Page 128 of First-Time Caller
“What’s wrong with the sweatshirt I’m wearing?”
“Well, it’s clearly not yours. The sleeves are too long and it’s man-sized,” Maya points out. She drops her arms out of our hug. “It has aHeartstringslogo.”
“I’ve been working there. Maybe I picked it up after a shift.”
“It saysAidenunder theHeartstringslogo.”
Oh shit. It totally does.
Behind Maya, Grayson and Patty dissolve into more laughter. My cheeks flush hot. I’m being put on blast by my twelve-year-old.
“It’s not—we’re just—”
“Is he your boyfriend now?”
“I don’t—” I look to Grayson for help, but all I can see are his legs peeking out from the side of the bar. He’s gone still and I know he’s listening intently for the answer. I look at Maya and sigh. “I don’t know, honey.”
“Why not?” She crosses her arms over her chest. “Wearing his sweatshirt is a big step.”
“Yeah, Lu,” Grayson’s eyes appear on the other side of my countertop. “It means it’sserious.”
I resist the urge to flip him off and look back at my daughter. “Is that what it means?”
She nods. “Daisy Wagner only started wearing Luke Sinclair’s football sweatshirt when they were official.”
“Who are Daisy Wagner and Luke Sinclair?”
“High schoolers,” Patty answers, sipping lightly at her champagne. She reaches down and helps Grayson off the floor. When I give her a questioning look, she shrugs. “I’m very tuned in to the local gossip. Maya gives me an update when she does homework at the shop.”
Maya nods like a tiny, all-knowing oracle. “I signed you up for that show because I wanted you to have a boyfriend, Mom. I don’t care about how it happened. You don’t have to hide things from me.”
“Well, thanks for the vote of confidence, kid, but”—I grip her shoulders and steer her closer to me—”I’m not hiding anything from you. Aiden and I are . . . we’re enjoying spending time with each other.” Patty snorts. I ignore her. “I like him a lot, but I think—I think I’ve spent a lot of time caught up in outlining expectations for myself. That first night, when you called in to the station, I said I wanted magic. Do you remember?”
Maya nods. “The whole world remembers, Mom.”
“Well, I think that was a lie.”
Grayson slowly lowers his glass of champagne to the counter-top. “Lu. If you’re changing your mind about what you want to fit into whatever shape Aiden wants you to be in—”
“It’s not that.” When he raises his eyebrows, I straighten my shoulders and tell myself to be brave. “It’s not,” I say again. “I said I didn’t want to try, but I think I’ve been afraid to try. I think I’ve been telling myself I wanted magic and fireworks and something life-altering because it made it easier to withstand the constant disappointment of never—of never being enough.” Grayson opens his mouth to interrupt, but I steamroll over him. “If I told myself I was waiting for something better, it made those puncture wounds feel like paper cuts. I wasn’t missing out. I was waiting for something better. It gave me hope that I’d find my happy ending, you know?”
“Yeah, honey. I know.” Patty’s voice is gentle.
“I’ve been waiting for the perfect thing. The fairy-tale thing. But Aiden’s right.” A smile splits my face, even as pressure builds behind my eyes. “That doesn’t exist. Because it’s different for everyone, isn’t it? Love isn’t—it doesn’t work like that. I don’t want the things I thought I wanted.”
Maya blinks up at me, thoughtful. “What do you want?”
I think of Aiden first thing in the morning, his hair mussed by sleep and his arm around my waist. I think of the tiny desk we share at the station and how he’s slowly made space for me there. I think of my name yelled down a cobblestone alley, Aiden appearing between the streetlamps. A too-crowded breakfast table with a plate of toast handed over without a word. His sad eyes and careful smile, the way he keeps himself hidden away. A voice whispering in the dark, at the very edge of a dream.
I think you’re the magic.
I pick up my coffee bowl. “I don’t want something perfect; I want something honest. Something that can be mine.” I reach for Maya’s hand with mine and she twists our fingers together, squeezing. “I think it’s time I make my own magic, kiddo.”
I get to the station fifteen minutes earlier than usual and find Aiden in the break room, glaring at his contraband-coffee Christmas cookie tin like it’s insulted his family name.
“I hope no one else is stealing your coffee,” I say from the doorway, shrugging out of my jacket. He fumbles the tin, catching it at the last second, his fingertips pressing dents in the side. I grin. “That’s my job.”
His eyes flick to mine and he smiles my favorite half smile, the lines by his eyes appearing in earnest. We’ve been texting each other most of the day—nonsense about how to fold a fitted sheet, a comment about pineapple pizza paired with ranch dressing (disgusting, thank you), and the benefits of the coffee bowl—but seeing him causes a violent chemical reaction somewhere in the middle of my chest.
