“What do you think, princess?” Holding up a loaf of bread, I ask my daughter, “Think we should get the sourdough this time?”
She doesn’t answer me, but I do get a wide, drooly smile, so I take that as a yes. Grabbing another one, I hand both to the lady behind the booth, reaching for my wallet while she rings me up. The farmers’ market has become somewhat of a weekend tradition with me and my daughter. We typically come on Saturdays, late in the morning, and pick up items we’ll need for the week. Since I work so much, I try to prep as much as I can on Sundays to make life a little easier. It also gives me more time to spend with her when I get home from work at the inn in the evenings.
Ellie Mae was barely six months old when Megan died. To say it was hard transitioning from sharing responsibilities with another person to doing it on my own would be a massive understatement. For a while, it felt like I was constantly running on fumes, always on the go, and never quite ready for anything.To put it simply, and to use my sister Grace’s words, I was a hot mess. If it weren’t for my family, there’s no way I would’ve made it through this past year. My mom watches Ellie Mae for me while I work, which is probably the biggest help I could’ve asked for, and for months, my sisters all took turns making freezer ready meals for me. They’d bring them over weekly, and all I’d have to do is pop them in the oven when I got home. I’ve always known I was blessed with a loving, supportive family, but to see how they rallied together to help me and my daughter, no questions asked, was incredible.
With the honey, bread, and veggies secured and underneath the stroller, I’m about to take Ellie Mae back to the car so we can get her home before her afternoon nap when I walk past the row of fresh flowers, one in particular catching my eye—the sunflowers. Rubbing at the dull ache in the center of my chest, I grab a bundle of them and hand the guy some cash. They’ll look nice on our dining room table. I’m not a huge flower guy, but sunflowers hold so much nostalgia. Whenever I see them, I have to get some.
Back at the car, I buckle Ellie Mae into her car seat, then load everything into the front passenger seat before making the short drive to our house. Once I’ve got everything put away, I take Ellie Mae out back, letting her play for a bit before laying her down for a nap. I sit on the steps on the porch, watching her run around with Biggie Smalls, our Great Dane puppy, and the chickens. She’s just figuring out how to run, so she’s extra wobbly, and I can’t help but laugh each time she falls because Biggie stops in his tracks, looking from her to me, with his big, floppy ears. The two of them together are adorable.
We adopted Biggie Smalls about three months ago. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision; I saw him listed on our town's Facebook group at the shelter, and I couldn’t say no. With his light gray coat and the black spots all over his body, he remindsme of cookies and cream ice cream. And despite only being seven months old, he’s alreadyhuge, but incredibly gentle with Ellie Mae, which is all that really matters. The chickens are our newest addition, and don’t quite know what to make of Ellie Mae, or our brute of a dog. I bought them right after we moved into this house, about six weeks ago.
“Hellooo,” someone sing-songs from inside the house. Glancing over my shoulder, I watch Grace stroll through with a white pastry box in hand. “Door was unlocked,” she offers with a shrug as she steps onto the porch. “You really should be better about locking that.”
“Who the hell’s going to be walking into my house?” I drawl. “Other than my annoying sisters.”
“That’s not very nice.” She scowls at me, but I don’t miss the way the corner of her mouth twitches. “How about my fabulous, beautiful, and favorite sister, who so kindly brought her niece her favorite cake pops?”
“Yeah, yeah.” I chuckle.
Standing in the grass, Grace shields her eyes from the sun with her hand, a wide grin on her face as she watches Ellie Mae run Biggie Smalls in circles around the makeshift chicken coop. I’m building a bigger, better one because the one I got from Tractor Supply is small and not good enough for my chickens, but it’s not finished yet. Ellie Mae stops in her tracks, the dog nearly running into her, when she notices Grace.
“Hi, princess!” Dropping down, my sister opens her arms as Ellie Mae crashes into her. Grace glances over her shoulder. “Can she have one?” she mouths, holding up the box.
I huff a small chuckle and nod. “She’s supposed to go down for a nap soon, but sure.”
“Look what your favorite auntie brought you.” Opening the box, she hands Ellie Mae a s’mores cake pop, her eyes going wide as she takes it from her. “You gotta sit down when you eatit, though. Don’t need you falling and hurting yourself with that stick.”
Taking her hand, Grace helps Ellie Mae up the steps and sits her down at the little princess table we have on the porch. Biggie Smalls lies down beside her chair, patiently waiting for her to finish so they can get back to playing. For only being a puppy, he’s great about not stealing food.
“So, how’s it going?” Grace asks as she plops down on the steps beside me.
“Oh, it’s going.”
“Yeah? Work’s going good?”
I nod.
“Do you need help with anything around here? Laundry? Vacuuming? Need me to take her for a couple of days?”
My chest rumbles with a laugh. “Everything’s fine, Grace, I promise. But thank you.”
Out of everyone in my family, Grace has kept the closest eye on me. I don’t know if it’s because we’re twins and maybe she feels some sort of weird twin telepathy between us. At least twice a week, if not more, Grace drops by and asks if she can help in any way. I know she’s doing it because she cares, and is probably worried about me, but sometimes I wish I could shake her and force her to hear that I’m fine, because I am.
She and I are very different when it comes to dealing with things. Grace is a big talker and needs to be able to vocalize what’s bothering her, and I couldn’t be more opposite. I don’t like to talk about my feelings, at all, really. My family knows about the affair, but I’ve kept most of it to myself because that’s just who I am. After Megan died, Ididsee a therapist for about five or six months, where I shared more than I was honestly comfortable with, but I only did it for Ellie Mae. She just lost her mom, and she deserved to have the best version of her dad, andI wasn’t my best version. I know Grace wishes I would talk to her about it, but she doesn’t push, which I’m thankful for.
Grace and I used to be really close. As kids, all through school, and even during the first few years of my marriage, she was my best friend and the person I talked to the most. We drifted apart several years ago when my marriage got a little rocky. Looking back, I think Megan was intimidated. Her and her parents didn’t have a great relationship at all, and she only had one sibling, who she didn’t speak to, and it always bothered her how tight-knit I was with my family—Grace, in particular—so, without even realizing it, I started putting distance between them to appease my wife. It wasn’t until after I found out about the affair that I realized how badly I had alienated myself from my family. It was a harrowing moment, feeling like I had nobody to lean on as my world was imploding.
Which I know now wasn’t true. They were always there. I just wasn’t, but I’m trying to change that now.
“Come over tomorrow night,” Grace offers. “Conway got a ton of meat from one of his clients, and he wants to grill it up.”
“I’m in. Who else is going to be there?”
“You’re the first person I’ve asked, but I’m going to invite the fam, and Conway’s going to invite a couple of his buddies. Oh, and Charley, of course.”
“Oh, cool,” I murmur.
My pulse kicks up at the mention of my sister’s best friend. It’s been six weeks since the night Charley and I shared. We’ve barely said more than two sentences to each other since, and I hate how much it’s bugging me. Like I said, I’m not one to talk about feelings and all that, but Charley takes the cake. We work together at the inn—and usually on the same shift—so her level of avoidance is impressive, if not a little annoying. There wasn’t even any morning-after awkward small talk, since she was gone—from her own house—when I woke up, which, to me,was a clear message that she didn’t want to discuss anything. I don’t know what I expected, but given our history, I definitely expected more than a cold shoulder.
