Page 46 of Draft Pick
“Can’t wait, Mom. I’ll call you soon, okay?”
“Okay, Juniper. Love you, honey.”
“Love you too. Tell Dad the same.” And I hang up.
Maybe it’s the way my head falls to the table, or the exhaustion I’m quite positive can be read from across the diner, but Wynonna settles beside me and sets a small plate on the table. The glorious combination of cinnamon, butter, and freshly baked dough ignites my senses as she slides the plate closer, my head lifting on its own.
Or in this case, my growling stomach leading the way.
“Wanna eat your feelings?” she mumbles, and I laugh softly.
“What makes you think I need it?”
“I’m a lot of things, Juniper, and nosey as shit is one of them. I’ve also taken a liking to you, and it makes me twitchy seeing you upset. Or, well, tryingnotto be upset.”
The giant homemade cinnamon roll calls to me, and without thinking twice, I rip off a piece of the end and shove it into my mouth. “Oh my god,” I say in a mouthful. “If only I had access to stuff like this in med school, I would have studied so much harder. Ice cream can only hold down the fort for so long.”
“Yeah, well, you’re welcome to mine anytime,” Wynonna says kindly. “So, anything you wanna talk about? I’m a really great listener.” She grins, and I hear her husband, Jed, in the background yell, “The woman’s got a grave full of secrets! Damn vault, if you ask me.”
I laugh, the worry of my conversation with mom slowly fading away. “I just wish she tried a little harder, you know?”
“Your mama?”
I nod. “Yeah, and Dad. I know we’ve talked about their…choice of living before, so I won’t get into that. But I really want to see them, and they all but told me they won’t come here. I need to go to them. Which is fine, but for once, I was really excited to show them my new home.”
“Rightfully so,” Wynonna mutters, reaching for my hand. “And you should want to show them around, but can I ask you something?”
“Go for it.”
I’ve learned that most things that come out of my older friend’s mouth are usually things of value. Wynonna may have graying hair, faded tattoos, and an unpredictable lack of filter, but she’s one smart woman. And she doesn’t talk just to talk. It’s gotta be worth it.
“Does you wanting them to come here so badly stem from also wanting them to change? Like maybe if they came to Atlanta and saw the way your life is here, that would make them want to change, too? Make something better for themselves like you did?”
I guess I never thought about it like that.
“No. Maybe,” I exhale. “I don’t know. Could be. It’s hard to accept that I can’t fix them.”
“Darlin’, it’s not our job to fix them. You can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped. But itisour job to love them. You keep doing just that and give them something to be proud of. I believe good things are coming for you,” she proclaims, standing from the booth. “These things take time. You just wait.”
I thought I’d truly be alone in a new city where I hardly knew anyone, then in walks Wynonna, the motherly example I never knew I needed.
I look up and grin. “More things, as inmorecinnamon rolls?”
“You tell your friends about this place and get more people through my doors, and you can have whatever you want. Mrs. Nonna will make sure you never go hungry again. Ain’t that right, Jed?” she hollers over her shoulder.
The bell at the serving window dings. “Better believe it, Junie Pie. Start keepin’ yourself in shape now. Those Southern pounds pack on quick.”
“No pie for dinner, then, Jedadiah,” Wynonna threatens as she makes her way back to the kitchen.
I laugh to myself, tears on the verge of spilling. There are times when I feel an overwhelming weight of homesickness. But lately, and I’m not sure who or what I owe credit to, I’ve felt a peace I’ve never experienced. Like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
I’m thriving in my purpose, and that’s a powerful thing.
I forced myself out of bed this morning, knowing I’d go crazy without any permanent plans for the day—aside from my date tonight. I’m nervous and figured a morning walk to my new favorite place would hopefully do the trick in settling my nerves.
Sometimes, being alone in that big house makes me feel…claustrophobic. Call it the trauma from my childhood and reliving nightmares of junk falling on top of me in my sleep, but I’m starting to question if, in Atlanta, it’s the fear of being alone.
The fear of occupying such a large space by myself, and never truly feeling filled in. Quite opposite from growing up, but the weight of it sits firmly against my chest.
