“You sure about the southern ones?”
“I’m pretty sure.”
“So pregnant at sixteen.” He fiddles with the buttons on his flannel.
“Yep.” I pop the P. “High school sweethearts. For my seventeenth birthday, I got a pregnancy test, and he broke up with me the very next day.”
Arlo startles, and the flush of anger infuses his cheeks, making him stutter. “What? He didn’t stay with you? How? Why? Your parents?”
With a chuckle, I press a comforting palm to his arm. I forget that when I tell this story, it always ends up bothering the listener more than it does me. Lark’s father came from a very prestigious and wealthy family in the South. They never wanted us to end up together, let alone pregnant. “I’ve had time to adjust to those circumstances.” I drop my hand.
“Well, I haven’t.”
“Arlo, we were just kids. I never would have expected him to stay with me. But if it helps, I didn’t drop out of high school. I graduated the following year as I should have with a six-month-old.” I think back to that day, to my grandma in the audience, holding Lark with Robin beside her, who was only sixteen at the time himself. All three of them beamed at me. It is still by far my favorite memory, in part because so many people told me I couldn’t do it, yet I did, and with honors.
“What put that smile on your face?”
Nibbling on my lip, I smirk at him. “I graduated with honors, and he had to face that every single day. He had to see me inthe halls with my head held high as I finished high school with a belly and a baby. I had our daughter over Christmas break, and I showed up right after.”
“It’s sweet revenge.”
“No, not revenge. Just perseverance. I wanted him to know that I wouldn’t give up on me, and I wouldn’t give up on her, and I can honestly say that not one day has gone by where I gave up.”
“That’s why you fear letting her go,” he surmises.
“Observant, aren’t you?” I tease.
“Someone has to be.” He pops a fluffy kernel into his mouth, smiling at me while chewing his food.
“Gross.”
“You’re just mad you can’t get all this buttery goodness in your mouth.”
“No, I’m just mad you ate two dollars’ worth of popcorn.” He freezes, and his eyes widen as he glances at the bag, then back up at me, then down and back again. “I’m kidding!”
The look of relief on his face is too amusing not to laugh.
A few minutes later, after sipping his hot cocoa, he asks, “So, just to be clear, there is no one?”
“Not in that way, no.”
“Oh?” He pauses, interest gleaming in his eyes as he watches me.
“My best friend Eric. He was always there for us. He stepped in when Lark wanted to go to father-daughter dances and I needed help. He became a pseudo-father. Ironically, he was best friends with He Who I Shall Not Name.” My voice turns wistful. I miss my friend with every fiber of my being.
“What happened to him?”
“All he ever wanted in life was to save those who needed saving. In the end, that’s what killed him.” I swallow past the lump in my throat.
“I’m sorry, Birdie.” The genuine empathy in his voice almost undoes me.
Blowing out a breath, I shift the subject away from Eric and back to safe territory. “How about you? Any missus who might come in here and attack me for sitting in a car with her boy?”
“No, not anymore.” His eyes drift away before he clears his throat, shifting restlessly in his seat. “It wasn’t on bad terms. W e just wanted two very different things. You’ll meet her, I’m sure.”
“Oh, the mystery ex lives in town?” I can’t hide the hint of curiosity in my voice. In a town of just five hundred people, I’m sure I’ll run into her, eventually.
“Bridget, she owns the flower shop.” Once more he clears his throat. I n what I’m learning is a nervous tic.
