“That’s not a thing.”
“Agree to disagree.” She chortled. “But seriously, you shouldn’t feel obligated if it’s a bad time. I don’t want to interrupt if you’ve already made plans for the long weekend.”
I didn’t want Marley to think I was a pathetic loser, so I didn’t let on that I’d been hoping to figure out a way to hang out with her this weekend. I would FaceTime with my family on Thanksgiving Day and watch football, but I hadn’t made any plans for the days after. In truth, spending time with Marley had been most of my social life since I’d moved to Coleman Creek. I’d had drinks with a few of the other teachers and explored a bit on my own, but I wasn’t at the point yet where I had a lot of weekend options. She’d mentioned previously that her sisters would be visiting, but I hadn’t realized until she’d said it just now that they weren’t staying for the entire weekend.
“I don’t have plans other than hanging out, maybe buying a rug or something for my apartment. I’ll be there.”
“Friday? Noon?”
“Works for me. And I can do Saturday and Sunday if it takes longer.”
“Thanks so much. Have a great Thanksgiving, James,” she said. “And I’m saving you some leftovers.”
She stood on the balls of her feet to give me an impromptu hug. Even though she wasn’t overly petite, I had at least eight inches on her, so I had to lean down to accept the embrace. I thought I felt her hand squeeze my hip as she pulled away, but I might have imagined it. Maybe even wished it.
I waved as she got into her truck and drove off. Not for the first time, I marveled at just how refreshing she was. Simply asking for help.
In Seattle, before, during, and after my marriage, I’d gotten accustomed to playing games with women—speaking in code, exhausting myself trying to be witty, reading into the subtext of the subtext of messages. Cindy had often complained I didn’t give her what she needed. When I’d asked what that was, her reply had always been, “you should know.” But I hadn’t known, and within a few months of our marriage, I’d been unable to cultivate much more than her indifference. The few dates I’d had since my divorce had been the same, what with my inability to interpret the fifteen different meanings of the word “hey.”
Meanwhile, Marley had one mode. Honesty and directness.
She was so different from anyone else I’d spent time with. Cute in a fresh, rosy-cheeked way, her makeup routine seemed to consist of only lip balm. She carried the same bag every day. Wore sensible boots. I didn’t think I’d ever heard her swear. Smart as a whip, but never mean or condescending.
I’d thought about asking her out. In Seattle, it would have been an easy decision, considering my attraction to her on so many levels. But in this world, there was a lot more at stake. And nowhere to hide if things went south. I also had a suspicion she’d caught on that there was more going on beneath my laid-back surface than I projected.
Not to mention I didn’t know what type of guys she was into, if asking her out at some point would even be an option. My infatuation could all be a moot point.
I wasn’t exactly a ten. There was some muscle under my chub, but no one was going to accuse me of having abs. My ex had certainly made a point of letting me know she was leaving me for “someone who does Cross Fit.” I was wide, built like a linebacker. No matter how much I slouched or kept my head down, I still felt like a giant next to most people. There were times I’d thought Marley might have been considering me in a non-friends way. But I couldn’t tell if they wereI’m maybe into this guylooks, orI wonder how James stacks up next to Bigfootlooks.
So, I’d kept it platonic. The smartest move in the scheme of things. I’d come to Coleman Creek for a fresh start, and as much as I liked the town’s main street and the people and the school, it was mostly Marley—and the way she crossed her eyes and made funny faces at me each time we passed each other in the hallway—that was making it feel like home.
Chapter three
Marley
Myyoungersister,Miranda,made a yuck face as I added sautéed baby portabellas to the green bean casserole mixture.
“What?” I threw back at her. “I’m trying something new. We agreed to mix it up a little, right?”
“I guess.” She curled her lip, eyeing the Dutch oven suspiciously. I smoothed out the casserole and sprinkled a can of fried onions on top.
Mom had never added mushrooms to this recipe, but we were cooking it in one of the Le Creuset pieces she had scored at Goodwill when I was six. My mother had been a champion secondhand shopper.
At the sound of the oven door opening, my Labrador dashed into the kitchen to investigate. I hadn’t dropped anything, but that didn’t stop Oscar from sniffing furiously underneath the cabinets. I ruffled his ears and threw the extra pieces of bacon I’d fried into his bowl.
We hadn’t cooked last year, only a month after Mom’s death. My older sister Maureen had ordered a fancy pre-fab meal from a specialty grocer instead. But this year, we’d agreed to try. After all, the three of us had spent most Thanksgivings of our lives helping prepare the food. We knew what to do.
Miranda placed the stuffing alongside the casserole to bake and popped the rolls in the microwave. The turkey had just come out of the oven and was resting on the counter. It would be ready to carve around the time the side dishes finished cooking. A semi-decent cranberry chutney, courtesy of a Pinterest recipe, chilled in the fridge. In a nod to our childhood, we’d also sliced up some of the canned stuff. We had, however, forgone making the hideous whipped cream/pistachio/marshmallow/grape “salad” only Mom had ever eaten.
It was definitely different with just the three of us, but our mother would have been glad we’d made the effort to spend the holiday together, in the home we’d grown up in.
I yawned as I rinsed some mixing spoons before putting them in the dishwasher. Even though it was only two o’clock, I’d gotten up before five to put the turkey in the oven. We planned to eat early since both my sisters had to leave that evening.
Miranda had plans to spend the weekend with a friend in San Diego before returning to the Los Angeles university where she attended graduate school. She needed to stay in the city tonight to catch an early morning flight. I was disappointed because she’d only gotten in yesterday, but I’d long since resigned myself to her wanderlust.
Maureen had to head back to Seattle tonight as well. Because of work. She managed a high-end department store and it would be all hands on deck for Black Friday tomorrow.
Brief as our sister time was, we tried to make the most of it.
