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I take a deep breath and hold it to the count of five. “Because last night at work, some woman came in and claimed to be pregnant with his baby.”
Aunt Leanne chokes on her sip of water. Jesus, Peyton. Could you not have waited until she swallowed first? I jump up from my seat and smack her back over her lungs. She waves me away as the coughing slows.
“Damn, girl. Trying to kill me?”
I purse my lips and raise my brows. “Hope you’re being sarcastic, ’cause that’s not remotely funny.”
“Sorry.” She coughs one last time, then takes another sip of water. “Of all the scenarios I expected, that was definitely not one of them. Took me by surprise, is all.”
“Just be glad you didn’t witness it firsthand.”
The corners of her mouth turn down as her lower lip juts out slightly. Some may confuse the look with pity, but I recognize the fraction of heartbreak she has for me in this moment. With all the painful tragedies of my past, adding another to the list sucks.
“It probably hurts, but tell me everything. From start to finish.”
So, until our lunch arrives, I regale her with the events of the last forty-eight hours. Tell her the good news with work, Micah’s reaction, and mine in turn. The kiss in the office and later at his house. I share how happy and weightless it felt to be around him, and the potential of what the future holds.
Then, I go into the bomb drop. How worked up this woman was about Micah not accepting her word. I share how the woman looked ready to party, and take another random man to her bed. And then, how I went back to Micah’s house to talk. Our awkward silence and kiss before I said good night. How I felt empty and broken the moment I drove away.
Our plates slide in front of us and I snag a fry from my plate to munch on. As per usual, Aunt Leanne goes quiet after my story. She eats her BLT and I eat my fish sandwich. I pick at my fries and she eats her pineapple coleslaw. When our plates are empty, Aunt Leanne pushes hers aside and clasps her hands on the table.
“I assume you asked me here today because you want advice.”
Mimicking her movement, I push my plate aside and lean forward. “That and to see if you think I’m overreacting. Is it weird for me to presume she’s telling the truth? To think Micah should act differently?”
Taking my hands in hers, she rubs back and forth. “No reaction is wrong, Peyton. We all see and hear and feel and react to things in our own way. Just because it’s different than someone else’s reaction doesn’t make it right or wrong. Your reaction is your own.”
“I hate that instinct has me leaning away from him instead of standing closer.”
She releases my hands, but doesn’t stray far. “Sweetheart, you two have history. One that has messed with you for years. I’d find it odd if you didn’t feel the way you do.” My brows shoot to my hairline. “Just because you played tonsil hockey with the man, it doesn’t erase history.”
“Tonsil hockey? Seriously?” Feels like I’m a kid again.
Laughter floats in the air as tears spill down Aunt Leanne’s face. “Would you rather I say sucking face? Or swapping spit? Canoodling, perhaps?” I drop my head in my hands. “Doesn’t matter what you call it, you’ve had your tongue down the man’s throat.”
Jesus. Heat surges up my chest to my neck and face. No doubt my cheeks look more like pomegranate skin. I lift my gaze enough to see no one is paying us any attention. Thank god. Then sip my water in the hopes it will cool down the heat of embarrassment.
“Where were we?” I ask once I drain the water glass.
“Having good weeks with a person doesn’t erase the bad years in your memory. You may enjoy his company now, but you still have barriers in place. Protection measures, in case he messes up again. By the sounds of it, you’ve already got the razor wire in place and the gate closing around your heart.”
The waiter stops at the table to check on us and clear our plates. A thirty-second break in our conversation. Enough time to ponder what to say next. The moment he walks off, Aunt Leanne perches her chin on her hands and waits with eager eyes.
“If you were me, what would you do?”
“Obviously, I never experienced your pain years ago. But if I were in your shoes, I’d give myself a little time. Nowadays, everyone feels decisions have to be made immediately. That no one should have to wait. In some situations, this may be true. But in others, time is what you need. Especially when it’s personal.”
“So, I should give it time?” Time to sink in? Or time apart? This is so damn confusing.
This is why relationships are a pain in the ass. Don’t get me wrong, I love sharing a connection with someone. Love not wanting to be apart from them. But drama and uncertainty are not qualities I want to embrace in a relationship.
“Give yourself time to really grasp the situation. Look at it from your perspective. Then, look at it from his. Write down your feelings on each. Imagine how you’d feel if someone threw news like this in your face and expected you to halt your life and cater to them. Let yourself feel what it’d be like to be in that scenario. Then make a decision from there.”
Wise beyond her years, just like her brother had been. This is the reason—among several others—why I ask Aunt Leanne all the hard questions. Why I bring up the life-changing stuff with her. Not that Mom wouldn’t give sage advice. Mom’s advice just happens to slant toward whatever is easiest. And easy isn’t always the best choice.
“Thank you. You always know how to make me see situations with fresh eyes.”
“Glad to help.” She pats my hand and scoots out of the booth. “Now let’s get out of here. You need to nap before work.”
I chuckle at her vague way of telling me I look like shit again. But I wouldn’t want this woman any other way. There are few people in this world whose opinions matter to me. Aunt Leanne gives it to me like it is, straight and to the point, and I appreciate it each and every time.
We hug near my car. “See you Monday?” she asks.
“Yeah. My schedule changed, but lunch is still good. Maybe an hour earlier?”
She kisses my cheek. “Sounds good. Keep me posted until then. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
I hop in my car and press the ignition. For a moment, I stare out the windshield and lose focus. “Look at it from your perspective. Then, look at it from his.” Call it my homework assignment, but I need to sit down and really evaluate us and both sides of the coin.
No matter what happens in the end, no matter what I choose, I trust my intuition won’t lead me down the wrong path. Not again.
