22. Tilly
Chapter twenty-two
Tilly
I ’m a coward.
I couldn’t go back into the bakery and pretend like nothing happened. I’ve been sitting inside Rosie’s cafe for an hour trying to convince myself I wasn’t upset by Deidre’s appearance, or that my heart didn’t break a little bit when I imagined him embracing her after I left.
I’m a married woman.
Or, I was.
None of the therapy groups I went to after Jessie died covered the part of grief where your heart starts to beat again. They didn’t tell me it’d hurt like a broken-down machine coming back to life, the cogs and gears rusted over, whining as they shift back into motion.
If this is what moving on without the person I thought I’d have forever with feels like, I don’t want it. It’s like I have the flu; my skin is constantly feverish, muscles achy from being so tense, and my stomach is on a carousel, spinning too fast.
“Want another?” Violet stops by the table, jolting me from my self-loathing.
I’m on a pathway that’s splitting. I can go back to the bakery and pretend like nothing happened and get back to work, or I can call Shantel for some emergency girl time and text Archer an excuse.
Fear wins out and my fingers swiftly move across the screen typing out a message to my sister-in-law .
“No, thank you.” I rise from the booth and pitch my half empty cup into the trash, stopping a moment to leave a tip in the jar.
I flip through the radio, trying to find something to take my mind off what I’m driving away from. Archer texted back that he hoped I’d get some rest and feel better and that he’d finish up the wall today so we could start setting up the front of the bakery.
His kindness creates another hole in my armor and reignites my reasoning for getting away from him. The more I’m around him and the nicer he is to me, the harder it is to fight the attraction.
“Hey girl hey,” Shantel chimes when I arrive at the salon.
She’s mid-way through shaving the side of an elderly lady's hair. The woman is tattooed and has purple streaks going through her braided hair. She’s everything I hope I’ll be when I grow up.
“Hey.” I sit in the empty stylist’s seat beside Shantel’s area.
“Why the long face?” the elderly woman asks. “Rough day?”
I snort. “You could say that.”
Shantel’s eyes narrow, pinning me to the chair and wrapping themselves around me like zip ties. “What happened with Archer?”
I cock my head, eyes darting to the woman she’s trimming. “Nothing.”
“I presume you’re Tilly,” the woman says.
My mouth pops open, eyes burning a hole into the side of Shantel’s face. Unbothered, she shrugs. “She was here last time he came in bitching about me threatening to tell you about the bakery.”
“That man is one fine hunk of real estate.” She fans a hand in front of her face. “If only I was forty years younger and didn't live in a retirement village.”
I chuckle. “I’m sure he’d love you no matter what age you are. ”
“So, what did he do?” she asks while Shantel turns on the electric shaver and presses the blade to her head. “He didn’t cheat on you, did he?”
I sputter out a cough. “Oh, no. We’re not…we’re not together.”
“But you want to be,” she supplies.
“No.” My nervous laughter betrays me.
“Til,” Shantel halts her buzzing and gives me a side-eye.
“Don’t start.” I suck in a breath, reminded of the way Deidre smirked as the Rick Springfield tune played. I am—and will always be—Jessie’s girl.
“Well,” the woman says, “go on. Tell me what he did.”
“He didn’t do anything,” I mutter.
“Then what’s got you in such a tizzy?” she asks.
I can tell I’m not getting out of here without answering, so I hunker down and decide there’s no better place to air my dirty laundry than the stylist’s chair. One of Shantel’s other stylists comes over and asks me if I want her to do my hair.
“Give me something new,” I say. “I need to get out of this funk.”
“Say less, babe.”
“Stop stalling,” Shantel’s client says. “I’m on pins and needles here.”
With a cape wrapped around my shoulders, I close my eyes and let the stylist get to work. I don’t want to see what she’s doing, and to be honest, I don’t know if I can meet Shantel’s eyes when I say what I’m about to say.
“I’m attracted to my late husband’s best friend.” I wince, waiting for the grief and shame to pummel me, but instead all I find is lighter shoulders and more room in my chest to breathe.
“What’s the problem with that?” Shantel’s client, who eventually introduces herself as Zevia, replies .
“Did you not hear what I said?” I ask, eyes popping open and fixed on her face. “He’s my husband’s best friend, and an asshole.”
“I may be old, but I’m not deaf.” Shantel brushes the woman’s neck free of the buzzed hairs and starts coloring her hair. I glance at her, hoping to catch some type of reaction to my confession, but her face is clear of anything but concentration on what she’s doing. “You’re a widow who’s ready to get back in the dating game. There’s nothing wrong with moving on.”
Emotion rises in my throat. “Not with his best friend.”
“The heart chooses who it chooses.”
“He treats me like a pariah,” I reply. “We can barely keep eye contact, and stay on opposite sides of the building.”
“Ever think he might push you away because he’s dealing with the same conflicting feelings?” Zevia says.
“Mmhmm,” Shantel chimes in.
“How could you say that?” I meet her eyes in the mirror. “Archer loved Jessie.”
“You’re right,” Shantel says. “They were thick as thieves, and nothing could separate them. Even you. Just because Archer may or may not have had feelings for you, he never would have done anything to jeopardize his friendship with Jessie.”
“Being a jerk to his best friend’s wife, someone he used to call a friend, doesn’t qualify?”
“Til, is he being a jerk or is there some place inside you that recognizes you were hurt when he pushed you away after you and Jessie got together?” Shantel sighs. “I’m not saying it’s right, but maybe he’s been trying to protect his heart and keep his integrity intact, and to do that he couldn’t be close to you any more. ”
Her insight ushers in a hurricane of emotions and memories that knock me down. Every smile, hug, or congratulations he gave is torn down and a new light shed on them. Every jab, smart remark, or missed celebration takes on a new look.
One that paints a picture I’m not ready to look at too closely.
I close my eyes, struggling to gain my composure. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“Suit yourself, pumpkin,” Zevia says. “When you’re ready to open your heart to happiness again, love will find you.”
I want to laugh at her fortune cookie way of looking at life and love, but the simplistic words are too true for my liking.
“Thanks for the sick new do’,” she says to Shantel.
Music softly plays in the background as the stylist applies a new color to my hair. I peek an eye open and catch Shantel staring at the ground as she sweeps up the remnants from Zevia’s haircut. Her face is relaxed, and she’s humming. If I found out my brother’s wife harbored a secret attraction to his best friend, I’d be upset. But Shantel? She’s living her best life, shaking her butt to Rick Astley.
“I love you, Seester,” I say.
“And I love you, Til.”
Surprised when a hand clasps onto mine, I squeeze back and look at her. “Always.”
“Forever,” she replies.
An hour passes while Shantel does a few more customers and chats with me while the stylist washes and blow-dries my hair. I’ve managed to not look into a mirror the entire time, but as the minutes inch closer, my heart rate moves into a dangerous territory. What color did she do? Will I look okay? What will Archer think ?
I admonish myself for that last thought and let the stylist spin me around.
“Holy shit.” My breath rushes out of me, quick like a popped balloon. “I love it.”
“So do I.” Shantel stands behind me with a smile, snapping a picture of my hair.
The base color is a tad darker, more luscious than my natural mousy brown, and the dark blue to teal ombre makes my skin pop. Curtain bangs frame my face, and I can imagine how awesome it’ll look when I put my hair up in my signature space buns and add some funky earrings.
I look like…me.
Well, the me I used to be. The happy girl from college who wore funky clothes, danced everywhere, and sang karaoke as loud as possible.
“Archer’s tongue is going to be on the floor when he sees you,” Shantel says.
“Yeah, okay,” I reply. “Besides, it doesn’t matter what he thinks.”
She raises her hands in surrender. “I only want you to be happy, you know that, right?”
“So you tell me all the time.”
“You never listen though.”
I shrug. “How can you be happy that there’s a spark between us? That’s a betrayal to Jessie, and you’re his sister.”
“Which means I knew him quite well,” she interjects. “And he’d want the two most important people in his life to be happy, even if it meant being with each other.”
My throat closes, a chill sweeping up my neck. I hadn’t thought about it like that, hadn’t considered what Jessie would’ve hoped my life looked like without him .
An image of my mom and dad pops into my head, a slight nudging to talk to the one person who understands what it’s like to move on after a spouse passes.
I swallow the discomfort rising in my chest. “I’ve gotta go face my dad, so I’ll talk to you later.”
“Will do.” She winks at me. “And let me know how Archer reacts when he sees you tomorrow.”
“Okay.” I laugh and walk to my car.
It’s been a long day, and I know the conversation I’ve been putting off with my dad is only going to drain me further, but it needs to happen.
Gloria pulls out of the driveway when I approach, and waves her hand out the window with a big smile. “Hi, Tilly. Sorry I missed you. Hope to see you next time,” she yells.
She seems sweet, and I feel bad for how I reacted the other day. It’s not her fault I was feeling betrayed by the men in my life. I wave and pull into the spot she vacated.
“Tilda,” Dad says when I enter the house. “I’m so glad to see you.”
The tension is made even more awkward when he puts his fist out for me to bump. I stare at it a moment. After Archer broke the touch barrier, everyone else’s touch doesn’t seem so…scary. I inhale a deep breath and put him out of his misery by bumping my knuckles against his.
“I love the new hair.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s tentative, like he’s worried I’m going to bite off his head.
I sweep some loose hair into a bun. “Thanks.”
His gaze falls to my outfit, and surprisingly his mouth doesn’t turn into a frown.
“You look nice,” he says. “Cool rain boots. ”
I puff out my cheeks, unsure how to respond to this new version of my dad. He never comments on my outfits with actual words but with facial cues.
“Thanks.” I point to his head. “Your haircut looks nice.”
The level of awkwardness is taut like a guitar string, one strum away from exploding off the fret and curling into itself. Sick of tiptoeing around the men in my life’s feelings, I go right for the jugular.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were dating?”
He sighs and waves me into the kitchen. Pulling out a stool at the island, he pats on it and tells me to sit. He silently puts a kettle on the stove and pulls out our cups and tea bags. Mom used to use “teatime” as an excuse to weasel her way into learning all the new dramas of teenagers in high school. As I was on the outside of the popular clique, I rarely had any tidbits of information for her, but she filled in the silence with questions that made me feel seen.
I’ve never seen Dad use the kettle, or drink tea, for that matter. I guess Gloria’s making a bigger impression than I expected.
“I didn’t know how to tell you.” His attention is on the kettle, and the way his shoulders slump makes me realize how hard this is for him too. “You were still grieving, and I’d finally started dating and reconnected with Gloria. It felt a little like rubbing it in your face, and I didn’t want to add to your pain.”
Understanding settles over me, right along with guilt that my father hid his happiness for so long because he was worried about me. “I was a wreck when Jessie passed. I still am.”
The kettle whistles, and Dad pours the hot tea into a mug and squeezes a lemon inside it. Just like Mom did.
“I’m sorry you felt you had to hide it, and I’m even sorrier for how I acted when I met Gloria. She seems really nice. ”
“She’s amazing.” We both take a sip of tea, letting the warm liquid seep into our bones. “But I’ll always love your mom, sweetheart.”
I sigh. “I know.”
“And I’ll always love you, too. I know I’ve done a horrible job of showing you that, but I’m trying to get better. There’s no excuse for it, but I didn’t know how to love you when I was hurting so bad. I was scared I’d mess things up and hurt you too. And when you lost Jessie, we were both still in that place of hurt and couldn’t see past it.”
I prepare for the tension to inch back into my muscles, but it doesn’t. Who figured talking about these things would actually help? I remind myself to reach out to my therapist for an appointment to hash out everything that’s transpired this week.
“Gloria came into my life at my lowest and showed me what I was giving up by keeping everyone at arm’s length.” He chuckles, a small smile tugging at his cheek. “She chastised me the other day for how unfair I was being to you with trying your new recipes.”
“I’m glad you found each other.” I slide my finger around the mug rim, trying to decide if I want to bring up whatever is going on between me and Archer.
“Me, too,” Dad says after a moment. “She’s great.”
The worry about how this conversation with my dad would go seeps away from my chest. My lungs expand, pressing against my ribcage as I inhale what feels like the deepest breath, and when I exhale, relief pours into my veins, spreading out to all my tense muscles.
“How did you meet?” I ask.
“We went to college together.” He smiles, pours himself another cup of tea. “She was the girlfriend of the quarterback, and I was just the weird band kid she sat beside during the pep rallies. She was nice, but I knew I had no chance up against the school’s saving grace. ”
I laugh. “I bet that quarterback flunked out of college because he couldn’t stop binge drinking at the frat parties.”
He chuckles. “No, he’s actually pretty successful now. But they weren’t meant to be long term. God had other plans in store for all of us.”
“That’s lovely, Dad.” And it is. I like to think God has another plan for my life through this bakery Jessie set up for me, that he knew he’d be taking Jessie and wanted me to have something that would always be an extension of him.
“What about you, pumpkin?” he asks, pinning me with sympathetic eyes.
My head throbs with the words threatening to burst forth. Dad would understand the dilemma I’m in with my feelings for Archer. He has firsthand experience moving on after losing the love of your life. But my mom passed years ago, and it’s been less than two years since Jessie died. That’s too soon to be feeling like this for someone else, right? The fear of his disappointment keeps my lips zipped shut.
“Uh…” I struggle to come up with something to reply. This thing with Archer is confusing to me, and I’m not sure I’d even be able to explain it to him when I don’t have a good grasp on what’s happening yet. Figuring a half-truth is better than a lie, I say, “I’m just focused on baking right now.”
His shoulders slump, and his brows furrow, making the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes more prominent. “I know it’s not easy to think about dating again.”
“Dad.” I sigh, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling bouncing around my chest.
“Pumpkin.” He reaches for my hand again before pulling it back. “Jessie, like your mother, will always have a piece of your heart that will never belong to anyone else.” He bends forward, making sure he has my full attention. “But, eventually you wake up one day and it’s not an immediate gut punch when you realize they aren’t there. One day it won’t hurt to simply draw a breath or to make the bed or even to smile. There might even be a day when you find the butterflies you thought were long dead in your stomach start to flap around again.”
Heat warms my cheeks, and I think about how spot on my dad is with his words—minus the making the bed part.
“I never thought it would happen for me. Your mom was my everything, and there’s not a single day that goes by where I don’t see her in the little things, the flowers she planted out front, the broken off knob on the stove,” he says, chuckling as he glances toward the stove before turning his attention back to me. “And the beautiful daughter she blessed me with.”
I press my tongue into my cheek, begging the tears to stay trapped behind my eyelids.
“I pray you find the happiness I know Jessie would want you to have, like your mom wanted for me.”
“Damn, Dad.” A stray tear sneaks out, sliding down my cheek. I wipe it away before it reaches my chin. “I did not expect this conversation tonight.”
He chortles. “If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t expect to be talking about this tonight either. But I’m glad I got the chance to see you. It’s been too long since I got some time with my girl.”
I open my mouth to mention that it was him that put distance between us but think better of it.
Tonight is a fresh start for both of us.
“Gloria wants to try some of your new desserts,” Dad says sheepishly.
“Oh, really?” I narrow my gaze, casually settling back into my chair .
“I know, I know,” he says, head hung. “I was stuck in the past, trying to keep everything the same way your mom and I did when we opened the restaurants. I was clinging to anything I could to keep a piece of her when all I needed to do was let go. Gloria told me I wasn’t just holding myself back from moving forward but also holding you back.”
Excitement rushes through my bloodstream, and I itch to get home and into the kitchen. After another cup of tea, I speed home, ready to prove my desserts are worth the hype.