Chapter 4
Candace
Sadly, Greg was a man of his word and didn’t take the girls this weekend. Court saved the day and brought them home with her, where they can lounge by the pool and bother her grumpy doorman. I spent the weekend weeding my backyard garden and thinning the roses before they go dormant.
A book about life post-divorce encouraged me to find a hobby that would bring happiness back into my heart.
I tried crocheting, and dabbled in knitting, but gardening stuck.
It’s therapeutic, albeit a little dirty.
Every morning I water my flowers and tend to the vegetables, feeling proud of what I accomplished on my own.
I reserve Sundays for adding subtle touches that make a big difference in the aesthetic.
That feeling doesn’t last once my dad calls to cancel Sunday night dinner, yet again.
“It’s just so disappointing raising a daughter like you, Candace. I can’t imagine how exhausting it is waking up every morning, to stare at your reflection in the mirror knowing what a failure you truly are.”
“If that’s all for today, I think I’d better get going. As always, I appreciate the pep talk.” I keep my voice even until the call ends.
In his mind, divorce is the eighth deadly sin.
He would’ve turned a blind eye to Greg’s infidelity if we stayed together.
“Nothing worse than breaking up a family,” he told me.
Even if there’s hardly a family left standing after an event like that.
His first and only concern after our announcement was what rumors would spread through the community now that a single middle-aged woman was living alone.
Sundays were once a loud, family-filled day.
Greg’s siblings and their children played croquet in the backyard.
My dad manned the grill and argued with whoever would listen about the proper way to cook a burger.
Court and my in-laws would argue over healthcare, while my mom followed everyone like a vacuum, keeping crumbs from littering the floor.
Now the house is so silent you could hear an eyelash fall on the carpet.
My girls will be home tonight, giving me one more full day to myself, but when I look back on my week, every day is a day to myself.
There’s no cleaning to be done, unless I want to tackle the bathroom baseboards.
Yesterday, I bought and put away groceries and hung up all the laundry.
I pace my house, looking for a project, and find myself wondering what someone like Natalie does on a Sunday morning.
She’s at least sixteen years younger than me.
Probably home sleeping off a hangover. Or getting a lower back tattoo.
Our Sundays wouldn’t be the same, and I don’t know why she came to mind.
My brain couldn’t handle the quiet anymore, so I opted for a mid-length denim dress with white Keds, along with those cute frilly socks I can’t stay away from.
The weather’s changing quickly as we get into fall, but thankfully, it’s still warm enough to enjoy the farmers market without a jacket.
My canvas tote is filled to the brim with fresh vegetables when I’m stopped dead in my tracks.
Natalie, the woman I was just thinking of, is standing right across from me, going through samples of local honey.
Her hands are full with bouquets of colorful hydrangeas, barely able to grab the mason jar.
They’re just flowers, nothing to write home about, but internally I’m jumping up and down.
What are the odds she’s here doing the same thing I am, and holding my absolute favorite flower?
My dream has always been to own a home in a small coastal town and fill the edges with bigleaf hydrangeas.
She’s ditched the leather skirt for torn-up skinny jeans, monstrous combat boots, and an oversized charcoal sweater that's falling off her shoulder, revealing a thin neon pink bra strap.
I’m already moving before I think, taking the flowers from her arms. “Here, let me help you. You’re going to drop these.”
“Thanks, I thought my arm was gonna fall off. I still need coffee and have no clue why I saved that for my last stop.” Pulling her wallet out, she pays and thanks the old woman managing the stand.
I’m busy admiring the flowers and inhaling their subtle sweet scent. She’s staring patiently at me, those bright blues sparkling in the sunlight rather than dimmed by the harsh light of a classroom.
“Let’s get some coffee. I’m in desperate need of caffeine, and my head is pounding.
My roommate in college swore that mixing honey in your coffee cures a hangover.
She was probably full of it, though. She didn’t even wear deodorant and was always going on about perfume killing your hormones.
If I’m going to die anyway, might as well smell good, right?
” She turns to me, waiting for an answer. Nothing comes out. Oh no, not again.
Her voice is deep, yet soothing and addictive.
It’s like no matter what she’s babbling about, I’m eager to hear it.
My hands shake while holding the bouquets as I piece together anything that resembles a sentence.
“My roommate in college went to an orgy one weekend and came back with three different STDs and had to move back home.”
“Holy shit. Did she really?” She’s still laughing as we get to the coffee stand. Heat creeps up my neck as I stare at the menu.
“Can we get two honey-cinnamon vanilla lattes?” she asks the cute barista in a canary yellow apron. “Have you had these before? They’re like crack.” She reaches out and pays for our drinks, and leaves a tip.
My taste buds erupt with the sweet flavor. Never have I tasted something so magical. She’s right, this is crack. Not that I would know. “Wow, this is amazing. I’m going to be wired now, caffeine isn’t something I indulge in often.”
Maybe it’s the age gap, or the obvious style differences, but Natalie flusters me. It’s like we’re back in high school and she’s the cool girl, always hanging out with the bad boys in leather jackets. Meanwhile, I’m the nerd arriving an hour early to chess practice.
With both of our arms full, we walk over to a small bench with a red and white striped awning keeping the sun at bay. It’s breezy in the high sixties, with the crisp smell of changing leaves close by.
“So, what does the head of the PTA do on a Sunday afternoon?” she asks, setting her bag down to sip her coffee.
“You’re looking at it.” I point to the nearest booth. “Normally, my girls are with me, but they’re spending time with my sister.”
A cozy couple walks by, holding hands, each of them laughing before sitting at a table across from us. They’re sharing a sandwich and haven’t stopped talking since they sat down. I stare for a while before I hear Natalie cough, and feel her nudge my side.
“So, how long have you been divorced?” She keeps her hand planted next to my hip on the bench.
Something about the contact makes me feel comforted, like I’m spending time with a friend I’ve known forever.
It’s strange how one minute she feels completely out of my league and the next I’m already planning our next outing.
“Just shy of a year, but he moved out before things were official. I’ve been on my own with the girls for about eighteen months.” I purse my lips and squeeze my coffee cup tight.
“Hmm.” She eyes me up and down. “His loss.” Turning away from me, she pulls out her phone. “What’s your number? I’ll call you so you can have mine saved. I’ve gotta get going, but I’d love to hang out again.”
Wow, that’s forward. I can’t remember the last time someone asked me to hang out.
The ladies from school come over for book club, but we’ve never met up for lunch or coffee before.
My palms begin to sweat just as my leg starts uncontrollably twitching.
This is so embarrassing. She’s being polite while I make a complete fool out of myself.
Resting her hand on mine, she leans in. “It’s not that serious, you’re cool, and I just moved here and don’t know anyone. I would love to stay and keep pounding nature's candy, but I’ve got a show to get to.”
“A show?” I ask, grabbing my phone she moves quickly, typing her number, and handing it back before I’ve blinked.
“Yeah, Taking Back Sunday’s playing at this little concert house. I’ve seen them like three times, but what can I say? I’m addicted. You could come with me?”
Her invitation catches me off guard, and I blink as I try to recall the name of the band. “That’s really nice of you,” I say too quickly. “Maybe another time, it’s a school night after all.”
“You’re not in school. Is your mom at your house waiting to remind you of curfew?” Her nose scrunches up.
“No.” I giggle, gently pushing her away. “My girls have a routine, and I’m pretty strict with it. I’ll see you at tomorrow’s meeting, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” She raises her brows, throwing her phone back into her bag and grabs her purchases.
I’ve never felt more ill-equipped for a friendship. Has it been so long since I’ve talked to anyone outside of my neighborhood or the school? Obviously, I need a refresher course because Natalie’s going to drop me like a bad habit if I can’t get my foot out of my mouth.
Once I throw away the empty coffee cup, she comes in for a hug. Her body wraps around mine, she’s warm and smells of an earthy mixture, I can’t put my finger on. “Have fun with your kids tonight. I’ll call you later to tell you all about the band,” she says.
Okay, so maybe I didn’t scare her off. Court and my girls are more musically inclined. Crossing my fingers, I hope one of them can download some songs so I’ll have a conversation piece.