because you thought I was with you because I felt sorry for you.”
“I didn’t break up with you,” she says defensively.
I laugh and sit up on the bed. “The hell you didn’t! Your exact words were, ‘I don’t care if it takes days, or weeks, or months.’ That’s a breakup.”
“It was not. I was giving you time to think.”
“Time I didn’t need.” I lie back down on my pillow and face her again. “It sure felt like a breakup.”
“Well,” she says, looking at me. “Sometimes two people need to fall apart to realize how much they need to fall back together.”
I take her hand and rest it between us, then stroke the back of it with my thumb. “Let’s not fall apart again,” I whisper.
She looks me in the eyes. “Never.”
There’s vulnerability in the way she looks at me in silence. Her eyes scroll over my face and her mouth is curled up into a slight grin. She doesn’t speak, but she doesn’t have to. I know in these moments, when it’s just her and me and nothing else, that she truly, soul-deep loves me.
“What was it like the first time you saw me?” she asks. “What was it about me that made you want to ask me out? And tell me everything, even the bad thoughts.”
I laugh. “There weren’t any bad thoughts. Naughty thoughts, maybe. But not bad.”
She grins. “Well then tell me those, too.”
the introduction
I HOLD THE phone to my ear with my shoulder and finish buttoning my shirt. “I promise, Grandma,” I say into the phone. “I’m leaving straight from work on Friday. We’ll be there by five but right now we’re running late, I need to go. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
She says her good-byes and I hang up the phone. Caulder walks through the living room with his backpack slung across his shoulder and a green, plastic army helmet on his head. He’s always trying to sneak random accessories to school. Last week when I dropped him off, he was out of the car before I even noticed he was wearing a holster.
I reach out and snatch the helmet off his head and toss it onto the couch. “Caulder, go get in the car. I’ve got to grab my stuff.”
Caulder heads outside and I scramble to gather all the papers scattered across the bar. I was up past midnight grading. I’ve only been teaching eight weeks now, but I’m beginning to understand why there’s a teacher shortage. I shove the stack of papers inside my binder, then shove it into my satchel and head outside.
“Great,” I mutter as soon as I see the U-Haul backing up across the street. This is the third family to move into that house in less than a year. I’m not in the mood to help people move again, especially after only four hours of sleep. I hope they’ll be finished unloading by the time I get home today, or I’ll feel obligated to help. I turn around and lock the door behind me, then quickly head for the car. When I open the car door, Caulder isn’t inside. I groan and throw my stuff in the seat. He always picks the worst times to play hide-and-seek; we’re already ten minutes late.
I glance in the backseat, hoping he’s hiding in the floorboard again, but I catch sight of him in the street. He’s laughing and playing with another little boy that looks about his age. This is a plus. Maybe having a neighbor to play with will get him out of my hair more often.
I start to call his name when the U-Haul catches my eye again. The girl driving can’t be any older than me, yet she’s confidently backing up the U-Haul without any help. I lean against my car door and decide to watch her attempt to navigate that thing around those gnomes. This should be interesting.
I’m quickly proven wrong and she’s parked in the driveway in no time flat. Rather than hop out to inspect her parking job, she kills the engine and rolls down her window, then props her leg up on the dash.
I don’t know why these simple actions strike me as odd. Intriguing, even. She drums her fingers on the steering wheel, then reaches up