It wasn’t like I needed Lia to remind me about Bonnie. Of course, I’d thought of her. That was all I’d done for the last week.
I could easily imagine her here, joining us in my grandmother’s cramped kitchen, even though it had only ever been the two of us spending Christmas together.
Bonnie fit wherever she went. And that was part of the problem.
She sure as hell had carved out a space in my heart, making it hard to breathe when I thought about what I’d done.
I pulled the aluminum foil off the bowl of potatoes and added a serving spoon from the drawer. I placed it on the kitchen table along with the deviled eggs, but paused when I took in Lia’s offerings, ready and waiting.
“You didn’t make green beans,” I accused. “You always make green beans.”
Lia stood in the doorway wearing a frown that looked nearly identical to the one on my own face. “I made okra. Things don’t always have to stay the same. Bonnie mentioned liking okra the last time she was here. So I made okra.”
I stared at the offending deep-fried vegetable.
“So why isn’t she here to eat my okra, Jack?”
Wincing, I straightened and cleared my throat. “It wasn’t like that with Bonnie, okay? We weren’t serious. She has her life, and I have mine.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it.”
My grandmother stomped over and roughly gathered up the extra place setting that I’d missed earlier in my distraction over the green beans.
Lia had expected Bonnie for Christmas Eve dinner. She’d made space for her at the table and made okra for her, too. She’d obviously gotten her hopes up where Bonnie was concerned.
Well, hers weren’t the only expectations I’d blown up recently.
“It just didn’t work out,” I replied, and it sounded lame to my own ears.
Lia turned her steely gaze on me. “Why? Because she was divorced? You think she has too much baggage?”
I frowned. “No, of course?—”
“Or did she impede on your precious freedom and independence?”
“Jesus, Lia. No. None of that. Is that what you really think of me?”
She eyed me. “Well, how am I supposed to know? You show up out of the blue with a nice girl. Look at her like she hung the moon and the stars, too. And then you claim it’s not serious. Sounds to me like you have commitment issues.”
I stared.
“What?” she huffed. “I read things. I listen to podcasts. I know about the male loneliness epidemic.”
I scrubbed a hand down my face.
“Which is complete bullshit, if you ask me,” she added grandly. “Women have just finally gotten their priorities straight.”
Exasperated and desperate to end this conversation, I snapped, “I’m just not right for Bonnie. She’s meant for marriage and babies and someone worthy of her.”
Her weathered face creased in confusion. “Why can’t that be you?”
“Because of how I am.”
A pause. “So, itisa commitment issue?”
Frustration warred with shame. Why was she making me spell this out? She knew my whole sordid history. Lia was the one person I’d expected to just get it. “It’s not in my genes.”
A beat passed while she stared, eyes wide.
