Where We Left Off

“Why does the water have to be this cold?”

My fingers were prunes, all puckered and lined. This was the normal state of them lately, and it had never bothered me before, but now, with the potential for someone to actually hold my hand, I suddenly wanted to avoid old lady wrinkled skin at all costs.

“You ever see flowers in a pot of boiling water?” Vickie slipped another piece of greenery into the rose bouquet but, unhappy with its placement, she plucked it from the vase just as quickly and threw it to the counter. She curled fingers over the edge of the table. “You get used to the chill. I don’t even notice it anymore. Must have ice water running in these veins.”

Over the last week, I’d come to genuinely look forward to my days at the shop. Vickie turned into an instant friend and confidante. Along with that—as if it weren’t enough—she’d transformed the break room into an unofficial day care center. The moment she’d found out I was a single mother with a little one to care for at home, she’d insisted that Corbin accompany me to work. I’d refused her offer for a solid two hours until her offer was no longer an offer, but had become a genuine demand. She could not, in good conscience, allow me to leave my baby behind when there was a perfectly good crib, playpen, and changing table on the premise.

The thing was, there weren’t any of those things. At least, not until after I’d returned from my lunch break that afternoon, only to discover the small room in the back of the building remodeled to comfortably welcome the stay of a young child.

The word no did not belong in Vickie’s vocabulary; she just wouldn’t allow her ears to register its meaning. I’d recently learned to allow others the opportunity for generosity. That was a game changer. There was no sense in being stubborn for the sake of politeness when the polite thing was to let others extend a generous hand if they so desired. Sometimes we needed to give. Sometimes we needed to receive. This was the sort of give and take that made the world go round.

“So, tell me about Heath.” I couldn’t see Vickie over the foliage she now stuffed into a hollowed out birch log, but something in her tone gave away a playful expression. “Other than the fact that he’s drop-dead gorgeous.”

“Vickie!” I squawked. “He’s just a friend.”

“Oh, sure he is. I saw the friendly way he looked at you yesterday when he came by. That is one absolutely lovesick man.”

There was no color in my face. All blood drained from my cheeks and I could feel it leave, the plug pulled. “Honestly, he’s an old friend. We’ve only recently reconnected.”

Vickie’s penciled eyebrows sprang up. “Just how much have you reconnected?”

“Would you stop?” I swatted her arm as I headed toward the glass case and to place our three most recent arrangements on display. As I was sauntering back to the counter, I bumped into Lucas, my shoulder smacking against his chest.

“I’m so sorry, Miss Quinn!” He was apologetic and flustered, a typical state for him. “I didn’t see you there.”

“It’s no biggie, Lucas. I wasn’t watching where I was going, either.”

“No, she was too busy daydreaming about her long, lost lover!”

“Vickie!” She was relentless with the teasing, though I wasn’t actually bothered by it. I’d become a giddy schoolgirl and the butterflies that tagged along weren’t unwelcome.

Heath and I had been texting all week since the recital, with the occasional phone call in between. Hours ticked down along with daylight and conversation filled the dark moments of night, ones which usually held sleep and dreams. There was never any shortage of topic or story. In fact, he’d just texted me a half hour earlier and my fingers were eager to reply, but I’d planned to wait until my break to respond. There was an anticipation present that birthed a few more butterflies, and I liked having them around.

“That is really bizarre,” Lucas said as he placed a cardboard box on the counter. “My English teacher just reconnected with an old high school girlfriend. Must be something in the water.”

“Mallory? What is Heath’s last name?” Vickie asked, her wheels spinning.

“McBride.”

In choreographed unison, Vickie and Lucas’s mouths popped open.

“Someone’s hot for teacher!”

“Mom!”

“I can’t believe you’re in love with Lucas’s teacher! This is too perfect!”

“I’m not in love with him.” This conversation was slipping from me. “I mean, I used to be, but that was a long time ago.”

Lucas brought another large package from the back room and deposited it next to the other. “I’m not sure it was so long ago for Mr. McBride, the way he talks about it.”

“He talks about it? I mean, about me?”

“Yeah. Just yesterday he was asking the class what the latest baby trends were. Not completely sure why he thought we’d have any idea. Maybe because we’re closer in age or something? I don’t know.”

“Has he met Corbin yet?” Vickie’s voice lifted more octaves than should’ve been possible. “Oh my gosh, when is he meeting Corbin?”

“Tonight. They’re meeting tonight.”

With her hands clasped to her chest, Vickie swooned, her eyes closed shut. “This love story keeps getting better and better!”

I smiled, albeit hesitantly, hoping she was right.

He wouldn’t remember this. Of course, he wouldn’t. Memories began much too late in life. My first was from when I was five years old and I’d fractured my arm when I took a hard spill off the swing at the neighborhood park. First formed memories always seemed to be of the tragic kind.

I supposed there was some protection in that, though, to be able to introduce Corbin without him knowing the enormity of it. Because this felt enormous. I’d kept Corbin away from other men, unintentionally, but still, I hadn’t let anyone significant into his life. I couldn’t say if Heath would stay a significant part of mine, but there was significance in what we once had, and from that alone it felt appropriate for the two to meet.

“Corbin,” I whispered against his chin. His skin smelled like sweet potatoes and had a sugary, orange film on it. “Corbin, I have someone very special I’d like you to meet.”

With his palm, he placed his hand to my cheek, the way he always did. He was dressed in a yellow onesie with an embroidered blue monkey across the chest. I loved him in this, where his legs peeked out and his rolls were accessibly squeezable. There was nothing better in this world than a squishy baby.

“We don’t need to be nervous,” I convinced, but it didn’t work much to alleviate the anxiety forming in my chest, churning in my belly. “He’s going to love us.”

I’d spent more time than I needed getting Corbin ready. Three times I’d rehearsed in front of the mirror that hung over his changing table. Mirror, mirror, on the wall. Please let this go well. That hadn’t rhymed, so for another ten minutes, I tried to come up with words that flowed nicely until I realized the absurdity in my procrastination. It was a time waste, and chances were Heath wasn’t even waiting in the family room where I’d left him anymore. Maybe he’d lost interest in the introduction altogether. I couldn’t tell if I was dreading that, or hoping for it.

Finally, I made up my mind.

“Let’s do this.”

I strode out of Corbin’s room, baby on my hip.