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22
Decisions, Decision
After Lola eatsher french fries, Wyatt gives her a tour of the bar. More specifically, he shows her his office. It fascinates her for some reason. She ends up twirling around in his desk chair, laughing until she gets dizzy.
“Where are Addy and Jones?” Wyatt asks as he locks his office behind us.
“I’m not sure. At the festival maybe.”
“Can you call them, ask them to come and pick up Lola?” his suggestion has my knees feeling weak. “I know you’re leaving soon and I’d like to talk. Alone.”
Nodding, I search my purse for my phone. Texting Addy, she replies instantly.
ME: Can you come pick up Lola?
ADDY: Sure. Where did you go?
ME: At the bar.
ADDY: Be there in five.
“They’re on their way now,” I explain to Wyatt. When I look over my shoulder to make sure he heard me, his eyes find mine, and my knees, already weak, almost buckle under me. I reach out and grab the nearest chair, slowly lowering myself.
When it rocks slightly I realize what chair I’m in.
My chair.
One of the only pieces of furniture in the place that’s not brand new.
A piece of our history, perfectly preserved in its imperfect state.
“Okay. Would you mind if Jones took Lola over to meet my mom and my sister?”
Becky and Willow.
My second family while Wyatt and I were dating.
“Not at all,” I reply instantly. “Should we go with them?”
“Not yet. Mom doesn’t know everything I know. She called this morning and heard Lola’s voice in the background. She had more questions than I was prepared to answer.”
Of course she did.
Becky liked to hover. Not because she didn’t trust us, but because she cared. She wanted to know everything we were up to, where we were going, and when we would be back.
I can only imagine what went through her head when Wyatt told her she was a grandma. I’m sure tears were involved.
After Jones and Addy pick Lola up, Wyatt and I settle at our table, in the same seats we always took, his chair as close to mine as possible. I have the sudden urge to play footsie with him just to see if I can bring a smile to his face.
“So,” he begins. “I’m not really sure where to start.”
“Me either,” I admit.
“What do you want to do?”
“That’s a loaded question,” I say. “I want Lola to be happy. I want you two to be able to have a relationship, one that’s better than every other weekend like divorced parents give their kids. She deserves better than that and so do you after all I put you through.”
“Stop right there. I think we need to back up a little bit.”
