And before you think I’m going down the woe-is-me path, let’s just break this down . . .
I’ve moved into a crochet-infused house that so happens to be next door to a man I once thought I’d marry. Denture-encrusted oldies surround me, a constant reminder that my dad’s health is declining quickly. The man I love is busy and unavailable when I need him most, and the man who should be an asshole, bald and fat—even if he is only thirty—is hot, thriving, living a great life, and not an asshole.
That is what I call NOT FAIR!
“Stupid muscles and abs,” I mutter, now trying to toss Tootsie Rolls into a small pothole in the middle of the street.
Expecting to feel Aaron right behind me, ready to save the day like he always does, I turn around to see that he actually left. Well, not surprised there either. He’s probably back in his house praising the relationship gods that he dodged a bullet when it came to me. I wouldn’t put it past him to call up Mrs. Ferguson to warn her about her tenant. Or maybe the golden-age gang has already made that call.
Feeling worse than before my sobbing fit, I lean forward, head in hands, and cry.
Why does my dad have to leave me now? I already lost my mom, why my dad too? And why so fast? It seemed like it was yesterday he had me to his house for Sunday night dinner. He might have been a little shakey, a little off, but he could still talk to me.
Not today.
I should have listened to Heather. I should have waited for him to have a good day to visit because now, more than anything, I wish I hadn’t gone. Which makes me feel like the worst daughter on the planet.
I wish I hadn’t even come here to begin with.
Slouching in my chair, I peel apart a Tootsie Roll and plop it in my mouth, letting the imitation chocolate taste hit my taste buds.
Kids are spoiled these days. Tootsie Rolls are gold.
Fuck the rest of the candy. Tootsie Rolls are where it’s at.
Chapter Ten
AARON
“Hurry the fuck up and don’t forget drinks and LDs.” I hang up my cell phone and look out my front window where Amelia is slouching in a lawn chair probably manufactured before she was born.
I used to know what to do when she was sad. I would wrap her up in my arms and hold her tightly. I would make sure she felt protected, loved, as if nothing bad could ever touch her when she was in my arms, but now? Fuck, I have no idea what to do. I don’t feel like I’m allowed to touch her, despite my resolve to make her mine. So when she started throwing Tootsie Rolls and sinking them in a pothole, I knew I needed reinforcements.
I can’t do this alone, and I can’t do this the way I used to.
Before I called Tucker, I made a quick phone call to Mrs. Wickham to tell her to call off the hounds, that Amelia was having a rough day and to give her a break. Thankfully, I have a good rapport with the head of the neighborhood, and she said she would let everyone know.
From the looks of it, word has spread because everyone is back to their normal business of preparing their porches for trick-or-treaters.
Since that’s taken care of, I run around my house grabbing blankets, a portable space heater, camping chairs, and my giant bowl of candy for the kids. I put everything in a wagon that’s in my garage, including a few beers that I had leftover in my fridge, a bag of Cheetos—her favorite—and some cheese and pepperoni because . . . well, protein and all.
The street lamps are starting to come on as I walk out into the darkening neighborhood. In the far-off distance you can hear children laughing and screaming as a fall breeze kicks up in the air. Crisp leaves tumble down the street, reminding me that my favorite season is here. Not only my favorite season, though. It used to be Amelia’s as well.
Since we share a conjoined driveway, Amelia isn’t far away from where I stand. I take her in, wondering what upset her so terribly. It can’t be the Tootsie Rolls. She’s not the kind of girl who cries over something trivial like that.
Maybe she had a fight with Tyke, or maybe they broke up. Fuck, that would be great for me. Sad for her, but honestly, he’s nothing to me. Shit, that’s not true. I once wanted a relationship with him before envy took root, but I’m choosing to ignore the bloodlines we share.
I can’t believe he didn’t drive up to make sure she got here okay. What sort of douche doesn’t do that shit? I’m guessing an entitled, I have it all douche, someone who has never lacked for anything.
But knowing my luck, she’s still with the douche—yes, he’s a douche now—because that’s how this kind of stuff works, right? I’m never that lucky. Never have been, never will be.
Taking my time, hoping Tucker is close by, I wheel my wagon to Amelia and stop behind her chair. Startled, she turns, tears streaking down her face and takes in my pile of crap.
Wanting so desperately to pull her into my arms, I grind my teeth and hold back, reminding myself not to scare her away. Winning her back will take time. “Thought you could use some company.” I pull out my giant torture-for-all-dentists candy and set it in front of us. It’s a two-foot by two-foot bowl—huge, I know—full of Milky Ways, Snickers, 3 Musketeers, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, Skittles, and Twix Bars. I get the good stuff. “Put your Tootsie Rolls in there and mix it around; the kids can pick from the bowl.”
“You don’t have to do that.” Amelia’s voice is shaky as she pulls her sleeves over her hands and wipes away her tears.
I set up the camping chairs, one for me, one for Tucker, and one for Emma. “I want to. Now mix up the candy while I get everything ready.”
Seeming a little skittish at first, she moves slowly, but once she sees what I have going on, she starts moving a little faster, making sure to mix all the candy in together.
“Ah, I’m missing something.” I snap my finger and jog to my garage where I snag my wireless Bose speaker from my workbench. Using the wagon as a coffee table, I place it between the chairs and angle the bowl of candy in front of it. I turn on the space heater and hand Amelia a blanket. “It’s going to get cold.”
Still looking a little caught off guard, she takes the blanket and drapes it over her lap, tucking the sides in, which only makes me smile because it’s a move she did so many years ago. She’s always liked to be wrapped in a cocoon.
“All right, we have snacks, drinks, candy of course, and”—I pull up Spotify on my phone and pick a Halloween mix—“now music.”
The Bluetooth connects to the speakers and at a screaming pitch, Monster Mash starts playing. Alarmed by the volume level, I jump in place and fumble with my phone until I grab hold of it and turn down the volume.
“Christ.” I chuckle, looking sheepishly at Amelia, and say, “That’s embarrassing.”
She chuckles herself, a little light coming back in those hazel eyes of hers. “Rocking out last time?”