1. a year and a half later
FARRAH
It’s a chilly day for April, even here in Virginia. Albeit, not as chilly as it is in Ohio where I’m from. But it also likely seemed cooler there because of the icy way my ex-husband treated me.
Who knows, maybe Ohio springs were quite balmy, but my memory is tainted.
I rub my hands together in front of the hot stove in my brother’s mansion, where I’ve been staying since my divorce. He and his wife have the fanciest kitchen I’ve ever had the pleasure of baking in, and the two of them can barely cook pancakes. What a waste.
Turning the oven light on, I check the round, vanilla cake tiers that have been baking for thirty minutes. They’re slightly browned around the edges, but I’ll give them two more minutes.
Setting the timer on the oven once more, I walk around the kitchen, catching a glimpse of myself in the large mirror in the dining room. All this baking has my butt looking a little rounder than it was over a year ago when I moved here to be my niece’s nanny and lick my post-divorce wounds. I could be self-conscious about the added ten pounds or so, but instead I feel good about it. I’m happier now, enjoying food with family and friends. No shame in that.
The smell of vanilla cake fills the kitchen and dining room, causing my stomach to growl. I glance at the cupcakes on the counter. I have two extras I don’t need for the retirement party this weekend, which means a yummy snack for me and my niece, Nella.
I quickly add some frosting to the tops, just in time for the oven timer to ding.
Rushing toward the oven, I grab some potholders and slide the cakes out and onto cooling racks…perfectly browned on top. I smile to myself, knowing they’ll taste amazing for the people who booked Melarrah Events for Saturday.
The doorbell rings and my brother’s large dog, Rose, runs toward it, nails clacking against the tile. I know that’s the Mel in Melarrah…my friend Mel, who happens to be married to my big brother’s assistant captain on the D.C. Eagles NHL team. Our company name was her brainchild, a combination of Melanie and Farrah. She’s really into mixing names together—hence her and her husband’s couple name, Wesanie .
Tossing the potholders, I rush through the dining room and large foyer to get the door, giving Rose a few pats before opening it. Melanie grins at me, her light brown hair blown out and styled as always and her giant blue eyes giving her that precious princess appearance. Mel is carrying a leather satchel that I have no doubt is perfectly organized with the retirement party plans inside. She’s even wearing dark jeans and a blazer, like we’re running a real business—which I suppose we are. It just hasn’t taken off yet. Either way, it’s making me rethink my black leggings and ice-blue long sleeve tee.
“Farrah!” Mel says, pulling me into a big hug. I hug her back tightly, appreciative of the hockey wives inviting me into their fold. Back in Ohio, I left my group of friends behind, and they let me go a little easier than I thought they would, which hurts. I still talk to my friend, Megan, occasionally, but no one else. And even Megan barely seems to have time for me anymore.
But here in D.C. I have a whole new family. The only downside is I can never, ever get away from hockey…and a certain hockey goalie who always sneaks his way into my head.
“I just took the cakes out,” I tell her, ushering her inside and closing the door.
She groans. “It smells amazing.”
Rose licks her hand and wags her shaggy tail until Mel looks down and pets her.
In the kitchen, Mel settles on a bar stool at the marble island. She quickly begins unpacking and arranging the papers and schedules we need to finalize.
The baby monitor lights up and I hear my niece softly calling for me. I glance at the video monitor and see her standing in her crib and grinning. She looks right at the camera and waves. Silly goose.
“Well, looks like Nella is joining our meeting.”
Mel chuckles. “I was hoping I’d get to play with her.”
I run up the stairs, wondering if I’ll have a chance to sit down at all today. But I wouldn’t give this job up for anything. Hanging out with an adorable toddler every day? Yes, please.
I open the door, and Nella claps her chubby hands together. “Auntie!”
I pick her up and snuggle her, rubbing my cheek against her soft, red curls. She leans into me and gently pats my back. “Oh, Nells. You’re the sweetest thing.”
“I’m hungwy,” she says, her words colored with a lisp.
“It’s your lucky day, because I have a cupcake for you.”
“Mmm,” she hums.
We head down the large staircase and back into the kitchen where Mel is already standing and holding her arms out for my niece. I squeeze her a little tighter, wanting to soak up the ten minutes of post-nap snuggles she gives. It’s the only time each day she’s not too busy for cuddling.
“Come on,” Mel teases. “Give her over. You get the snuggles every day.”
Reluctantly, I hand her to Mel.
Nella is the first child for my brother’s group of close-knit teammates. West—Mel’s husband—Colby, and Mitch, are all married, but no babies yet.
Bruce McBride is the only one in their friend group who’s single. At least, I think he’s still single. The thought of him dating someone makes my stomach twist in a knot. Which it has no right to do since he’s not mine. And he never will be. No matter how hard he tries. If life has taught me anything, it’s that men don’t know what they want. And they definitely don’t want women who can’t bear them children. Although maybe it’s not fair to lump all men into the same category… I mean, my brother adopted Amber’s baby as his own.
Why can’t more men be like that?
I glance at my niece, snuggled into Mel’s arms and an overwhelming feeling of longing and loneliness passes over me, that familiar dark cloud I’ve learned to live with. I don’t know if I’ll ever have children, but I know if I do, it won’t come easily. And the last thing I need is yet another impatient man in my life trying to rush me when I have no control over what my womb is willing to do.
Nella’s head full of red curls pops up from Mel’s shoulder when she spots the cupcakes. “Cake!”
We laugh and Mel hauls her over to her highchair in the dining room right off the kitchen. She buckles her in, and I cut the cupcake in half before handing it to her.
“Do you want one, too?” I ask Mel, knowing if she eats the extra, I won’t get one.
She licks her lips. “Yes, please. You sure you have enough?”
I nod and hand her the marble cupcake with chocolate buttercream frosting. She settles back on her bar stool to eat it, and I begin looking through the schedule for Saturday.
“You’re not having a cupcake?” Mel asks.
I look up at her and see her sympathetic gaze. “I’ll be okay.”
She screws her lips to the side. “There were only two extras?”
I nod. “It’s fine; I can have one if there are any leftovers on Saturday. And I’ve already tasted all the frosting.”
“We can split this one.” Mel looks down awkwardly at her cupcake, one bite taken out of the side.
I laugh at her pout. “Please don’t let me stop you from enjoying that delicious treat. Watching friends enjoy my baking brings me so much joy. Seriously.”
She sighs. “Well, okay.” Mel takes a delicate bite, and her eyes roll back in her head. “Oh wow. You’ve outdone yourself this time. This is orgasmic.”
My head falls back as I laugh. “Should I tell West you said that?”
She snickers. “He probably wouldn’t appreciate it.”
We laugh and I continue looking at her well-organized papers while she finishes her snack.
“So, Saturday we need to be there at ten sharp?” I ask.
Mel opens her mouth to answer at the same time Nella screams unhappily, arching her back and trying to get out of her highchair.
“I want down!” she whines.
“Hold that thought,” I say, wetting a cloth and using it to clean off Nella’s messy hands and face before lifting her down to the floor. Rose is ready and waiting for her playmate and licks her face as soon as she can reach it. Nella squeals then runs into the living room where she has a play kitchen filled with little wooden baked goods I got her for her first birthday. Rose follows her.
She holds one up for us to look at. “I’m making cake! Mmm.”
I laugh and allow my chuckle to turn into a sigh. “We’re never going to get this event planned.”
“It’s already planned, and everything is good to go,” Mel says in a soothing tone. “You just bring the cakes and we’re golden.”
I smile. “Okay, that I can manage.”
Fifteen minutes later, Mel has given me a quick rundown of how Saturday’s retirement party will go for a local Army general who’s stationed at the Pentagon.
She ushers herself out so she can make it to the venue in time to finalize details and I check on Nella. She’s still happily playing in her kitchen, her oven mitts on the wrong hands.
My mind wanders to a certain blond goalie and I pull up a text thread I’ve read over the past year about a million times. I know I’m torturing myself, but it’s the sweetest kind of torture.
December 20 th
Unknown number
You’re married?!
Farrah
Not anymore.
Unknown number
promise me you’re not married… I don’t make out with married women.
Farrah
The night we kissed I had just signed my divorce papers. I’m sorry for bringing you into my drama. I had no idea who you were.
Unknown number
If you’re not married, then this isn’t over, Yeux bleus.
December 25 th
Unknown Number
Merry Christmas, Yeux bleus. When can I see you again?
January 12 th
Unknown Number
I know you’re going through a divorce, and if you’re not ready for anything I understand. Just talk to me.
June 23rd
Unknown Number
You looked amazing tonight. And the cake you baked for Remy and Amber’s wedding reception was incredible.
Unknown Number
Talk to me, Yeux bleus.
September 1st
Unknown Number
Do you ever think about that kiss?
Unknown Number
I do.
Every time I read these texts; I wonder what yeux bleus means. I’m sure it’s French since he’s Canadian, and I’ve come close to looking it up but always stop myself. I learned with my ex that nicknames that seem cute can be very disappointing. Connor’s grandmother was German, and he called me fleischpastete . He told me it was a German sweet and I thought it was so romantic…until his grandmother informed me it meant meat pie, and he calls me that because I was, quote, ‘pleasantly plump.’
Yeah, I think I’ll remain blissfully oblivious this time.