There was no way I could have stayed in Ohio, and my mom wouldn’t leave. My dad had been buried there when I was two. She’d die there too, and be buried next to him and the countless memories she had, no doubt half of them make-believe.
Plus, she’d made it clear she wasn’t going to help with the baby.
Even when she’d shown up in North Carolina for the delivery, she’d said every ten minutes, “I’m going home in a few days, and you’re on your own.”
When I’d fled to North Carolina at the promise of a tennis-teaching gig and a whisper of night school, it had been a pipe dream. Neither panned out for a twenty-something single mom.
Over the years, my mom had looked at Darla with suspicion. On Dar’s third Christmas, Mom came to visit again, bringing a few presents and a pocketful of accusations.
Actually, her accusations were truths.“I’d know that face, those eyes anywhere.”
My phone rang, interrupting my negative-thought train.
When I saw who it was, I answered, “I’m not working lunch, Bryce. I promised Darla I’d pick her up at school and see the turtle in their classroom.”
“Nice. But I’m not calling about lunch.”
“Oh, sorry.” I went to the coffeemaker and topped off my mug. “What’s up?”
Bryce cleared his throat, something he did when he was nervous.
“What?” I demanded.
“Your friend is here. He came to pick up his car, and he asked for your phone number.”
“Ugh.” I slumped back into my seat.
“He’s refusing to leave until I give it to him.”
“I’ll come and deal with him.”
“You sure? You don’t have to—I can handle him.”
“See you soon.”
I hung up and yanked out my messy bun. With a swift hand, I finger-combed through the knots and twisted my hair into a tight knot. I threw a cardigan over the tank and yoga pants I’d worn to school drop-off, and slipped my feet into flip-flops.
It didn’t take me long to make my way to the restaurant. As I pulled around back, I caught Drew sitting next to the back door. He was in athletic shorts and a damp shirt, his feet straight out from him, adorned in running shoes.
I slammed the car in park and jumped out. “Drew!”
I was good and mad, but for all the wrong reasons. Furious at the man in front of me for reigniting a dream that had died long ago. Devastated that I refused to allow myself to have the fantasy, the reunion I’d seen in my mind about a million times.
When he stood and headed slowly toward me, all the anger seeped from my veins.
“Why are you limping?”
“It’s fine. I’m fine.”
“Are you hurt? Don’t tell me you ran here—”
“I ran at the gym. Ubered there, Ubered here. Would’ve Ubered to you ... if I knew where that was.”
“You can’t keep surprising me like this.”
“I can and I will. Until you give me what I want.”
He closed the gap between us; close enough for me to see the beads of sweat that clung to his short hair, and detect his scent. He smelled like sweat and something minty.
