But who wouldn’t want to train with someone who helped keep professional football players in shape? Especially if he looked like one himself.
“So when are you finally going to open? You’ve been prepping long enough.” I couldn’t resist the dig.
“Yeah, I should show you what I did to the place.” He stalked across the room toward me. How could someone that bulky be so graceful? “Got a minute?”
I shook my head and pulled my phone out of my pocket to pretend to check the time. “Busy day. So when are you opening?”
I wanted to prepare for the influx of parking spot thieves in the lot. And I still needed to address the music situation.
“Soon. I’m throwing a grand opening–slash–Halloween party. I’m calling it Swole-o-Ween.”
I rolled my eyes. My puns were a thousand times better.
“What’s the exact date? Because my annual Howl-o-Ween party is coming up and there’s no way they can be on the same night. It’s one of my most popular events.”
“Thursday the twenty-seventh.”
I closed my eyes and saw visions of bros doing keg stands in the parking lot while my sweet clients and their dogs hurried past.
“Nope. Absolutely not,” I finally managed. “Looks like you’re going to be changing it, because that’smydate.”
chapter eleven
Funny how easy it was for us to slip back into our old patterns, despite everything that had changed.
I’d finally made time to bring Edith and Birdie to my mom’s house for a visit (it still hurt not to say “parents’ house”) and the first thing we did was head out for a walk in the fall sun. We used to spend plenty of time outside together, strolling with Birdie on the paths my dad had carved out in the woods. Now we did it as a warm-up before going inside, to help me get ready to be around all the reminders of him. His glasses still nestled in the remote control caddy in the family room, the last biography he was reading tucked back in the bookshelf, but with the blue tassel of his bookmark trailing from it.
Sure, the property had my dad’s fingerprints all over it as well, but for some reason it was easier for me to deal with him not being around when I was outside. Maybe because he lived on in the dogwood and red maple trees he’d planted when he and my mom had bought the place over thirty years ago. They’d transformed the run-down stone farmhouse and surrounding five acres into something out of a fairy tale. It was a home thatmanaged to be cozy in the fall and winter thanks to the oversized fireplace in the great room and breezy during the warmer months, which were spent out on the covered porch. Going home was my favorite journey, and it only took me twenty minutes to get there.
“She’s perfect, you know,” my mom said, pausing to lean down and pet Edith. “You were meant to have her. Might not make sense now, but there’s a reason why she’s here with you.”
I watched the little dog melt into my mom’s capable, tender hands, then roll onto her back in the dappled fall sun. I could see the top of my mom’s head as she petted Edith and the only hint that she was pushing sixty-five was the tiny line of white hair creeping along her scalp. As soon as she started getting grays she’d found a hairstylist who matched her auburn hair so expertly that you couldn’t tell it was dyed. Her face was almost completely wrinkle free thanks to the curse of fair skin and a lifetime of hiding from the sun, and her eyes were always smiling. I felt lucky to have her blood in my veins.
“Edith is really great,” I agreed, laughing at the way the puppy kept trying to nibble on my mom’s fingers. “Not what I needed right now, but we’re making it work. And Birdie is being patient with her.”
My senior paused at the mention of her name, then trotted back to us, her tail wagging low and slow. She pushed in next to my mom’s knees, demanding her own pats.
“Birdie, I love you too, you know that.” She laughed at the dog’s blatant jealousy, giving her a kiss on the top of the head. “You were my first granddog and you’re a certified good old girl.”
My mom was one of her favorite people, to the point where I used “Nana!” as my go-to word to ensure a cute expression andhead tilt when I snapped a photo. It was obvious by the way she was clamoring for attention that Birdie missed her.
And I did too.
I took a deep breath and wished I could bottle the moment. That familiar, comforting scent of fall leaves, a breeze that was cool enough to make you wish you’d worn a hoodie even though it was still warm in the sunshine, and two dogs reveling in the freedom of sniffing whatever they wanted to. After sweating it out all summer, autumn always used to make me feel excited for the cozy sweaters and hot beverages to come. I loved the anticipation of the approaching holidays. Now, though, it felt like everything was a reminder that he wouldn’t be around to share them with us.
“I feel like we haven’t talked like this in forever,” my mom said as she straightened up slowly. She glanced at me and waited for me to meet her eyes. “I’m glad you’re here.”
I fought off the stab of guilt at the reminder that I hadn’t been around much. “Me too.”
We kept walking on the carpet of fallen leaves, watching Edith try to keep up with Birdie. “Did I tell you your aunt Helen is coming to Thanksgiving too?”
“You mean she’s not off in Qatar buying rugs or something?”
Aunt Helen was my dad’s sister and she and my mom had been best friends since the day they met at a family barbecue, back when she was just a girlfriend. Aunt Helen had never married or had children, instead choosing to devote herself to a life of her own making, including plenty of adventures traveling to stock her antiques business.
“Nope, she’s stateside through the holidays. I’m looking forward to seeing her.”
We passed the rock garden where my dad used to create little balance sculptures that lasted until the elements or gravity decided to reclaim them. I looked away quickly.
