I had so many memories and had heard lots of stories about my mom. But my dad remained a bit of a mystery. Mom hadn’t spoken of him too often, just enough so we’d understood our parents had been blissfully in love. She’d never dated after he’d passed away, loving Frank Davis until the day she died.
“I remember them,” Mrs. Allen answered. “They were incredibly happy. The kind of couple who held hands and checked in on each other, always sneaking into dark corners at parties. And once the town got over the scandal of him being twenty-five years older, everyone recognized their relationship for what it was. True love. They were ‘hashtag couple goals,’ as the students would say.”
I chuckled. “I wish I could remember him more.”
“Me too.”
I retreated to the kitchen to grab the coffee, thinking about that photo of my parents.
Even if Mrs. Allen was correct about it being true love, had it been worth it? My mom had had my dad for fifteen years, then spent the rest of her life alone. Did she ever regret not making a different, safer choice? One that could have provided decades more of—if not explosive love—at least companionship. I hugged my arms around myself, snuggling into my mother’s “Deck the Halls” musical notes sweater, wishing she was here so I could ask.
The ache of missing her flared.
James had captivated me from the beginning, but I had insisted to my heart it was only an inevitable infatuation with the fascinating new man in town. Then an effortless friendship I could easily manage. When he’d agreed to help me move my mom’s things, and when I’d stood by him at the reunion, I’d convinced myself we could support each other without developing a deeper attachment. And even though being with him in bed had been mind-blowing, I still hoped I’d held myself apart enough to protect my heart. But my ability to maintain this conviction was slipping away a little more each day.
Mrs. Allen was correct that I’d diverted from my usual path because someone extraordinary enough to warrant doing so had come into my life. But James belonged to an uncertain future. Letting myself fall in love with him would mean giving up control, losing the ability to narrate my story.
Chapter eighteen
James
Marleyheldherselfata distance. She said all the right things, but I could feel her pulling away.
I understood her well enough to know that the lack of a clear path forward in our relationship disturbed her. She was aware of my history of walking away from difficult situations. Ending our attachment because I’d lost my job provided certainty, but I didn’t believe for a minute it was what she wanted. I wished I had the words to convince her we could make this work.
Hopefully, my concept for the talent show would do the trick. I’d run my idea by Mrs. Allen after the last bell. She’d dropped by my classroom to inform me she would be leaving early tomorrow for the birth of her grandchild. Coincidentally, she planned to stop in at Marley’s that evening to bring her a Christmas present.
Mrs. Allen had enthusiastically endorsed my plan and agreed to be part of it, lamenting that she wouldn’t be there on the big night. I’d given her more details, and she’d addressed my worries about Marley’s hesitance.
“It’s never easy at the beginning of relationships, James. Especially when you’ve been friends for a while. And this budget nonsense just adds to the pressure. But I’m confident you and Marley will work it out.”
“That’s pretty much all I want at this point.”
“Then tell her. But don’t be surprised if she fights you on it,” she cautioned. “Marley likes things orderly. She likes to be in control.”
I snorted. “You don’t say?”
Guffawing, she continued, “She comes by it honestly. She’s great at making things okay for other people and terrible at demanding more for herself.”
“I think I understand.”
“Loving you gives you the power to hurt her. After her mom—and Kasen—She might not be ready for that just yet.”
“For the first time in my life, I trust how I feel. I can be patient.”
“That’s beautiful, James.”
I reached an arm out to Mrs. Allen. “I know this isn’t very professional, but can I give you a hug?”
She came to me. “I’d be sad if you didn’t.” I engulfed her in my arms, imbibing how teeny she actually was. “Good lord, James. I’ve always wanted to know what it would be like to get a bear hug from an actual grizzly.”
“Roar,” I deadpanned, feeling large and okay.
To prove to myselfthat I’d turned over a new leaf, that not every relationship in my life had to be crippled by doubt, I called Oliver that night.
He picked up on the second ring. “James.”
“Uh…hey.”
