“Suit yourself, Ty. I’ll let Henry know.”
Looks like I’m officially the newest resident of Singing River, Alabama.
Tyler
Good Morning, Jo. Hope we can get together soon.
It’s been three days since Friendsgiving, and he’s checked in daily with some variation of the same text. My response is also the same.
Sorry, I’m not ignoring you, I’m just busy with Etsy orders.
Then I send him a picture of what I’m working on, to which he always hearts. Painting is an easy way to distract myself from…well, from everything. I can practically feel Tyler’s presence here in my town, humming just beneath my skin.
As we talked in my living room his first day here, I noticed his southern lilt was less prominent, but still there, and I hung on every word he said. He kept looking at me like he could scarcely believe I was real in front of him, those gemstone eyes filled with disbelief. And I wanted so desperately to be the girl I was fourteen years ago, the one who had experienced someheartache, but wasn’t yet broken. So broken I can’t even scrape together the nerve to tell him about Abby.
Today’s watercolor piece is a father and his daughter, yet another reminder I’m keeping this gigantic secret from Tyler.
How do I tell this kind and caring man that Abby is his child and he’s missed her first thirteen years? Since the moment he stepped back into my life, I’ve felt heartsick with nerves. When he brought me home the other day, I came close to telling him the truth right then, but each time my mouth would open I’d chicken out. Definitely not my finest moment since I have to tell him eventually.
Thanks to the devil on my shoulder, I’ve also found myself questioning everything. Out of nowhere the doubts will set in, as unrealistic as they are.He’ll leave like Chad did, the whispered voice says.You’re a mess and you’ll ruin it for Abby.A couple of times I’ve found myself arguing aloud with my doubts. Thankfully no one was around to witness it.
Fucking Chad.
His name alone leaves a souring pit in my stomach. He seemed so perfect at first, but I should have known it was too good to be true. We were married after a year of dating. Jay was born the following year. Chad accepted a promotion at his sales job that required more travel, but also meant more money.
It wasn’t long before cracks began to form in our marriage. Whenever he’d come home, he did nothing to lighten the load I’d been carrying for weeks on end. It was as though Jay, Abby, and I annoyed him. Chad rarely spent time with us when he was home. Physical contact from him was basically non-existent—no kisses and rarely even a hug. He only made love to me when he’d had a few too many beers, like it required a little liquid encouragement. It all made me feel like being home was the last place he cared to be.
And apparently it was.
Right after Jay’s second birthday, Chad filed for divorce. I don’t receive a dime from him, and he’s nothing but a disappointment toJay. Gifts and phone calls happened sporadically for a few years before they fizzled off completely. Jay still has the child-like hope his dad will make an appearance, despite being a toddler when Chad left. Although he wasn’t Abby’s biological father, she was just as crushed as Jay when she realized he wasn’t coming back. Between our divorce and watching him crush my children, I might’ve shattered completely had it not been for Mawmaw and Lisa.
This is all the more reason to think long and hard about what Tyler’s presence here means. When I told him I won’t need anything, I meant it. Being a single mom is hard, but I’ve managed this far on my own.
Staring at the painting for a second, I take a deep breath and say to the room, “I can do hard things. I’ve got this.”
Putting my paints away, I gather my brushes to rinse in the bathroom sink. I’ve got to get ready for my morning with Penny. She called the night of Friendsgiving to check in, and we made plans to have breakfast at our friend Jackson’s diner. I could tell from her tone she expected the full story, but I stuck to the basics about my night with Tyler. This is one of those stories that requires a face-to-face conversation so I can see her expression when she realizes the enormity of my situation.
Jackson’s diner is on Main Street, and I could easily walk, but I have errands to run afterward. I’m double-checking my car doors are locked when something catches my eye: Tyler’s black Volvo, sleek and shining in the morning sunlight, parallel parked in front of Old Town Tavern. Tyler doesn’t strike me as the type to begin his day with a drink. Black coffee and a book in hand, yes.
Right as I’m tugging the diner door open, I see him exiting the hardware store across the street, a reusable shopping bag in one hand and a coffee from the bookstore in the other. There’s that pull again, to be near him. Instead, I admire how incredibly handsome he is, because he is truly a sight to behold, with all that quiet confidence and a face I’ve never quite dispelled frommy memories. Every time I’ve thought about that night, I’ve imagined the guy he was back then, never considering he might have changed. And boy has he changed. All he’s doing is walking along the sidewalk, but my knees go weak all the same. What on earth gives him the right to waltz back into my life looking like that? Like temptation personified.
I let my eyes wander freely, admiring the fantastic view. Today I’m sad to see his slutty little glasses are missing, replaced by black wayfarers. His inky dark hair is perfectly coiffed and he’s dressed in a casual black tee showcasing his broad shoulders and biceps. My gaze lingers when it drops to the curve of his ass. What a mighty fine ass it is.
He pauses mid-step, slowly turning like he can feel my eyes on him, and I tear my eyes away, rushing to step inside before I’m caught in the act.
Upon entering the diner, I’m greeted by the smell of freshly brewed coffee mixed with the syrupy sweet goodness of Jackson’s blueberry lemon French toast. A Taylor Swift song plays softly in the background. The diner is my and Penny’s favorite place to meet, not only for the food, but also to support our friend. Jackson inherited it from his grandparents, and he works hard to make it a warm and welcoming spot in town. There’s still the checkered tiled floor and sticky vinyl booths from fifty years ago, but Jackson is always trying new things on the menu, which keeps his patrons coming back for more.
A banner of rainbow flags is draped along the counter, along with miniature flags stuck down in vases on every table between the salt and pepper shakers. Before I arrived, Jackson must have stuck one in Penny’s hair, because poking from her ponytail is another miniature flag.
She’s already waiting at our regular seat near the counter, two coffees and a huge order of French toast in front of her like she read my mind. I lower in the chair across from her, and she arches an eyebrow.
“Well?” Penny sing songs when I don’t immediately start talking.
“Yeah, well?” Jackson echoes, coming from the double doors of the kitchen to lean across the counter expectantly. He’s dressed in his typical work attire: a T-shirt readingY’all means ALL at Jackson’s Diner, and jeans. His curly hair is wild, and I wonder when he last had a day off. I know he’s had a hard time finding reliable help lately.
Two ladies from Mawmaw’s church step over to congratulate Penny on her engagement, allowing just enough time for my nerves to ramp up again. This is my best friend who I tell everything to. She’s a great listener and she won’t judge.
Jackson steers the ladies back to their table with coffee refills, winking over his shoulder at me. I’ll give Penny full permission to tell him everything later, but for now this needs to be a private conversation between my best friend and me.
