Our Finest Hour (The Time #1)(30)

“Think about it, Isaac. You and Aubrey have a one-night stand without enough information to find each other later, and then she shows up out of nowhere—”

“Not nowhere. At the hospital.” I interject. “Claire broke her arm playing soccer, and yours truly was her surgeon.”

She gasps, but then the sound keeps going so I’m not really sure what to call it. “Isaac, it’s meant to be. Fated. Written in the stars.” Her eyes are big, excited. It’s all I can do not to roll mine.

“Mom, this isn’t one of your telanovelas. It’s real life.” I point to my chest. “My life.”

“Come on.” She’s not one to keep her eye rolls on the inside. “Maybe she’s your person. El que tu corazon desea.”

I cross my arms, like maybe it will keep her words from affecting me any more than they already have.

“Jenna and I just broke up, Mom.”

“You look devastated.” Her tone is flat. Sarcastic.

“I am.” It’s a lie. I’m not. And the fact that I’m not says more about my feelings for Jenna than words ever could. Four days have passed since the dinner and she hasn't come to mind nearly as much as I would've thought. I’m defending my relationship with her because… well, isn’t it what I’m supposed to do? Honestly, what I feel more than anything is guilt. Which only makes me feel guiltier.

My mom throws up her hands. “Fine. Whatever you say. Let’s talk about Claire. When do I get to meet this grandbaby of mine?” She purses her lips and claps her hands quietly. Her excitement is back. She’s somewhere up in the stars again, dreaming of running through meadows of wildflowers with Claire by her side.

“Lucia?” My dad yells from the living room.

My mom hurries from the room, yelling “Paul,” as she goes.

I walk after her, my pace slow. I’m not in a hurry to drop another bomb on someone today. If I even get to. My mom’s probably too excited to wait for me.

I knew she’d be happy. She hasn’t made it a secret she wishes for grandchildren. Or that she wants me to find the right woman. Who she obviously believed wasn’t Jenna.

I’m thirty-five, and I still wish my mom weren’t right all the time. And if she really is right all time, I have much bigger problems.

El que tu corazon desea. The one your heart desires.

Is that Aubrey?



A dark apartment is just what I need following an afternoon spent inundated by questions and thoughts and opinions, punctuated by my mom’s random hand-tossing when her elation bubbled over. My sister arrived too, called in by my mother, and I knew I was in for it.

Lauren delighted in my news in a strange, competitive sibling way. She’d excused herself to the bathroom, and then my phone dinged with a message.

Lauren: Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

I ignored her.

Another one.

The sun doesn’t shine out of your ass anymore.

And another.

Vacancy: Favorite wanted.

She came back from the bathroom grinning.

“Are you done?” I asked her.

“Almost. I just have to call you a man-whore, and then I’ll be finished.” She laughed at her own joke.

After dinner I told them I had to get up early tomorrow. It’s mostly true. I’ll set my alarm for six and go for a run, just to make it true.

Home sweet home, I think as I climb from my car.

Once my key is in the lock, I realize there’s no need for it. My door is unlocked.

Unless I’m being burglarized, there’s only one person who has a key to my place. I’m so sure I know who it is that I don’t even turn around to look for her car.

“Hello,” I say to her back when I find her. She’s in my closet, pulling clothes from hangers.

Jenna startles, clutching her chest. “God, Isaac, you should wear a bell around your neck.”

“And alert the cat burglar that the owner is home?”

She snakes a hand through her hair and grabs one of the shirts draped across her forearm. She folds it clumsily, which I know pisses her off. Shirts with crisp lines and sweaters with soft folds bring Jenna peace.

I grab the shirt from her and fold it. The guilt makes me want to help her. It’s not her fault we’re in this situation.

Her thank-you is reluctant. She’s pissed.

When the other shirts have been placed in the duffle bag at her feet, I back out of the small space.

“Check the bathroom,” I say. “There may be some things under the sink.”

She goes in one direction and I go in another. When she emerges a few minutes later, I’m seated on the couch.

Jenna’s eyes are red, and I find this more shocking than I did my unlocked door. In all the time I’ve known her, I’ve seen her cry three times. When her dog died, when her grandma Maggie passed, and at a homeless person who fell in the street.

“Did you get everything?” I ask.

She nods. “Let me know if you come across anything.”

And that’s it. She sets her key on the entry table and walks out.

It’s quiet.

It’s dark.

I sit for a long time.

Thinking of the cracks in my relationship with Jenna is pointless now, but hindsight is twenty/twenty and I’m seeing things clearly.