6. Tilly
Chapter six
Tilly
S unday dinners used to be filled with a table set for seven, lots of laughter, and a feast that could rival any holiday celebration. Shantel would bring her husband, I came with Jessie, and Archer would bring whatever flavor of the week suited his fancy, at least until Deidre, who surprisingly stuck around. We’d sit around the table slinging jokes, eating good food, and playing a game or two of poker until we were filled with fun and family.
The new four-person table is swallowed by the large room, no longer filled with spouses and laughter. I should probably feel guilty, but I’m relieved I’m no longer subjected to Archer’s dates, all placating me with “I’m sorry” and “It must be hard to be a widow” and “I can’t imagine how sad you are.”
In all honesty, the smaller table makes me grit my teeth because I have to be more aware of my body so as not to touch anyone. But there are no more empty seats. No seat beside me to remind me that I shouldn’t be at this table alone.
“Can you say the prayer, Archer?” Nora asks.
“Sure.” Archer nods and lays his poker chip on the table. He carries that token with him everywhere, like he’s holding onto a souvenir from a wild night gambling with a woman. I’d bet he never got her name, and that the chip is the only thing he has left to remember her by. But Archer isn’t the sentimental type. He doesn’t look back at situations and wish they could be different.
“Amen.” My momentary lapse is snapped by Archer’s voice.
“How was your week, Tilly?” Nora spoons fragrant collard greens onto her plate before passing the bowl my way.
“It was fine.” I shrug, surprised that she didn’t immediately bring up the loan discussion. I had planned on telling them more about the process, but with Archer here I don’t need to hear his negative comments on my business prowess. I’ll wait until the end of the night to corner him and ask him about the paperwork I found. “I dropped some of my new lemon bars off at the restaurant.”
“I’m glad you’re baking new items again,” she says. “I bet they’re fantastic.”
Getting back to my passion took a lot longer than I expected after Jessie died, but therapy is helping me climb out of that hole of grief, reminding me it’s okay to still enjoy things from my old life.
Jessie loved when I baked, pretended he was eating at Laduree in Paris any time I set a new recipe in front of him. After he passed, I spent months in a haze of grief, missing him and sick to my stomach any time I tried to bake.
“What did everyone think of your new bars?” Shantel asks around a mouthful of salad.
“They loved them.”
“They probably have no taste buds,” Archer teases.
“Archibald Wilson,” Nora chides just as Shantel mutters, “Ass.”
I grip my fork, willing it to stay in the juicy piece of ham I’ve skewered rather than lodging it into his eye. As best friends, me, Archer, and Jessie would playfully gibe each other, but that was the past and the camaraderie to carry a remark like that hasn’t existed between us in a few years.
“Not everyone has a child’s palate like you do.” I meet his stare and hold it. I haven’t taken the time to truly look at him since he scared me on the doorstep. My lips snap together when I take in the beard he’s grown, the soft wrinkles at the corner of his green eyes, and the splotches of paint covering his flannel shirt.
He looks a wreck .
The little voice in my head reminds me that I’m not the only one who might still get smacked by the waves of grief, sometimes unable to take care of myself.
“I have a very sophisticated palate,” he replies, then adds, “For good food.”
“Be nice, you two,” Nora chides.
Archer holds his hands up in surrender like he’s doing me a favor when he’s the one slinging insults. I roll my eyes and shove a forkful of potatoes into my mouth just as a notification from a dating app—one of the three Shantel downloaded—dings on my phone.
“Someone’s got a match,” Shantel singsongs.
My face heats as Archer and Nora’s wide eyes land on me. With a swipe, I mute the sound and look down at my plate as if the mashed potatoes are a piece of artwork.
“A match?” Archer asks.
“It’s noth—”
“Dating app match,” Shantel interjects unhelpfully.
Flames lick at my cheeks and I inhale a sharp breath. Archer’s bunched eyebrows and pinched lips cause my throat to dry. Does he—like me—feel like I’m betraying Jessie by considering dating so soon after he passed?
I ignore the obvious tension in the air and focus my attention on Shantel. “Did you get that meeting you were working for?”
“Of course.” She sets her fork down and tells an animated story about the high-profile hair stylist she’s been trying to get to come work at the salon that fills the awkward silence.
The side of my face is hot, and I know Archer, with his perpetual frown, is staring at me.
After dinner, I focus on tidying the dining area while everyone else cleans the kitchen. My mind floats back to the mysterious paperwork and the loan. If I can’t get it, what will I do? What location should I pick since my dream one is already leased?
Raised voices lead me to the swinging kitchen door. My name floats through the thin wood, Archer’s sharp tone urging me to put my ear against it to listen.
“When are you going to tell her?” Shantel whispers.
“When I’m finished,” Archer sternly replies.
“No, Archer.” Nora’s tone is brisker than I’ve ever heard it. “She needs to know now. For Pete’s sake, she spoke with a loan officer already.”
My heart thuds in my chest, and a sinking feeling ekes into my stomach. What are they talking about? Me? I look down at my feet, willing them to move from the spot where they’ve cemented themselves.
“She’ll want to have a say in it,” Shantel chimes in just as I’m about to confront them.
“I know what she’ll want, and it’ll get done.”
“What happens when you leave?” Nora talks over Shantel who says, “What makes you think you know what she wants?”
“She won’t care that I’m leaving,” Archer says. “I already pissed her off by missing her birthday dinner last week.”
My brain short circuits and steals my breath. Blood pounds in my ears as I push through the door.
“You’re leaving?” I ask, incredulous. “To where?”
Three pairs of eyes focus on me.
Archer’s hands are perched on his hips, and he sucks his teeth in annoyance. “Tennessee.”
“For what?” A weird feeling slides into my chest, trying to find a place to settle. I shouldn’t care that he’s leaving. He’s basically been a ghost in my life since his sister’s wedding four years ago, and if I’m honest, since Jessie and I started dating, so why do I feel like he’s another person abandoning me?
My mom was my best friend, and cancer took her away before we had a chance to know each other as adults. It took Dad’s spirit with her. The man I grew up with, the one who supported and encouraged me, became a shell of who he was. He threw all his energy and attention into managing the restaurants he ran with my mother.
I never understood it until I lost Jessie.
Routine is key to keeping the grief at bay. You can almost trick your mind into thinking everything is normal, that your spouse is simply at the store or away on a business trip. It’s why it’s been so difficult to make his side of the bed, or to even consider removing my wedding ring.
When no one answers me, I demand again, “Why are you leaving?”
“I have an opportunity for a carpentry position,” is all he says, eyes filled with…is that regret?
“Oh, that’s great.” My neck throbs, pain accompanying the dry swallow I force myself to take. “So, what’s the issue?”
“Tell her.” Shantel’s brows rise to her hairline.
“Tell me what? ”
Archer’s knuckles crack as he leans on the counter and silently hangs his head.
“Tell me what?” I repeat.
“Archer,” Nora pleads.
He curses and shakes his head like he’s being forced to give up the nuclear codes.
“Before Jessie…” Archer pauses and his shoulders lift with a deep breath. “Before he passed, he asked me to fix up your bakery.”
“I don’t have a bakery.” I add the yet inside my mind.
“You do,” Shantel says, a wide smile on her face.
Frustrated, I press my fingers into my temples and rub. My head throbs as I roll the tension from my shoulders and speak through gritted teeth. “Stop talking in circles and just tell me what you mean.”
Nora walks toward me like she’s going to embrace me, but instead she fists her hands at her side to stop herself. “The bakery spot you wanted at The Pearl. It’s yours.”
“I’m so confused. What do you mean it’s mine?” I cross my arms and dig my fingers into my ribs, staving off the weird feelings bouncing around my chest when I look at Archer.
“It was supposed to be a surprise.” A muscle flutters in his jaw. “He took care of everything.”
Emotions overload my throat, and tears burn my eyes.
The paperwork.
“Is that what the paperwork is for?” I ask Archer before turning to Shantel. “And you knew the other day when you saw it?”
Her lips roll in, and her eyes fall to the floor as if she’s ashamed. Archer does nothing except nod .
“No.” I force the word out, but I don’t even know what I’m saying no to. Spots dance behind my eyes and cotton clogs my ears. A gasp fills the room, and it takes a moment before I realize the sound came from me.
Nora lays a hand on my arm, and I recoil, wiping the wetness from my cheeks. Through tear-filled eyes, Shantel and Archer share a look that conveys a message I’m not privy to, but all I can think about is Jessie.
Visions of us standing in front of my bakery, large shears in hand to cut the red ribbon signifying I’m finally open for business, sneak into my mind. People chatting at wooden tables with colorful cupcake liners resined into the top, sharing a slice of cake and coffee. Flour-nosed children laughing as they pipe icing onto each other during my kids’ baking classes.
Every dream I had for my bakery explodes out of the tiny box I tucked them into when I found out the location had been taken. The bittersweet feeling is overshadowed by the betrayal sinking to my gut.
They kept this from me…for almost two years.
Anger swells in my gut. I stagger backward, pushing against the swinging door, almost falling to the ground as I run to the table to grab my keys.
“Wait,” Nora begs.
“He wanted to give it to you for your first wedding anniversary,” Shantel yells to my retreating back.
“Tilly.” Archer’s voice sounds off behind me but I’ve already made it to the driveway, unlocking my door with expert speed. The quiet of the car envelops me, and I cough, sputtering out the breath I’ve been holding. Archer flies down the front steps and over to my car.
“Til,” he rasps like emotion has his throat in its clutches too, but why would it? Why does he care how I feel? He hasn’t cared about my feelings or dreams since he dogged my baking to his friends at his sister’s wedding then disappeared from my life after Jessie died.
“Leave me alone, Arch.”
He knocks on the window, eyes wide and worried. “Please, don’t leave.”
Swiping snot and tears away, I turn the ignition and crack my window. “I just need some space and fresh air.” I put the car into gear and back up. In my rearview mirror, Nora and Shantel hold each other on the porch, and Archer stands in the spot where I left him, where I left the remnants of my already tattered heart.