Chapter 3 #2
“The worst part?” I say, forcing my voice to stay light. “I found out because my phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. I thought someone died. Turned out, yeah. Something did.”
Vivian pulls me into a hug that smells like her expensive perfume and unwavering friendship. “I wish I’d been here,” she says into my hair. “Bad timing for a vacation that year.”
“You were back two days later,” I remind her. “Then you took two weeks off work and helped me pack all of his crap so I could get it out of my sight.”
“I should’ve set it on fire.”
“You tried to set it on fire,” I say, pulling back with a watery laugh. “The bag wouldn’t catch.”
“Subpar accelerant,” she says seriously. “I’ve since done research.”
This is why I love her. This is why when I was drowning, she threw me a life raft made of sarcasm and showed up with wine I couldn’t afford and the audacity to tell me I deserved better. The funny thing is, I started to believe her.
I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. So irritating I’m still feeling the feelings for this. “Anyway. That’s why we’re not doing anything involving jumbotrons. Or hockey games. Or—”
“Crowds of strangers with camera phones,” Vivian finishes.
“Exactly.” I can’t stop the long sigh that escapes my body.
“It’s taken a few years, but I think that most folks around here don’t equate me with The Moment any longer.
I really want to keep it that way.” Because having strangers in a strange town weigh in on your love life and the dissolution of a marriage online is not appealing. Trust and believe.
She nods, sitting back down on the couch, her expression shifting into strategic mode. “Okay. So. We work around it. Theo doesn’t need to know why you’re not thrilled about the hockey thing. We’ll get creative.”
“Creative how?” I ask, dumping the sauce into the pot. “He wants hockey. He wants it because his dad loves it. He loves it. And that stupidly handsome man who happens to play the game took the time to talk to him about it.”
“Stupidly handsome, huh?” Vivian grins. “You said he was attractive. You didn’t say stupidly handsome.”
“Don’t.”
“Fine, let’s be real.” She waves a hand in the air like she’s a fairy godmother doing me a favor. “You can’t blame Stupid Handsome Guy for Theo’s excitement.”
“Vivian,” I growl playfully.
“I'm just saying—”
“Maybe you shouldn’t—”
“—that maybe the universe is trying to tell you something.” She shrugs. “Sending that man into your store today. Mama Universe is cooking something up for you.”
I point the spoon at her again. “Mama Universe can mind her business.”
“The universe,” she says, completely undeterred, “sent a man who, according to the internet, is single, age-appropriate, and backs a charity that benefits kids.”
“I’m sure he’s lovely,” I say, stirring with aggressive nonchalance. “I’m also positive I don’t need this kind of disruption at the moment. The store has been struggling, I’m in the final stretch for a business grant that will keep the doors open, and voila…I’m given an adult to babysit.”
“You’re going to get the grant.”
“I hope so. It’s been a process. Applications. Interviews. Now we wait for a mystery shopper to come in and then they decide?” I stare at the ceiling. “What happens if they send this shopper in when Sawyer’s there and the whole place is on fire?”
“It’s going to be fine. There will be no fires, only a happy woman named Juliette.”
I can’t help but to choke out a laugh. “You don’t know that.”
“I absolutely know that.”
She studies me for a long moment, then sighs. “Okay. We still need to get you in the right headspace to deal with this intrusion, don’t we?”
“That’s more like it,” I agree.
“Just make sure you talk to him with some modicum of kindness in your voice.”
I balk. “I am kind. Why would you say that?”
“Last month, a guy held the door for you at Target and you told him you had arms.”
“Nothing wrong with that.”
“Oh? Well, two weeks ago someone asked if that parking spot was taken and you said, ‘By me, obviously, since my car is occupying the physical space.’”
“It was the truth.”
“The guy wasn’t even flirting, Jules. He was probably seventy.”
Jules. The nickname she calls me when she thinks I’m being petty. “Please. He was maybe in his fifties, but I wouldn’t go seventy. And he was flirting. He gave me his business card.”
Vivian fights a grin. “Wasn’t he a therapist?”
Outwitted, I narrow my eyes at her before I turn toward the hallway. “Theo! Dinner!”
“Coming!” his voice echoes back, followed by the thump-thump of socked feet and the dramatic slide into the kitchen doorway like he’s making an entrance on purpose.
Vivian grins at him. “Hey, Theo.”
He hugs Vivian as he eyes the pasta approvingly. “Is this the good sauce?”
“There is only one sauce in this house,” I say. “So yes. It’s the good one.”
That earns me a smile, the kind that’s all teeth and trust. He takes his place at the table and we eat like this, easy and familiar.
Vivian tells a dramatic story about a customer who tried to haggle over handmade earrings.
Theo interrupts with facts about hockey statistics that I don’t understand but nod along anyway.
This is heaven to me: the clink of forks, the hum of the city outside the windows, and the small miracle of a table where no one is rushing to be anywhere else.
I watch them from my seat, my son animated and happy, my friend laughing with her whole face, and it hits me how fragile this is. How carefully assembled. Every piece is chosen on purpose. Every compromise I’ve ever made has been made quietly, without applause.
This is my life. Small. A little crooked. Held together with thrifted furniture and routines and a love that shows up every single day. I’ve worked hard to protect it.
The last thing I want is for it to be upended by headlines or hockey or some handsome stranger who’s been assigned to me as a proxy assistant.
If I’m being totally honest, yes, I’m worried right now. I’m juggling a lot and I don’t want my world to explode. Adulting is hard.
Theo twirls his fork, sauce splashing dangerously close to the table. “Mom?”
“Yes, buddy?”
“Tomorrow,” he says casually, like he’s asking about the weather. “Is that the day Sawyer comes to your shop?”
My pulse stutters as Vivian’s eyes flick to mine, knowing and amused, but far too observant for my comfort. I’m also clocking that my son has decided he is now on a first-name basis with someone he idolizes.
“Yes,” I say, keeping my voice even. “Tomorrow.”
Theo nods, satisfied, and goes back to his dinner like he hasn’t just shifted the axis of my universe by a fraction of an inch.
I look around the table again. At the warmth. At the normalcy. At the life I’ve built from the ground up.
And I hope—quietly, fiercely—that tomorrow doesn’t change any of it.