I’ll try to tell Winnie and Val before the meeting. And if not, there’s always tomorrow. Or next week. I can only hope news of Pat and Tank didn’t hit Neighborly yet. Thankfully, the diner was empty, and Big Mo is the last person who would say a word.
Mari boops me on the nose. And I let her, because it’s Mari, and she’s the absolute best. Even when her kindness makes me more emotionally melty than I want to be. If I could, I would keep my emotions like a cinder block—firm, cool, and completely unyielding.
Mari’s eyes narrow on me again. “I see that look on your face. Why don’t you—”
“Whatever you’re going to say, I don’t want to hear it. Not today.”
Mari chuckles as Jo’s feet begin pounding down the stairs. “Are you sure? I was going to say, why don’t you have a taco? They cure many of life’s problems.”
There might not be enough tacos in the world for all my problems. But I’m never one to turn down free food.
“I’ll take half a dozen chicken tacos to go with a pint of tomatillo sauce.”
From The Neighborly App
Subject: Regulation hotties spotted on main street!!!
The_Real_Shell-E
Saw these two guys today and WHOA. Definitely not Sheeters. I took a photo from the back but they looked just as good from the front. See pic! fire emoji
DeltaDeltaDelta Duuuuuude. What time was this? Think they’re still there?
BagelBytes
Can we please halt the objectification of men or women?
Vanz
U forgot animals
BagelBytes
Didn’t think it needed to be said. Also, it’s not cool to post pics of people without permission.
The_Real_Shell-E
It’s not like I posted their faces. No need to get all salty.
BagelBytes
So … butts are okay?
DeltaDeltaDelta Is that even a question? Butts are AWESOME! Especially those butts.
Neighborly Mod The comments on this thread have been closed due to inappropriate content and/or bullying. The photo has also been removed due to privacy violations. See our Community Guidelines if you have any questions.
Please remember to be kind and above all, Neighborly!
Chapter Six
Lindy
“Are you sure that wasn’t my daddy?” Jo asks as my car makes its way down the road leading to the tiny house where I’ve lived almost my whole life. The one I moved back to despite swearing I’d never live in this town again.
I swerve gently to avoid a pothole, and Jo giggles. The road needs to be maintained, but it’s nothing compared to how disastrous my driveway is. Who knew you needed to continually add gravel to a gravel driveway? Not I. Just another joy of home ownership! Since I haven’t added gravel, the heavy rains we’ve had the last few summers resulted in potholes the size of baby pools. When it rains hard, that’s exactly what they become. I let Jo put on her bathing suit and play in them just last month when it was a little warmer.
“I’m sure, baby.”
“I’m not a baby,” Jo says, starting one of my favorite games, one I hope she’ll never outgrow.
“I’m sure, potato.”
She giggles, and the sound eases something loose in my chest. “I’m not a potato.”
“I’m sure, pancake.”
“I’m not a food!” she says through giggles.
“Fine. Chickadee?”
“Better.”
“Bear cub?”
“Yes! Bear cub.”
Of course bear cub is the way to go. Great whites aren’t her only fascination this month. All apex predators are on the menu. Before apex predators, Jo was into baking.
I preferred conversations about icing versus frosting. (Confession: I’m still not sure of the difference, but Jo could tell me.) She was disappointed I never learned to bake aside from boxed cake mix, which I can make with the best of them.
“How do you know that man isn’t my daddy?”
“Why do you think he is?”
And why is she so obsessed with this line of questioning, which only makes me wonder what kind of father figure Pat would be. Because I have a sneaking suspicion he’d be amazing—IF he stuck around long enough.
“Because you look mad at him,” Jo says. “And I know you’re mad at my mama and daddy.”
Gah! Can a day go by where this girl doesn’t have the power to punch me in the gut with her questions and observations? For a five-year-old, Jo is intensely curious and exceptionally bright. She started reading at age three—yes, THREE—which only intensified her tendency to talk like a miniature adult. I thought reading that early was a myth, kind of like when people say their kids decided one day to start using the toilet all on their own. (I still maintain those people are lying. Potty training isn’t for punks.) Anyway, she has the ability to pick up on way more than a normal five-year-old.
Like the fact that I’m mad at her mom and dad, whoever he might be.
I’ve done my best to shield Jo from the ugliest parts of her past, and I try not to disparage Rachel. It’s a very fine line to walk when I want to be honest and also protect Jo’s tender, growing heart. I thought she’d freak out when I told her about the upcoming hearing, but Jo only shrugged and said, “No one would let someone so irresponsible as Rachel raise a child.”
I agree. But her nonchalant reply broke me a little. Also, based on my conversation with Ashlee today, it isn’t true.
I draw in a deep breath, letting it fill my lungs, mentally feeling them expand. I imagine the oxygen molecules attaching to my blood and circulating through my body, spreading calm. As our crooked mailbox comes into view, I count the fence posts stretching ahead.
“Sometimes I am mad at your mama and daddy. They don’t know what they’re missing because you are the best bear cub around.” She giggles, and I continue. “I know the man in the diner is not your daddy because he never met your mama.”
“But he knew you?”
“Yeah, bear cub. A long time ago, he did.”
I can almost hear Jo turning this knowledge over in her mind, a shiny rock to study. “And he left you like mama left me?”
No, not exactly like that. And there’s the rub.