I smile because that’s the first time someone’s said that, and it does make me feel a tiny bit better about how much I’m paying her.
“Who knew divorce lawyers were so expensive.”
He nods knowingly. “I paid mine off five years ago. It’s a steep bill. Especially when you’ve got other payments that don’t wait for you to catch up.”
Isn’t that the truth.
“Did you used to come to visit your grandma when you were younger?”
“I visited a few times over the years with my mom. One summer, she sent me here because I was pissing her off.”
He deadpans, “I can’t imagine why,” with a smirk that practically begs me to flick a piece of rice pilaf at his forehead where one, dark black curl has fallen perfectly. Why is that so attractive?
He brushes it away from his face as if he’s reading my mind.
“You have sisters,” I say flatly. “You get the teenage angst. Imagine that, but times one thousand.”
He nods, taking another bite of his food. “I remember it well. Eden was into Dashboard Confessional, Panic at the Disco, all the emo bands. I’ll never forget the time she yelled ‘you’ll never understand!’ at me when I asked her what grade she got on her English exam.”
I smirk. “That must have been a trip raising a teenager.”
He chuckles. “I enjoyed it. Feel like it set me up for the future.”
My heart stalls for a second. Or maybe it softens. I can’t tell which. All I know is something shifts in my chest as I look at him. This kind, steady, impossibly patient man who stepped up and raised his little sister after their parents died unexpectedly was probably navigating periods, acne, teenage break-ups and making dinner each night while stressing about bills before I ever had to think about those things.
The story is devastating. The kind of loss that fractures a family overnight and forces someone to grow up before they’re ready. I can tell the way it’s matured him already. I can’t imagine the weight he must have carried. Grieving. Becoming a guardian. Trying to hold everything together while his own new marriage was rapidly falling apart.
There’s something about that that makes me view him differently from the other men I’ve encountered. Maybe it’s the fact that he has sisters. Maybe it’s knowing he understands women in a way most men don’t even try to or ever could. It makes mefeel… safer. Seen, somehow.
And without realizing it, I relax. I lean in a little closer. Let myself enjoy the conversation instead of bracing for it to disappoint me. I don’t anticipate this going anywhere, but it’s always nice to be reassured that there are good, steady men out there.
“Yeah,” I continue, “other than that, this is the longest I’ve ever lived here.”
“And do you like the town so far?”
I nod because, strangely, I do. I always thought I’d be a New York City girl for life. Born in Atlanta, a massive city on the east coast, but I made it to NYC as quickly as I could. Both are big cities with different vibes, but with their own diversity of people, culture, food and experiences. But maybe Brookhaven is what I need right now. Small towns have a way of slowing you down and stripping away the performing. And that’s what I think I need to rebuild.
“I do,” I admit. “It’s… cute.”
He smiles. “You could say that. The summers are even better. Boating, fishing, lots of little fairs and parades that wrap around the lake.”
“That’ll be interesting to see. This time of the year is… terrible. I hate this month.”
His brows lift in surprise. “You hate… the month of February?”
“I hate the awkward in-between—no real holidays, no warm weather to look forward to. It’s just gray, cold, and blah.”
“What about Valentine’s Day?”
“Hate it.”
He sets his fork down on his plate so slowly, like I just confessed to hating puppies or sunsets. “I’ve never met a woman who hated Valentine’s Day before.”
I shrug and tick off my fingers. “It’s a made-up holiday, createdby corporations to make more money and capitalism sucks. The holiday is all about giving gifts and getting gifts. There’s this expectation that you’re going to receive something, and it better be expensive or the person doesn’t care enough about you. It also isolates single people and makes them feel worse about their status. Comparison is totally the thief of joy. You can’t get a dinner reservation to save your life, so you’re forced to cook whatever’s in your pantry. You waste money on chocolate and flowers that are just going to die in a week. Oh, and let’s not forget the origins of Valentine’s Day are totally insane.”
His lips tilt at the corner into a smile. “Wasn’t it some Catholic saint?”
I shake my head, my eyes widening dramatically as I whisper, “Oh, you don’t know?”
