“You’re right,” Brittany says in disgust. “Mr. Love ‘em and Leave ‘em has finally crossed the line. Then again, he’s plowed his way through just about every single woman in the county, and I suspect a few married ones. Guess he’s got to move on to the desperate single mothers.”
I cringe, but she’s right. Logan has a deserved reputation. I guess all the Garrison brothers do, but at least I protect Jane, and while Donavan lives in Atlanta, he’s not ready to settle down either. The closest he’s gotten is offering to host Thanksgiving this year, and while Logan is apparently making the trek, I’m on the fence. It’s a bit of a shit move to make my employees work on the days before and after Thanksgiving if I’m not there myself. Besides, Donavan’s idea of cooking is to microwave a can of pumpkin.
Still, something’s not quite right with Logan. He’s seen me playing dolls and house with Jane and has never made fun of me for doing it. Hell, she ran through a phase when Uncle Logan was her pretend dog, and he never once balked. So what’s his problem today? Maybe I should have pressed him to talk after all.
“He’ll get over it,” Brittany says with a sigh. “He always does.”
She’s right again. Logan and I are only thirteen months apart. We’ve always been close, which means we’ve also had plenty of disagreements, but we’ve never let them fester. We leave that trait to Donavan. There’s a reason he lives in Atlanta.
“For what it’s worth,” Brittany says, “that’s actually a great idea. Jane’s bright, Cole. Maybe she’s bored at school, and that’s why she’s acting up. Rory’s program might stimulate her mind so she’ll get in less trouble.”
I snort. “If you believe that, I’ll eat my underwear. She’s got too much Garrison blood in her for her own good.”
She bursts out laughing. “That may be true, but she’s got plenty of Millie in her too. So let’s hope you’re wearing some skimpy thong or you’re about to get some fiber in your diet.”
I roll my eyes and shake my head.
“What did she do this time anyway?”
“She pushed a girl off the choir riser in music class.”
“What?” She steps closer, growing serious. “She’s never gotten physical before.”
“Yeah, I know. And I’m worried. So I took her to Tea of Fortune, but she kept her feelings locked up tighter than the gold at Fort Knox.”
“I wonder where she got that from,” she says dryly.
“Hey,” I object. “I talk about my feelings.”
“Hate to be the one to tell you, Cole, but talking about how pissed you are that the Braves didn’t make it to the playoffs doesn’t count.”
“World Series,” I correct in a know-it-all voice, “and they would have made it this year if Hernandez’s shoulder hadn’t gotten fucked up.”
“Yeah, whatever,” she grouses. “The fact is, you don’t talk about how you feel about the important stuff. Obviously, that’s a Garrison trait, but you can fight it. So can Logan, for that matter. Did you ever stop to think that maybe Jane doesn’t talk about those things because that’s what she sees in both of you?”
Dammit. What if she’s right? What if Jane is fucked up because I don’t talk about feelings?
“I wasn’t supposed to do this alone,” I say, my voice tight. “Millie was the touchy-feely one, not me.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t change, Cole.”
I wipe another glass, and she gives me a sidelong look. “You know, Millie would be proud of you.”
I snort again. “Would she?”
“Hell, yeah. She loved you to the moon and back, and she’d be proud of how you’ve taken on both parenting roles. You’re doing the best you can. That’s what matters.”
Two customers sit down at the end of the bar, so Brittany goes over to take their orders, leaving me stewing in my own thoughts. Maybe I was wrong to not look for another wife. Maybe Jane needs a woman around to help her navigate all this crap, because I know it’s only going to get worse once she’s a preteen.
But the thought of someone else taking Millie’s place makes me feel like I’m bathing in fryer grease. Janehada mother. She just didn’t have her for very long.
Still, the dating app on my phone has a new appeal. Not because I suddenly want to look for a wife—that’s noteverhappening—but maybe it would help me understand Jane better if I were with a woman for purposes other than screwing. Besides, Ididtell Rory I’d try it. What can it hurt to send a few messages back and forth?
Or you could try to talk to Holly. She’s a real person, not a stranger on the other side of an app.
I nearly snort at the thought. If I needed a sign that I was losing it, look no further—this is it. Sure, there’s chemistry between the two of us. But Holly’s also the woman who found it hysterical to tell everyone I pissed myself after someone at the brewery dropped a full beer on me. She also threw dick-shaped confetti at me at a bachelorette party one time, getting several pieces stuck in my hair for Jane to find later. So the app it is.
I head back to my office and sit behind my desk before I pull out my phone and finally read the messages from Cherrybomb. I wasn’t sure what I expected, but it’s not the snark on my screen. I smile to myself. I was worried this would be sappy and gag-worthy, but maybe I can deal with this. I type out my response, deciding to be honest. Might as well. Either this woman takes me as I am, or she can swipe on to the next guy.
I’ve just started on some paperwork when my phone rings. My anger kicks into life as quickly as if the woman calling me is really laying into one of those push buttons on a gas fireplace.
It’s Millie’s mother. Evelyn Labelle.
