Efficient. Practical. Adult.
But my chest burns with something that has nothing to do with efficiency. That lump that has been persistent the last few days creeps up my throat, and I have the annoying urge to cry. Cry over what? This is nothing new. The only thing new is that I let myself go there.
My heart pounds traitorously against my chest.
I brake too hard at a stoplight, cars blurring through my vision. I blink rapidly. Get it together.
No. I won't do this again. I won't hand him the power to wreck me again, for the umpteenth time.
Tomorrow at Duke, I'll smile for the cameras. I'll play my part as the supportive co-parent, the proud mom of the boy who started it all. I'll sit next to Woody and keep the steel walls around my heart firmly in place.
There will be no hot, steamy, adrenaline-filled kisses when no one is around.
My phone lights up on the console, vibrating against the cup holder. Jerry's name flashes across the screen.
Just checking in. Had a great time last night. Dinner again soon?
A knot pulls tightly across my chest. I don't pick it up. Jerry is safe. Jerry is consistent. Jerry would never abandon me and Sanders in a New York hotel room.
Jerry also doesn't make my skin burn with a single glance.
I turn into the Publix parking lot and cut the engine. The winter sun angles through the windshield, dust motes spinning like confetti. I close my eyes, suddenly bone-tired.
The phone buzzes again. A reminder that someone wants me, that someone has always been willing to put us first.
Leaving it in the cup holder, I reach for my grocery list instead. Focus on tasks. Cross things off. That’s how I put all of this in my rearview mirror..
I maneuveronto the quiet back roads toward home, avoiding the holiday traffic clogging Main Street. The sun melts into the horizon, painting everything in hazy gold.
My phone rings. This time, Jerry is calling.
Maybe I'm being unfair. Jerry's been nothing but good to me and Sanders. In fairness, I did tell him in clear language that I don't want to go there again with him. But I did let that hug when he arrived go on a little too long.
I tap my finger against the steering wheel, weighing my options. Finally, I swipe to answer.
"Hey, Jer. Sorry, I was in the grocery store when youtexted earlier."
"No worries at all. I actually called because I have an idea and wanted to try and catch you. Are you home?" Jerry's voice flows through the speakers. It's warm, smooth, practiced.
I exhale, easing my grip on the wheel. "Just about. Why? What's up?"
"Been thinking about dinner last night." His tone brightens. "Really enjoyed it. Sanders is getting so tall. And that story about his science project had me laughing all morning."
I picture the three of us at dinner last night, Jerry leaning forward when Sanders spoke, asking follow-up questions, never once checking his phone.
"It was nice," I say honestly, surprising myself. "He liked having you there. So did I."
"The risotto with that chicken. Mwwa. Chef's kiss. Thank you for having me. It really brightened my entire Christmas season."
The flattery lands softly between us. I glance out the window at the streaked sky, molten orange fading to purple. The Christmas lights strung along fence posts twinkle as I pass.
Woody stirs storms. Jerry offers calm seas.
This dependable, gentle, safe man is what I should want. Maybe it's what I've been too stubborn to let myself have.
"Listen," Jerry continues. "The reason I called is they're doing that Christmas concert on the beach tonight. The one with the floating tree and all those lanterns? Thought maybe you and Sanders might want to go. We could grab something to eat at one of the food trucks before."
My turn signal clicks steadily as I wait at the empty intersection. Simple. Predictable. Safe.
