Hold On (The 'Burg #6)(56)

I parked in my driveway and grabbed my phone.

The text was as I’d feared—not from Merry.

It was from Trent.

Call me. We need to talk.

I threw my phone back in my purse, got out, grabbed the bags, and took them in the house.

It was after I’d put everything away that I got my phone out again.

Just got back from the grocery store. I’m worried that my nutritional selections for my kid are preserving his body for science. So I bought carrots.

I stared at the text I typed in Merry’s text string, the bubble hovering over it still declaring DONE.

Then I backspaced through the text, tossed my phone on my purse, and walked out of the kitchen.

* * * * *

Friday Evening

I moved through the living room with my phone in one hand, the snack-size four-pack of baby carrots in the other.

I saw my son and his buddy lounging on the couch, controllers in hands, twisting and turning as they hit buttons, eyes glued to the TV, the detritus of a feeding frenzy in front of them so extreme, it covered the top of the coffee table and leaked over all four sides.

I kept moving as I tossed the packs of carrots in the middle of it, causing a bag of half-eaten microwave popcorn to shift, littering popped kernels all over my carpet. It also caused an opened bag of bite-size Snickers to fall off and spray baby candy bars everywhere.

I didn’t pause to clean up (though I did pause to snatch up a couple of Snickers for myself).

I spoke as I quickly negotiated the area in front of the TV so I didn’t obstruct their view.

“Do me a favor and eat those, so when your parents sue me for putting you in a sugar coma, my attorneys can tell them I made a valiant attempt to cut through the crap with carrots.”

Everest burst out laughing.

“You’re crazy, Mom!” Ethan cried, doing it through a little man laugh that was part boy giggle, part man chuckle, eyes never leaving the TV, controller in hand shifting.

I had a feeling their reactions meant the carrots were going to be ignored.

I’d made that bed, so I also had a feeling I had no choice but to lie in it.

I hit my bedroom, climbed on my actual bed, and sat leaning against my collection of pillows that did, actually, look like something Janis Joplin would recline on for a Rolling Stone photo shoot.

I crossed my legs under me, made quick work of my Snickers, then lifted up my phone.

I went where I needed to go.

First attempt with the carrots was a fail, I texted Merry.

I deleted it.

Then I shared, Two more day shifts then I’m back on nights. In a perfect world, I could give Mom a break and ask you to come over and hang with my kid while I work.

I deleted that too.

Ethan would dig that. But I’d dig it more knowing that you were with my boy and he liked it.

Obviously, I got rid of that too.

Mostly, though, I’d like knowing you’d be there when I got home.

Quickly, before my thumb could hit anything on the screen that would be catastrophic, I deleted that too.

I jumped when my phone sounded in my hand, a text popping up.

Not from Merry.

From Trent.

Did you get my text yesterday? We need to talk. Call me.

Not a word from Merry, but my ex-loser texted me twice.

That was my life.

Of course, it was up to me to sort out the shit pile I’d created that stood between Merry and me.

But that wouldn’t happen.

Eventually, he’d come into J&J’s and give me indication he didn’t totally hate me, though he’d probably be distant.

Over time, that would melt and he’d be cool with me again.

Finally, we’d get to joking and laughing.

Then, after a while, I’d watch him eye up some babe who did it for him. He wouldn’t make the approach in front of me, not at first. He’d wait to get back to that after he knew we were back where we needed to be.

But he’d find his way to make an approach.

And then it would be done.

And we’d be where we were supposed to be.

Meaning, I’d be right back where I belonged.

Alone and skirting the edges, on the outside looking in to all the amazing that was Merry.

* * * * *

Garrett

Saturday Night

Garrett rode his bike under the covered parking spot he paid extra for every month so his Harley would be sheltered from the elements.

It was late.

He’d been riding all day partly because the weather would soon turn and he wouldn’t be able to take out his Fat Boy again until March or April.

But mostly, he did it to find a way to clear his mind, keep focused, and not f*ck things up by moving too fast with Cher.

As he rode in, he saw that he may have managed to get through another day without f*cking things up with Cher, but he had another problem he thought he’d sorted, which, apparently, he had not.

He swung off the bike, but she was already out of her Rover and heading his way.

He didn’t look at her when he started across the parking lot, but he felt her.

“This isn’t happening,” he stated.

“Merry, please,” she begged. “Give me a second.”

He kept walking.

“I screwed up,” she declared.

She f*cking did.

He made no reply, he just kept walking.