Jon’s voice startled Brad. “Says the mother of three terminally single almost thirty-year-old men.” He laughed and opened the fridge to pull out a bottle of water. “You’d think one of us would have accidentally gotten married by now. Wild night in Vegas or something.”
“Jon,” Rosaline scolded, “leave it to you.” She took the pan of eggs from Brad. “Go shower, son. You smell like your fish. And on your way upstairs, let your daddy know that dinner is in forty-five minutes. He and Buddy can set the table for me.”
“Waste of time. He’ll just tell me and Ken to do it,” Jon said after draining the water. “Might as well just go ahead and save him the effort.” He opened the cupboard and grabbed a stack of plates.
Brad chuckled as he left the kitchen. He could sense something going on with Jon, but he didn’t know how to fix it. He thought maybe just their family, together like always, would go a long way. At least, that’s what he prayed.
Valerie set out six freezercontainers on the kitchen counter and ladled leftover chili into each one. The smell made her think of Uncle Buddy, and she felt a tug of regret for the way their conversation had gone the other night. She should just go to the dedication. He had asked her to, and she knew the level of importance it held for him in his heart. She loved him. It should be that simple.
Once she had the containers sealed, she used a label maker and printed the date, then stuck the label onto the lid of each container. After she stacked them neatly in her freezer, she worked out the available space and pulled the family-sized package of chicken breasts out of the fridge. After putting some olive oil in a large skillet, she added the chicken and salted and peppered the meat.
She had a bad habit of eating out. Early morning yoga followed by full days of work made the concept of cooking so unappealing. However, she had no desire to continue giving in to laziness and grab a hamburger or bag of tacos on her way home.
Spending a Sunday cooking would stock her freezer full of a variety of meals. She could just grab a container out of the freezer and reheat it. She had chili, vegetable soup, and now she’d freeze chicken and rice together. She’d already prepped a salad that she’d eat from for the week.
It felt good to work and prepare and know she spent her time wisely. When she caught herself humming, she smiled. So many things in her life right now affirmed her decision to move back to Atlanta. Especially after Thursday night.
Did Brad mean what he said? Would he really wait for her to heal?
The damage Tyrone had done to her mentally might take a long time to overcome. Even after five years they overwhelmed her thoughts and actions. She didn’t even know how she could see healing in her future.
What did that mean to her? What did it mean for her?
Apparently, he’d carried a flame for her for a long time. He’d waited this long. Would he wait longer? What if she couldn’t ever get past what happened to her? What if she stayed truly broken always and forever?
She checked the chicken and put the lid on the boiling rice, turning down the heat. She would find a way to heal. How had she not known he felt the same way for her that she felt for him? All these years and she’d never known.
She wanted to believe that she had it inside her to love someone else again.
She’d spent hours and hours in therapy in Savannah. At first, she went a couple times a week. By the time she moved, she had graduated to just once a week. Since coming here, though, she hadn’t sought out a counselor.
Maybe she still needed one, so she’d have someone to talk to, someone she could trust who would let her talk without judgment, who could guide her in healing exercises and teach her better coping skills. She made a mental note to contact her therapist in Savannah and see if she had any recommendations for someone to call here in Atlanta. It felt good to think about the future instead of just surviving the day-by-day.
After seasoning the chicken, she went to her pantry to see if she had enough canned tomato products to make a big pot of marinara sauce. She pulled out cans of crushed tomatoes but checked the freezer again. If she put the chicken in bags instead of bowls, she’d have room to add the marinara.
With her mind wandering through checklists of menus before bounding to therapists and back to Brad and over to Buddy, she stirred the rice and kept working on her upcoming meals.
Valerie checked her watch asthe elevator came to a stop. Shifting the roll of plans in her arm so she could adjust the strap of the bag over her shoulder, she nodded hello to a coworker and stepped out onto the top floor. Through the glass wall, she could see most of the team already gathered.
She rushed into the room just seconds before the scheduled start time and slipped into a chair at the end of the table closest to the door. When she settled in, she looked up and caught Brad staring at her. She smiled in greeting, but he didn’t smile back. He looked away and spoke to the man at his right. Valerie recognized the man as the developer of the hospital Dixon Brothers had contracted to design and build.
Since she had taken over from another architect upon coming to the Atlanta office, she’d had no interaction with the team about this project specifically, and spent the first part of the meeting making notes, catching up, garnering an understanding of the scope of the work and what tasks she would need to perform. She made a note to arrange a meeting directly with the owner to discuss color needs, design desires, and concepts. That meeting could happen much later than right now, of course. However, she hoped she could come out of this meeting with enough information to start putting together a package for bidders.
She noticed her name on the agenda right about the time Brad asked, “Valerie, do you have anything for Mr. Cooper?”
Looking at Mr. Cooper, she said, “I know there was another architect in my place before today. Did the two of you agree on any specific design needs?”
He spun his chair so he faced her directly. “We agreed that the meeting could come later in the process.”
She nodded. “Very good. I want to go ahead and set that up with you. I have a lot of experience in medical facilities and understand the psychology behind the colors needed for the different rooms, etc. If you have an idea of what you want, design-wise, for the interior, I can give you preliminary concepts very quickly.”
“I’ll get with you before I leave.”
Brad met her eyes, nodded, and turned to Jon. “What kind of time line will we need from finalized plans to breaking ground?”
“Six weeks.”
“That seems optimistic,” Brad observed.
