kieran gives me an amused glance. “You know, Grandpa, we were just thinking you should come over for dinner sometime. Weren’t we?” He nudges my knee under the table.
“Oh, definitely,” I say, nudging his back.
“Do you drink?” Grandpa asks me next. This is starting to sound like a job interview.
“Occasionally,” I admit.
“Do you play poker?”
“Ease up, Grandpa,” Kieran says. “Roddy was invited here to dinner. Not to an interrogation.”
“I know how to play poker,” I answer anyway. “But I’m not very good at it.”
“Excellent!” Grandpa says. “See, I knew you were good company. We’ll have a little game later. Low stakes. Nothing to worry about.”
“Yessir.”
Kieran just shakes his head and serves himself another spoonful of potato salad.
“That wasn’t so bad, right?” I ask on the way home.
“A walk in the park for me,” Kieran says as he accelerates on the highway. “You got all the hard questions.”
“They weren’t so hard. Your grandpa is amusing.”
“That he is.”
“Can I play some loud music on your phone?”
“Knock yourself out.”
I put on an old Phish album and rock out. I’m so into it that I don’t notice the car parked in front of our house, or the man sitting on the front porch in the January chill. Not until Kieran points him out, anyway. “Who is that?”
“Oh, fuck,” I whisper as the man stands up and crosses the yard toward us. “That’s B-Brian,” I stammer, fumbling to turn the music off.
I cannot believe my ex is here in Vermont. He must have some other business in Colebury, Vermont. Because the farthest he ever went out of his way for me before was to swing through a drive-thru Starbucks on his way home from the studio.
Kieran freezes with one foot out of the truck, and one foot still in. “Roddy? That guy looks like Brian Aimsley .”
“Yep.” If Kieran gets all starstruck I will vomit up all the good food I ate tonight. I get out of the truck, feeling wary.
“You’re Brian Aimsley,” Kieran says, walking slowly toward my ex. His voice is hushed with surprise.
“Yeah.” My ex gives him a big smile. “You’re a fan?”
My heart takes a dive toward my shoes.
Kieran stops, and his fingers tease the scruff on his chin. “You know, I was a fan. Until about two seconds ago. You’re the guy who cheated on Roddy? You’re the guy who froze Roddy’s credit cards?”
Brian’s smile fades. “Well, I was angry. That was just an overreaction.”
“Uh-huh,” Kieran says in that low-key way of his. “Did you know your overreaction had Roddy sleeping in his car ? In the snow.”
To his credit, Brian looks mildly horrified. “Baby?” he says, turning in my direction. “I’m so sorry. I know we fought. But I’m here now. I came out for you. I can finally be your man.”
“No you can’t,” I say firmly. “I have a better one now. One who listens when I talk.”
Now Brian looks nervous. “I know you’re angry. But I had a lot I needed to work out for myself. And I did that hard work, and now I’m here for you. I brought your guitar and everything.”
“I have a better one of those, too.”
It’s rare to see Brian looking so unsure of himself, and I hate myself for enjoying it. “Look,” he tries. “I got a hotel room. How about we go talk?”
“How about you get off our lawn?” Kieran argues. “Before I call the cops.” He takes a couple of menacing strides in Brian’s direction. “You’re not welcome here. Roddy doesn’t need any more of your gaslighting.” He turns to me. “Wait, is there anything you need from this guy?”
I start to shake my head, but then I realize there is. “Well, just one thing.”
“What’s that?” Brian asks, looking hopeful.
“An unqualified apology.” I’ve been waiting for that for a long time.
“Oh.” He frowns. “Okay. Here goes. Look, I’m sorry?—”
“That’ll do,” Kieran says. “Won’t it?”
“Yeah,” I say with a laugh. “That covers it.”
“But baby ?—”
And now Kieran has had enough. “Get gone,” he says, taking another step.
Brian takes one back. “I’m at the High Hill Inn!” he says, moving back a few more steps as Kieran continues to herd him from our yard. “Text me!”
Yeah, sure. I’ve already deleted his number.
Kieran doesn’t lay a finger on Brian, he just keeps stalking toward him. Brian would never risk his guitar hands to fight for me, so he climbs into his rental car and slams the door.
The taillights glow red as he drives away.
“Jesus,” Kieran says, after he walks back to me. He covers his eyes with his hands. “I lost it a little there. I hope you didn’t really want a lengthy apology, because I might have ruined that.”
“No problemo,” I say. “Good riddance.”
“I’m glad he left so easily. I don’t want to go to jail for punching a country music star. But the man really had it coming.”
“Yeah, I’m really glad you won’t be going to jail,” I say, even though the evilest part of me would really like to see Brian get punched in the kisser. “Jail is bad bad bad.”
“What a tool .”
“Yup,” I agree.
“ Brian Aimsley . No wonder you don’t like country music. You never said a word.”
“It’s a matter of principle. And I have principles, even if he doesn’t.”
“I almost can’t wrap my head around it.” Kieran shakes his head. “Must have been an interesting couple of years. Bet you saw some pretty glam things.”
“Sometimes the glam was fun,” I admit, reaching out for his hand. “But you spoil me more than he ever did.”
“How? We still don’t even have a dining room table or chairs.”
“You spoil me in the ways that really matter.” I take Kieran’s other hand in mine.
I’ve got both of them now. Our street is quiet, because it’s nine thirty on a weeknight in January.
The stars are bright overhead, and the moon is rising to light up the snow.
I feel like I’m a million miles from Nashville, and I love it here.
“You spoil me by being real. I used to daydream that I’d find a guy who looks at me the way you’re looking at me right now. ”
“How’s that?” he asks, humor in his brown eyes.
“Like you’re all in, no matter what happens.”
“I am. That’s true.” He leans down and kisses my cheekbone. “Come inside and I’ll show you how all in I can be.” Then he kisses me for real.
We’re still going at it a minute later when Zara opens her front door. “Get a room, you two!” She cackles and shuts the door.
It’s good advice. So we do.