When the storefront was closed for the evening, I dropped onto one of the toadstool-shaped pouf pillows in the children's section. There, in the shop's darkened quiet, I felt those bruises. The ones from my family barely registered. They were the mauve-gray shadows that came and went without much notice.
The one from Jackson—the one I'd caused—that was different. It was deep blue with angry red around the point of impact. I'd feel it in every breath and movement. The ache would rouse me from sleep. It would take months to fade and even then, the pain would pang through me without reason.
I thought about calling Jackson, explaining the mess he'd walked into this afternoon. But this fight wasn't about the mess. It was about me and all the trouble I had accepting love. Not just accepting it but cultivating it, defending it, keeping it. I knew that now, sitting on the toadstool in the dark long after he'd left be in the storeroom, but I didn't know how to fix it.
Knowing was one thing. Solving was a different one altogether.
I could call Jackson or go to his house and say, "Oh, hi there. Just so you know, my family verbally bitch-slapped me this afternoon and they'll always think you're too good for me. Needless to say, I was in a wonky place when you dropped in. Also, I'm kind of a mess because I can't make heads or tails of real, true affection and I don't know how to take what you're giving in a healthy way. Can you bear with me while I figure it out?"
I could do that but I didn't think I could manage if Jackson said no. And after the way I'd reacted to him, how could he respond with anything other than a resounding no? My family was awful to me and I was awful to Jackson. All that awful needed somewhere to go and I'd dumped it on the one person whoknewme,caredabout me,choseme.
Instead of reaching out to Jackson, I picked my phone up from the floor beside me. Swiping it to life, I found several messages from Brooke. Nothing from Jackson—my whole reason for keeping the device nearby—but that didn't surprise me. He'd made it clear he was waiting for my move.
Brooke: Can we talk?
Brooke: I can't leave the house tonight. Would you mind coming here?
Annette: Do you have wine?
Brooke: Of course.
Annette: Okay. I'll head over in a few minutes. I have to put myself together.
Brooke: Don't pretty yourself up on my account.
Annette: I wasn't planning on pretty but I do have to get off the floor and find my purse.
Brooke: Why are you on the floor?
Brooke: No. Don't answer that now. Just come over. I'm out on the porch with a bucket full of screw-cap pinot and cheese.
Annette: Bless you.
Brooke: To clarify, the cheese is on a plate with crackers and nuts. The wine is in the bucket. I don't eat cheese out of buckets.
Annette: That's probably for the best.
Brooke: Probably.
"Bottoms up,"Brooke said as she clinked her glass against mine.
As I sipped my wine, I stared out at Talbott's Cove. It wasn't dark yet but that shadowy space between evening and night that forced you to stop, look at the sky, and wonder how any other moment in a day could be so grand. Even now, as I sagged into this wicker rocking chair to lick my wounds and numb my emotional exhaustion, I couldn't help but love this little town.
"Nice night, huh?" Brooke remarked.
"Yeah," I said, motioning toward the horizon. Some summer nights in the Cove were unpleasant.Unbearabledidn't begin to describe the combination of heat and humidity. But this, tonight, was the best the summer had to offer. Cool air with a gentle sea breeze. The scents of ocean and woods mingling together. Dragonflies swooping from flower to flower in the garden. Pinprick stars winking in the sky. "You have an incredible view up here."
"I'm sorry I haven't invited you to visit recently," she said, busying herself with the brie. "Things have been complicated since I came home."
I nodded. "Family is complicated. I know all about that," I added.
After a long pause, Brooke said, "I screamed at your boyfriend today. Maybe it wasn't screaming but it was a more assertive conversation than my usual."
"I'm not sure he's my boyfriend at the moment," I murmured.
"Wait. What? What's going on?" she asked, leaning on the arm of her rocking chair. "Is it because I yelled at him?"
"I don't think so," I replied, "but why were you yelling at him?"
