Chapter 5
chapter five
Busy
The paint looks like shit.
I stare at the wall, at the light green layer I just finished, my eyes narrowed and my arms crossed.
Like literal shit.
The color looked more sage when I opened the jar, but now that it’s on the wall and contrasting with the forest green of the other two walls and ceiling, it has taken on a hue that reminds me of one of Junie’s diapers that made me want to hurl myself through a window.
What is that? A moss green? Olive, maybe?
Gross.
There’s no way Briar’s going to dig on this. Not a chance in hell. Or if she does like it, I need to strongly advise her that we need to go with a lighter color, something with a bit more brightness and poppy energy. Definitely not… this .
Sighing, I decide to break for an early lunch instead of continuing with a second coat. Until I know for sure what my sister wants to do, I don’t want to move forward with any more painting.
Every day this week, Briar and I have eaten lunch together, heading down to the beach park and chucking a blanket down on the grass. It’s been great, catching up on some of the goings-on around town and hearing about how she and Andy are doing.
But she’s down the mountain today, picking up an actual truckload of books she purchased from a bookstore that’s closing, so I’m on my own.
I roll my eyes. I’m always on my own. That’s the reality, isn’t it?
Shoving that thought aside, I grab the lunch bag I packed for myself this morning and wander out to Main Street, looking left toward the mountains and the direction of Cedar Cider before turning right and heading toward the lake. Just because Briar isn’t here doesn’t mean I can’t still enjoy the view and some vitamin D.
“Oh, sorry,” I say, bumping into someone coming out of one of the shops.
Reid.
I’m instantly overwhelmed by him—by his scent and his height and that soft grin that’s had me going weak in the knees since before I knew how to explain what that meant.
I blink, trying to get my bearings. “Sorry,” I say again, shaking my head and tucking my hands into my back pockets.
“You’re fine.”
I glance behind him, realizing I’m standing in front of Cohen Custom, his father’s shop. Or I guess, maybe his shop? I haven’t been inside in a long time. For about a year after that summer when Reid was a lifeguard at camp, I found any excuse I could to wander inside, hoping to bump into him. In those preteen dreams, we’d strike up a conversation and he’d realize I was so much more than just the girl from summer camp.
It’s hard not to laugh at my younger self and just how clueless she was.
“You been painting?”
Glancing down, I realize I’m still wearing my coveralls. “Oh, yeah.” I laugh, slightly embarrassed. “We’re trying to get the inside of the store painted before we get the bookshelves put up. Except it looks more like baby poop than sage so I’m going to have to completely repaint the back wall, which is…” I trail off, not wanting to ramble too much.
Reid’s smile grows. “Well, that’s unfortunate.” He glances behind me briefly before returning his gaze to mine. “Can I help at all? I’m pretty good with a paint roller.”
I’m tempted to take him up on it, though it’s more from the selfish vantage point of wanting to get to know him better than because I actually need the help. I don’t want to come across as the needy girl who can’t do anything without assistance.
“That’s alright.” I bat a hand his way. “I appreciate it though. Briar’s actually paying me to do it, and I can’t afford to pay you myself.”
“I wasn’t assuming you’d pay me.” He chuckles. “I was just offering because apparently it’s important to get to know your neighbors, you know? Engage in small talk, ask about how things are going.”
Something tiny blooms in my chest at his words, knowing he’s taken the things I said and tucked them away to remember. I watch him for a long moment, seriously considering his offer. A montage of scenes plays through my head. The two of us painting together. Maybe a quick paint fight. Rolling around on the tarp, paint in my hair and maybe other places it shouldn’t be.
And that is why I decline.
“I really do appreciate it, but I’ll be fine.”
Part of me thinks I see a bit of disappointment in his eyes, but I bet I’m just imagining it. Surely.
“Well, I’ll let you get on to where you’re going, then,” he says, nodding at me. “Good to see you, Busy.”
I smile. “You, too.”
We both turn at the same time and walk in opposite directions. For whatever reason, I find it oddly difficult to walk away from him. Not only did I want to take him up on his offer of painting help, I also oh-so-briefly considered asking him what he’s doing for lunch. Which would have been foolish.
Reid is…so gorgeous. So unbelievably handsome he’s almost hard to look at.
I let out a sigh. I thought I’d moved on from this adolescent crush, really and truly. But in just two short weeks, the man has officially planted himself back into the same position he occupied before: the star of my daydreams.
Not that it matters.
Taking a seat on the familiar bench I’ve been sitting on with Briar, I pull my sandwich and water bottle out of my purse. The last thing I need right now is to be looking at any man the way my eyes seem to peruse Reid every time he’s near.
The Busy I used to be wouldn’t have been so cautious. She would have stared him right in the face then given him elevator eyes and a playful smirk. Flirted her heart out and hoped it would result in a fun night or two.
Now, though…I know better.
I mean, obviously I can’t lump all men in with my ex. Jay was…well, he wasn’t good for me. I doubt he’ll be good for anyone, for that matter. But when things between us didn’t work out—exactly as I expected—I resigned myself to a life of single mom-ing it. The idea of managing a child and navigating a new relationship just feels too daunting. Besides, I don’t want anyone inserting themselves into my life and making things any more challenging than they already are.
Maybe that’s harsh. Maybe that’s me just looking at everything as a half-empty glass. Maybe that’s me refusing to see something that could be so much better than being on my own.
But that’s the thing…it could be better—finding a man and falling in love—but it also could be much, much worse. And that’s the thing I’m not willing to take a risk on. I used to be that girl. The risk taker. The one who was willing to bet big and lose bigger if it meant I gave it a chance.
But I can’t afford to be that person anymore, not now that I have Junie. Now, it’s all about the safe choices, the things that will give her the best chance at a happy, healthy life. It’s the main reason I came home.
It’s also the reason I will need to continue to choose to do it all alone.
When I open the door to my parents’ house on Friday afternoon and spot my mom holding a sobbing Junie, I’m instantly on high alert.
“She’s okay, I promise,” mom says as I fly across the entryway and over to where she’s sitting on the floor of the living room. “She just took a small tumble right before you walked in the door. Bonked her head on the edge of the coffee table.”
I pluck Junie from my mother’s embrace and snuggle her close, my entire body radiating in pain as my daughter cries in my arms. There is nothing that hurts as badly as hearing your child cry. Nothing.
“You okay, sweet girl?” I ask, my voice gentle as I rock her slowly, trying to use my own calm as a way to help calm her down. I place a kiss on her forehead and try to examine her for a bump or red mark. “Where does it hurt?”
Junie takes a hiccupping breath, her tears beginning to subside. Then she points at a spot on the other side of her head, and when I turn her to look, I see some faint redness.
“Yeah, sweet girl. Looks like you got a little knock, huh?”
My daughter nods then tucks herself against me, her hands gripping me tightly. When I glance at my mom, I find her watching us with a concerned expression.
“I’m so sorry, honey,” she says. “I feel horrible.”
I shake my head. “Hey, she’s a kid. She’s going to fall and hurt herself sometimes, you know?”
“I know,” she replies, planting her hands on the evil coffee table and pushing herself up to stand next to me. “Doesn’t make it any easier to see this sweetie crying like that.”
Mom lightly touches Junie’s arm, her eyes gentle as she watches my daughter.
“I hate hearing her cry. I can’t handle it.”
At that, mom gives me a knowing glance. “Oh I remember that feeling.”
“How long until it goes away?”
She holds up both hands, her fingers crossed. “Any day now.”
I snort. “Great.”
We move into the kitchen, starting the handover routine we’ve begun now that she’s watching Junie full time.
“She took two naps today, so she might have some extra energy tonight,” she offers, shoving various items into the diaper bag I drop off every morning. “And she refused to eat the broccoli at lunch.”
I gasp. “Junie Bee!” I exclaim, wiggling her in my arms. “You didn’t eat your broccoli ? But it’s your favorite!”
Junie giggles through a watery expression.
“No child loves broccoli,” my mom teases, giving Junie’s stomach a poke.
“It’s really her favorite,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t know why she loves it so much but…” I shrug. “I’ll try to feed it to her for dinner. She might have just been in a mood.”
“I mean…do you want to stay and eat dinner with us tonight?” Mom gives me a smile. “I’m making chicken piccata.”
I let out a sigh, feeling guilty about my answer before I even speak.
“Thanks for the offer, but I’m wiped. I just want to get home, feed us, give this rugrat some time to run around, and then hit the hay.”
She nods, but I don’t miss the tiny hint of disappointment in her eyes before she turns away quickly and focuses on tucking the last few things into Junie’s diaper bag. I don’t know what caused this weird rift between me and my mom, but things have been stilted ever since I told her I was pregnant. Sure, there isn’t any easy way to hear that your youngest daughter is going to be the first to make you a grandmother when she’s only 20 and single and already six months along.
Not one of my finest moments.
It took me a while to muster up the courage to tell my family about the pregnancy, long enough that the reactions were understandably bigger than they would have been if I’d told them straight away. But mom just…checked out, almost completely, something she’s never done before in my entire life. It hasn’t ever felt like she’s really checked back in, not with me at least. With Junie, absolutely. She’s a wonderful grandmother. And the fact that she watches my daughter every day? Her willingness to make that sacrifice so Junie has someone she loves watching her every day instead of strangers?
It’s amazing, and I’m so lucky. But that stiff awkwardness is still there between us, and I don’t know how to fix it. So I just let it be. Someday, we’ll figure it out, I’m sure.
Well, I hope we will.
Surely, things won’t always be like this. When I was younger, I was the troublemaker, but I still always felt like I could go to my mom when things went sideways.
Maybe that’s what the issue really is. It felt like, with the pregnancy, I’d finally pushed her too far. I’d finally gotten in too much trouble, caused too much of a problem. While part of me understands that my mother is entitled to her emotions and opinions, I guess there was something inside me that broke when I realized the truth: there was a limit to how much she was willing to put up with.
It makes me sound selfish, I know, but as the baby of the family, the one who always felt a little bit forgotten and a little bit on the outside, the one thing that comforted me whenever I felt the most forgotten and alone was believing I was loved, even if I wasn’t always understood.
Now, I’m not so sure.
Mom and I exchange our goodbyes and talk vaguely about another family dinner in the next week or two, and then I head out, wishing I knew what to do or say to make things…better. Unfortunately, finding the right thing to say hasn’t ever been my strong suit.
When I get home, I shove open the front door and set Junie down.
“Run wild, baby girl.”
She shrieks and barrels through the house, the bump on her head long forgotten. I step into the kitchen and tug open the pantry, pulling out a blue box of mac and cheese. Movement on the deck outside has me leaning over the sink to look out the window, then I laugh to myself when I spot the familiar dog lying on the porch, looking out at the lake, her tail wagging.
“Sydney,” I say, shoving the window to the side and speaking to her through the screen.
Her head perks up and she looks at me.
“What are you doing, girlfriend?”
The dog’s mouth opens, her tongue flopping out, and I swear she’s smiling at me. Probably reveling in however it is she’s sneaking out of Reid’s.
Shaking my head, I walk to the back door and swing it open, Sydney immediately barreling through and heading right into Junie’s room.
My daughter shrieks again. “Sinny!”
I chuckle to myself and return to the kitchen, putting a pot on the stove to boil water as Junie and Sydney chase each other around the house for the next fifteen minutes, my daughter giggling like a maniac and Sydney bounding around like Junie is the coolest toy she’s ever played with. It really is one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen, and I’m feeling eternally grateful for Sydney’s ability to run my daughter ragged. Hopefully, this helps get out that extra energy my mom was talking about and Junie sleeps hard tonight.
I’m mixing in the highly nutritious powdered cheese when I hear Reid’s voice outside.
“Sydney!”
I lean over the sink again and look out the window, spotting him on his deck, looking around.
“Sydney!” he calls out.
“She’s in here with us,” I shout to him.
His head whips to the side, and I spot the way his shoulders droop. A few beats later, he’s standing on the porch, looking in through the screen door.
“Is she seriously here again?”
The sound of the door opening precedes him as he steps into the living room, his large body making the already small space feel even tinier. That’s when Sydney sees him and bolts across the room toward him, her tail wagging. She twists around his legs then drops onto the ground, belly side up. Reid drops down into a squat and begins stroking along the soft fur of her tummy.
Junie crosses the room slowly, inching toward where Reid is petting Sydney, then lies down on the ground next to her four-legged friend, her own belly in the air.
“Oh, are you a dog, too?” he asks her, poking her stomach, an easy smile on his face.
Junie squeals then turns and wraps her arms around Sydney, snuggling in close. I watch him as he talks to Junie, my eyes scanning the lean muscles of his biceps, the firm roundness of his shoulders, the way his ass looks in those dusty old work jeans.
When his eyes connect with mine, catching me watching him all googly-eyed as he pets his dog and talks sweetly to my daughter, I spin away, clearing my throat and returning my attention to the boxed pasta that could use another few stirs before it’s ready.
“Thanks for always letting her hang out when you find her out there.”
I nod but don’t turn around. Instead, I reach up and grab one of the plastic bowls out of the cabinet that Junie picked out over the weekend at the thrift store. It’s white with a red rim and has a Care Bear in the middle. I had one just like it as a kid, so I was thrilled when she pointed at it and clapped when I added it to our cart of kitchen items.
“I promise I’m trying to figure out how she’s getting out. I’m not a…neglectful owner.”
“I don’t think you are,” I offer, scooping a small portion of the neon orange noodles into the bowl. “Honestly, I think you’re missing out, though.”
When I glance his way, I find his head tilted to the side as he watches me with confusion.
“Clearly, your dog is a magician. You could take her to Vegas. Make some of the big bucks.”
He chuckles and rolls his eyes then pushes up to standing.
“Well, we’ll get out of your hair and let you two eat dinner.”
Licking my lips, I glance at the pot on the stove then back at Reid. “You’re welcome to join us, if you want,” I say, the words flying out of my mouth faster than I can manage to stop them.
Reid pauses his movements toward the door.
“It’s just blue box pasta, but…” I shrug, suddenly feeling a bit foolish.
He probably has a real Friday night planned out back at his house that doesn’t include a wily toddler and neon food.
“Actually, that would be awesome,” Reid says, surprising me. “Thanks for the invite.”
“Okay, well…” I pause, feeling somewhat flustered by his acceptance. “I’ll just get Junie served up and then I’ll make another box.”
Reid smiles. “Sounds perfect.”