"That doesn't make me feel bad at all," Jordan said, pushing up her black-rimmed glasses.
"It's not all about you, sticky fingers," Frankie snapped.
Jordan shot her a look of confusion, and Frankie narrowed her eyes.
"Don't think I haven't seen you popping M&M's into your mouth every time you walk by."
Jordan shook her head. "I haven't. I--"
Frankie pointed at her. "You're lucky you use plastic spoons. Otherwise, that's unsanitary, and Patty would fire you for contaminating the toppings."
Jordan began to protest again, but I touched her shoulder. "She warms up."
"No, I don't," Frankie grumbled, picking at the wet rag in her hand.
She does, I mouthed.
Jordan nodded, a desperate expression on her face.
I remembered my first days with Frankie. She'd yelled at me a lot, accused me of eating the candy, and then offered me a ride home.
Jordan was quiet, like me, and would do just fine.
Patty came in with a bright smile on her face. I untied my apron and hung it on the hook for the last time.
"I can't watch," Frankie said, turning her back to me.
"Thought I'd come by to say good-bye," Patty said.
She hugged me, and then Frankie turned and hugged me at the same time.
They held me longer than I had expected, so my eyes danced around the room while I waited for them to let go. I patted Frankie's shoulder, and then Patty finally eased her grip.
"We're going to miss you around here, kiddo. Have fun at college," Patty said with a wink. "Try to visit if you get a chance."
I nodded. "Thank you, Patty, for..." The list was too long. "Everything. I'm really going to miss it here. You've always been good to me."
"You've always deserved it," Patty said.
"Get out of here." Frankie sniffed. "Enjoy what's left of your summer."
I hugged them once more, waved to Jordan, and then walked through the back room, pulling my car keys out of my pocket.
Weston had turned north out of the parking lot, so I knew he wasn't headed home.
After getting into my BMW, I sat in the driver's seat and pressed the ignition button, listening to the engine snarl to life just as my phone chimed. Then, it sounded again.
One text message was from Weston, and the other was from Sam, both asking how my day had gone. I grinned. They were my favorite men in the entire universe.
I responded to both of them that I was sad, happy, and on my way home. Then, I pulled the gear into drive. Being behind the wheel of my shiny red BMW was no longer nerve-racking. My hands didn't tremble every time the wheels moved forward. I could change lanes like it was nothing, and sometimes, I would even go a mile or two over the speed limit.
When I arrived, Julianne was just getting out of her car, looking svelte in a dark pantsuit. "Hi, honey!" she lilted when I stepped out of the car. "How was work?" Her voice echoed in the oversized garage.
"Good. A little sad. Where have you been?"
"At the clinic," she said, her eyes bright. "Paperwork."
"You're really doing it?" I asked.
"Yes," she said quickly. Then, her smile faded a bit. "Is that okay?"
"Yeah!" I said, my voice too high. "Completely. I'm super excited for you."
Her smile returned, and she sighed, relieved. "Are you sure you won't need me? You'll just be settling in--"
"I'll be fine. I can just call you, right?"
"Right!" she said, nodding emphatically. "Uh...dinner? I'm craving Los Potros like crazy."
"Me, too, actually," I said.
She gestured for me to follow her inside the house. "I'll call Sam. I think his last case might be over by five, if we're lucky."
"I'll just..." I began, pointing upstairs.
"Oh, yeah. Wash the Queen off. I'll be down here, ready when you are," she said, half in the kitchen, half in the hallway. She was tugging her earrings from the holes in her ears.
"It won't take long." I headed for the stairs.
She dismissively waved me away. "Take your time. Oh! Erin?" she called.
I paused. The tone in her voice was different but familiar. She was nervous, unsure.
"Yes?" I asked.
"Can you come here for a minute?"
I joined her in the kitchen. She held a rectangular piece of thin paper in her hand with an uneasy grin on her face.
"What's that?" I asked
She held it out for me to see. "Sam found it. It's the darnedest thing. Just hadn't dawned on me until now."
I stood next to her, taking a glimpse at the photograph in her hand. It was of Julianne in a hospital bed. She was red-faced, sweaty, and overjoyed.
"It's us," Julianne said, her eyes glossing over. "Sam snapped this seconds after you were born before they took you away. This is you, Erin--me and you."
I stared at the picture for a full minute, noting how dark and thick my hair was, how happy Julianne seemed, the way she held me in her arms. It was our first picture together and our last...until recently.
I looked over at a frame on the barstool side of the kitchen island. It held a photograph of Sam, Julianne, and me. Weston had taken it just after graduation. I was in my cap and gown, and Sam and Julianne were beaming. The metal frame bore elegant cursive that spelled Family.
I felt my throat tighten, and I threw my arms around Julianne.
She hugged me back and chuckled, surprise evident in her voice.
"I love you, Mom."
Julianne's breath caught, and then she touched her cheek to my hair. "I love you, sweetheart. You have always been my greatest joy."
The back door opened and closed, and then Sam's footsteps echoed down the hall. He froze in the doorway. "Everything okay?"
Julianne sniffed. "She loves her mom."
Sam's shoulders fell, and he smiled.
"I love my dad, too," I said.
He frowned, and then his bottom lip quivered. He dropped his suitcase and walked the few steps to our embrace. He eclipsed both of us with his body, encompassing Julianne and me with his arms.
I had been involved in not one but two sad embraces that day, but what amazed me the most was that it was okay. Neither had felt awkward or forced. Not only had I accepted that I was loved, but also that I was worthy of and deserved that love.
"We're doing Los Potros for dinner," I said, my voice muffled.
Sam and Julianne both released me and chuckled.
"I'm just going to take a quick shower," I said, pointing up.
Sam nodded, his eyes full of tears. "Good idea. You smell."
Julianne playfully backhanded his arm.
"I'll be down in fifteen minutes," I said.
"Okay, sweetie," Julianne said.
As I climbed the stairs, I heard Julianne ask Sam about his day.
"I missed you like hell," he said.
I grinned all the way to my room. Our family was a circle of strength and love, and that was what made me the proudest to be a part of it.
I scrubbed the milk, sugar, and chocolate syrup from my hands and fingernails, and then I lathered the soap over everywhere else before standing under the hot stream of water just long enough to rinse away the soap.
My cell phone buzzed on the bathroom counter as I brushed my teeth. The message was from Weston, wondering if I had plans for dinner.
I responded with a yes, explaining that my parents and I were going out.
He didn't reply.
I combed the tangles from my hair and then slipped on a green sundress and white wedges, forgoing makeup and leaving my hair damp in the interest of time.
When I made it back to the kitchen, Sam and Julianne were chatting, looking incredibly happy and in love, still in the same clothes they'd had on earlier.
"You look lovely," Sam said.
"Thank you. Do you think, if Weston texts me back, he could join us for dinner? I think he was hoping to make plans."
"Sure, honey," Julianne said, p
icking up her purse from the counter. "Just tell him to meet us there."
I followed them to Sam's car. Once I settled into the backseat and buckled my seat belt, I sent Weston another text.
We arrived at the restaurant, and we were seated almost immediately. We walked past the full tables of people from our tiny town. They stared at us until we sat down, still curious about our new family.
The tiny triangles hanging from strings on the ceiling were trembling from the air-conditioning blowing from the ducts.
"Has Weston said anything?" Julianne asked.
I looked down at my phone. Nothing. I shook my head.
"He's probably helping his dad," Sam said, looking at the menu.
"Why are you reading that?" Julianne teased. "You order the same thing every time."
"I do not," Sam said.
Julianne raised an eyebrow. A waiter approached the table, setting down a basket of homemade chips and a bowl of salsa.
"Waters, Senor Alderman?" the waiter said.
We all nodded.
"One large queso?" the waiter asked.
Julianne winked at me.
Sam nodded.
"Pollo loco, no beans?" the waiter asked.
Sam pretended to look over the menu while we patiently waited, and then he nodded. "Yes, Carlos, thanks."
Julianne snickered, and I tried to keep from smiling.
"Do they have a Los Potros in Stillwater?" Sam asked.
"I don't think so, Senor," the waiter said. "No."
Sam looked at me, very serious. "You can't go to OSU."
"Oh, stop!" Julianne said, cackling.
Carlos waited.
"We'll have the same," Julianne said.
The waiter nodded, knowing us well enough that we ordered the same matching meals every time.
My cell phone chimed.
No, thanks.
"Is Weston on his way?" Julianne asked. "Maybe we should have waited to order until he got here?"
I shook my head.
"He's with his dad," Sam said.
I turned my phone to show them his message, and they traded glances.
Sam shrugged. "I'm sure Peter is keeping him busy."
The waiter returned with the waters and a bowl that looked like a mini witch's cauldron full of melted white cheese.
Sam dipped a chip into the queso and hummed as he chewed. "Why? Why is it so good?"
"It's made with love," Carlos said with a grin.
After the waiter walked away, Julianne frowned. "Am I the only one who feels that text isn't like Weston?"
"Julianne..." Sam warned.
"Oh, c'mon, Sam. He's insanely head over heels for our daughter and asks her about her dinner plans. When she asks him to join us, he says, 'No, thanks.' No. Something is wrong."
"Honey..." Sam said, this time more firm.
Julianne pulled out her phone and tapped out a text.
"You're not texting Weston...are you?" I asked, wary.
Her nose wrinkled. "No. I'm texting Veronica."
Sam snapped his wife's phone from her palm and buried it in his lap with an awkward smile.
Julianne's jaw hung open.
"Why don't we let Erin figure it out, darling?" Sam used the tone he saved for when he was aggravated but was trying to be nice.
"Figure what out?" I asked, my eyes dancing between my parents.
Julianne sat back in her seat, deflated. "I'm helping too much again, aren't I?"
Sam leaned over and kissed his wife's cheek. "It's one of the many things I adore about you...but yes."
He relinquished her phone, and she put it away.
"Do you know something about Weston that I don't?" I asked.
Julianne shook her head. "No, but you might have noticed that I'm a fixer. Your dad has asked that I work on that."
Sam patted her on the shoulder, proud.
I looked down, wondering what on earth was going on with Weston. I hadn't thought too much about it, but Julianne was right. The text wasn't like him. There were probably things to fix, and I wasn't sure I had any more words to fix them.
I shot off a reply.
We're at Los Potros. If you're hungry, you should come.
Weston didn't answer, so I sent another.
Are you upset?
Still, there was no reply.
Are you just busy? Can you at least let me know you're all right?
I'm all right.
I slammed my phone next to me in the booth.
Sam and Julianne were surprised by my reaction. Sam seemed a bit overwhelmed as he stroked Julianne's shoulder, and then he reached across the table to pat my hand. Our nice family dinner had quickly gone downhill.
I forced a grin and lifted my chin. "I'll figure it out later. I'm okay. Weston is probably okay. We should enjoy our dinner. We don't have many left."
Julianne's eyes filled with tears, and her bottom lip began to tremble.
"Oh no. No, no," I said, holding out my hands. "That's not what I meant."
"Honey, please," Sam said.
Those around us who weren't staring before certainly were now.
I covered my eyes with my hand and looked down.
Sam chuckled once, and Julianne and I both shot him a look.
"This is real life, my loves." He laughed again. "We are a real family."
I FACED FORWARD, staring at the night sky, next to Weston in the cab of his pickup truck. The engine was silent, and the cars beneath the overpass made the occasional swish that let me know I was in my beloved place. But in that moment, it wasn't.
Weston had barely spoken since he met me in Sam and Julianne's drive half an hour before. He hadn't responded to further texts, and he'd seemed more than just a little pissed off when I climbed into the passenger seat. I wouldn't break the silence though. He had to fix whatever was bothering him this time.
He sighed but didn't speak. A minute went by and then another. The air was beginning to grow thick, and the cab of the truck was full of everything we hadn't said.
"Are you mad?" he finally asked.
"Are you?"
He craned his neck at me and then swallowed. "Why would I be mad?"
After a few seconds of silent disbelief, I turned to him. "If you're not, then why are you acting like you are?"
"I'm not mad."
"You're not?"
"I'm...nervous."
My expression twisted. "What are you talking about?"
"I saw Brady today."
"Oh."
"At Gose Jewelers."
"Oh?"
"He said he was going to tell you what I was doing there, and it dawned on me that you might be pissed. Even though"--he squirmed in his seat--"it's not meant to piss you off."
He kept his eyes forward and held up his arm between us, across the seat. He was pinching his class ring between his index finger and thumb. It was a thick gold band with black etchings--our class year on one side, a baseball on the other. The gem was garnet, meant to signify our primary school color and mascot, the Maroon Spirit. The band was a lot smaller than the last time I'd seen it. It was definitely too small to fit on any of his fingers.
I raised an eyebrow. "You...had your ring sized?"
"To fit your finger."
"The necklace wasn't enough?"
He faced me, dismayed. "Brady was right. You're pissed."
"I'm not...pissed. I just thought that maybe you might have asked before doing something so drastic." I raised my hands, fingers spread apart. "I don't wear rings, Weston."
He let his hand fall.
"It's really sweet," I said.
"I had it all planned out. It wasn't until Brady reminded me that I remembered. You're...you."
"What is that supposed to mean?" I asked, offended.
His shoulders fell, and he looked out his window. He shook his head. "Nothing." His head fell back against his headrest, and he blew out a breath.
"You asked me to say that I needed you. I did because I do. Y
ou asked for promises. I made them. Now, you want to put a ring on my finger."
"Just until I can save up for a real one."
"A real what?"
He expectantly looked over at me, waiting for the answer to come to me.
I snapped my open mouth shut. "No. No. I don't want that, not yet."
"Don't worry. It's going to take me a while. The ones I saw at Gose's were expensive."
My mouth turned dry, and my lungs weren't getting enough air. "What is this obsessive need you have to put a leash on me? I've been waiting my whole life to get out of here and be free, and it's like you can't wait to put me back on a chain!"
Weston suddenly appeared very tired. "Yep. You're pissed."
"I'm not pissed! I can't...I love you, but I can't keep...you have to stop!"
"Just say it."
"Say what?" The tone of my voice scared me more than his words.
"You're going to start packing soon. I figured you would say it at some point before."
My chest hurt with searing physical pain. "Why are you doing this? Why are you trying to push me away? Does everything really have to be the way you want it or not at all?"
Weston held up the ring. "Does this look like I'm pushing you away?"
I looked at the ring, my heart breaking. "Why is this so hard?" I looked down. "It shouldn't be this hard."
"No, it shouldn't."
I peeked over at him. "Can't you just be patient? This is a lot for me."
His jaw flitted under his skin. "You're leaving the day after tomorrow. I don't wanna...if you don't want the ring, that's fine. I should have known better. Erin...I'm..." He formed his mouth around the breath he blew out. "I'm just going to let you go. I think that's best."
"Are you breaking up with me?" I asked. "Because I won't wear that?"
"Does it matter?"
I puffed like the air had been knocked out of me. "I don't understand what's happening."
He faced forward, clenching his teeth. "Do you want me to take you home?"
I winced. "Yes."
The truck engine revved, and he threw the gear into drive, surging forward until we were on the other side of the overpass. He yanked the wheel to the left, flipping us in a one-eighty, and then stomped on the gas. We practically flew to my house. He didn't pull into the drive. Instead, he stopped at the curb just long enough for me to climb down. I didn't even get the door shut before he pulled away, the sudden forward motion closing it for me.
Weston's truck quickly rounded the corner, but I made sure to get inside before I could hear whether he went home or drove away. I didn't want to know.
I tried to be quiet as I walked up the stairs, but just as I reached the top, Julianne called my name.
"Everything all right?"
"No," I said, sitting on the stairs in a huff. "He's mad at me--again."