I take a seat, the legs of the chair squeaking loudly across the gray tile. Ryder sits too and plops Cole in his lap. He promptly hands Cole his phone and the little boy becomes occupied pressing buttons.
“I wanted to talk to you about yesterday,” Ryder begins, then clears his throat and looks away awkwardly.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I say and go to get up.
“Wait,” he cries, and I stop. “This is so much more awkward than I imagined.” He glances up at the glass ceiling. “Yesterday, I think … I think we had a moment, or maybe more than one moment.” He shakes his head and his dark hair brushes against his forehead. On most men it would look like a shaggy mess, but on Ryder it just works. “I don’t really know what happened.” His Adam’s apple bobs. “But I think you felt it too, and that’s why you left.” I look away. He’s right, so I don’t refute what he says. He continues when it becomes obvious I’m not going to say anything, “But I wanted you to know that I would never act on anything. I know you’re still getting over Ben and despite what I think we might feel for each other, it’s too soon for you, and that’s okay. Please don’t stop coming to Group because of me, though. It can really help you and I promise to leave you alone.”
“I don’t want you to leave me alone.” My voice is soft when I speak and I look down at the table. I don’t miss the flash of his pearly white teeth, though. I force myself to look up. “But you’re right, I’m not ready for anything between us.” I motion from me to him, like that’s somehow necessary for him to understand what I’m saying.
He nods. “I can live with that. I’m glad I ran into you, Blaire. I wanted to call you, but I didn’t think you’d answer.”
“I probably wouldn’t have,” I admit.
He grins and stands. “I better go feed this monster.” He tickles Cole’s stomach, and the boy giggles.
We say our goodbyes and I watch him head back into Chick-Fil-A with Cole. He looks back at me once he’s in line, and I quickly avert my gaze, walking in the direction my dad pulled my mom.
I end up finding them sitting on a couch in one of the sitting areas in the mall. When they see me, they stand and head toward me.
“He was cute,” my mom cries, grabbing onto my arm.
“He’s okay, I guess.” I shrug.
“Are you kidding me?” she asks. “He’s a looker.” She then proceeds to glance behind us like he might be there. “Is he married?”
“His wife is gone,” I tell her, heading toward the furniture store. “Can we let this conversation drop?” I say it rather rudely and hurt flashes in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Mom,” I say quickly.
Her eyes widen and her mouth parts in surprise. “You like him, don’t you?”
“I’m not allowed to like him,” I counter.
Her brows furrow. “Why? Because of Ben?”
“It’s wrong to like someone so soon after he’s gone,” I argue.
“I don’t think so.” She shakes her head. “With Ben, once you guys started hanging out, how long was it before you knew you liked him?”
I look away and my dark hair falls forward to frame my face. “Pretty immediate,” I admit.
“Exactly.” She snaps her fingers together. “I’m not saying you’re in love with the guy, but it’s okay that you like him. Normal even.”
I look at the floor and sigh. Her words make sense but I still feel conflicted. It doesn’t feel right to think that I might one day move on from Ben and love someone else. He was my everything, it doesn’t seem possible that someone else might take on that role someday.
I say no more and head inside the store. It’s an explosion of everything baby. Most of the bedding items are done in pale shades of yellows, greens, blues, pinks, and purples, but I do see the occasional brighter pop of color. I gravitate toward a white crib with tufted gray fabric on the side. It’s soft and pretty, but definitely on the feminine side. I then move over to a bassinet with a ruffled white skirt. I run my fingers over the soft fabric of the bedding and smile, imagining a wiggling baby inside.
“Do you think it’s a boy or girl?” I ask my parents.
“No clue, Kid, but you’ve got a fifty-fifty shot,” my dad jokes.
My mom smiles and shrugs. “I don’t have any guesses yet. Are you going to be surprised or find out the sex?” she asks.
I shrug and move over to another crib, this one black and more modern in style. “I don’t know,” I answer. “I haven’t really thought about it, but I’ll probably find out. I’ll want to decorate the room accordingly.”
“I figured.” She laughs. “Sometimes I think you should’ve been an interior designer instead of an event planner.”
“I would’ve loved it,” I agree. “But I love my job now too, so …” I trail off and pick up a stuffed duck. I set the duck down and take a seat in one of the many gliders. “Oh,” I say, putting my feet up on the ottoman, “this is nice. I could take a nap here.”
My dad laughs. “Me too, Kid. Maybe I’ll find one of my own.”