Make You Miss Me by B. Celeste

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“Maybe we should do this another day,” I tell my friend as she pulls into a parking spot at The Penny, a new Greek place a few miles from the house I grew up in.

“Would you quit complaining?”

I put my hands on my stomach and rest my head back on the headrest. “I still feel stuffed from Christmas dinner.”

She eyes me skeptically as she unbuckles and turns her body in my direction. “We used to stuff our faces with more food than we ate on Christmas. And that was two days ago. Get with it, Foster.”

I blow out a raspberry with my lips. “We aren’t twenty anymore, though. We’re old.”

My friend gasps. “We are no such thing. Take it back, bitch!”

I laugh when she smacks me and makes me get out of the car. We both stop by the side of her Challenger and stare at the newly renovated restaurant that looks fancier than anywhere I’ve been before. I’ve always preferred diners and smaller, more homey establishments. For how short a time The Penny has been open, it’s already gotten rave reviews which makes this trip worth it.

“Come on!” Vickie grabs my arm and tugs me to the door, where something delicious wafts in the air.

When my stomach rumbles, my friend’s eyebrows pop up in an, I knew you were bullshitting me kind of way. I give her a loose, unapologetic shrug. I skipped breakfast this morning, knowing Vickie would probably order way more than necessary here, forcing me to try everything she does. Out of the two of us, she’s way more adventurous with what she’s willing to try. Evident by that one time she bought chocolate-covered roaches and tried bribing me with $50 to eat one.

I didn’t care how much I could have used that fifty for something. I turned it down.

After we’re seated with our drink orders in front of us, I look around the room as my friend scours the menu. I’m not necessarily broke, but I already know that I’ll be crying internally when I see the amount printed on the check.

“This place is nice,” I tell her, eyeing the festive decorations and delicious spices coming from where the wait staff is entering and leaving the back.

“My boss told me about this place,” she says, looking up from the menu.

A small smile creeps up my face. “The hot one?”

She grumbles under her breath.

“Are the women you work with still trying to get with him?” I ask, interested in the way her eye twitches. She always does that when she’s irritated.

“Not as much. He hasn’t shown them much interest.” With a lift of her shoulders, she points to something. “This lamb dish sounds delicious. What are you thinking about getting?”

She’s avoiding the conversation, which I find more interesting than anything. She could pass as a supermodel with her lean body, silky hair, and plump lips, so it’s not surprising that her boss isn’t paying much attention to the other women she works with. “Did your boss randomly recommend this place, or did it come up in conversation?”

Vickie grabs her lemonade. “I don’t remember.”

I don’t know why, but my best friend is lying to me. About a guy. Which, in her opinion, is the worst offense a friend could make against another. But unlike her, I don’t pressure her for more. “I’ll let it go for now because unlike you, I’m not pushy. But one day you’ll tell me whatever is going on there because something tells me there’s a story you’re not sharing.”

She makes a noise in her throat that makes me grin as I finally study the menu. About ten minutes later our orders are placed, and my friend gives me a solemn look after something behind me catches her eye.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing.”

“Vick.”

Her lips press together.

“Victoria. If this is about the boss thing, I already said I wouldn’t say—”

“Don’t freak out,” she begins, making me want to instantly do that. “But some people just walked in…” Something crosses her face that I’ve seen before.

A scowl.

One she used to direct toward—

“Stevie?” someone asks from behind me.

My shoulders tense.

My spine straightens.

My eyes widen as I stare directly at my best friend, unable to turn my head to see the person standing behind me even though I know—I know—that voice.

I swallow slowly, Vickie looking both apologetic and angry all at once.

“Stevie, is that you?”

That voice. Low, but not as low as the one I’ve become used to hearing over the past few months. Slightly husky, but mostly…young. If I’m honest with myself, it’s a little unremarkable, though if you’d asked me six months ago, I would have found something attractive to say about it. Something nice to say about the tone I’d spent years listening.

I close my eyes for a second, take a long, deep breath before finally dealing with the reality of the situation.

Hunter.

“It is,” he murmurs, stopping at the side of our table and looking down at me.

Hunter is still as beautiful as any man can be. Tall, lean, confident. Well kempt, in a baby blue button-down that looks vaguely familiar, and a pair of black pants that fit his long runner legs. He always felt the need to dress up, even if we weren’t going anywhere that required it. His baby face is clean of any stubble, something he used to do a lot during the first few years of our marriage before he’d began growing out his dirty blond facial hair. The dirty blond hair on his head is a little longer than he usually keeps it. But he’s still the same man I remember from over the years, smiling that easygoing smile as he watches me with those damn blue eyes that I always got lost in.

My ex-husband shakes his head as he stuffs a hand into one of his pants pockets, then rubs the side of his neck with the other. “Wow. You look beautiful.”

Vickie snaps to attention. “Like that’s surprising?”

Slowly, Hunter looks at my friend. “I see some things never change. Always a pleasure, Victoria.”

The only person she lets call her that is my mother. Everyone else she glares at like she’s doing right now.

Hunter turns back to me. “I didn’t hear from you…” His lips rub together for a moment before he looks me over. “You really do look beautiful. Did you get my flowers?”

Oh no. I can feel the look being burned into my face from across the table. I’d never gotten around to telling my best friend about the text or flowers. Mostly because I didn’t know what to say, and I didn’t feel like getting lectured about how I’m better off without someone like Hunter in my life when I knew I did.

I’d forgotten all about it.

“I did,” I answer cautiously. “Thanks.”

Thanks. I’m sure I could be nicer, but I don’t know what he expects from me. I’ve been avoiding this conversation since he reached out the first time, and the last place I want to have it is in the middle of a restaurant.

“What are you doing here?” I find myself asking.

“I’m in town for the holidays.”

Makes sense. Our families live close by to each other, which we used to take advantage of back in the day. Shared holidays. Sneaking out for midnight meetups. I’m pretty sure both our families knew, but they never said anything.

Hunter shifts his weight. “I saw your dad in the grocery store.” He pauses, clears his throat, and in a notch lower than before, adds, “He flipped me off.”

Vickie snorts. “Remind me to high-five him next time I see him.”

I sigh. “Vick.”

She rolls her eyes.

Hunter ignores her. “Look, I—”

“Can we not?” I cut him off, a panicked look on my face. “Listen, I hope you’re doing well and that you had a good holiday. You look…you look great too. But I don’t want to do this.” I take a deep breath and sit a little taller. “I don’t have anything I want to say.”

That makes him gape. “Nothing?”

Help me forget.

I shake my head stiffly. “Nothing.”

Why he looks surprised, I’m not sure. Maybe because I always did whatever he wanted. I was quick to agree and jump on whatever he said. But that girl couldn’t survive on her own, so something had to change.

“She’s too nice to tell you to fuck off,” Vickie chimes in. “But I’m not. We’re trying to enjoy ourselves, so fuck off.”

I close my eyes, not having it in me to scold her or ask her to play nice for my sake.

Hunter says, “I’ll go for her.”

I open my eyes and meet his. They’re full of sorrow and other things I don’t want to read into or dissect, so I nod silently.

“I would like to talk to you eventually, though,” he adds quietly, but not pushing it before he taps the table a couple of times. “I’ll get out of your hair. Have a good meal.”

When he walks away, I stare down at my lap to avoid the look I know Vickie is shooting me right now. A look that probably includes daggers.

She says, “You have some serious explaining to do.”

 

 

I make Vickie wait until after we’re done eating, paid, and back in the car before spilling everything I’ve let myself forget. The text message. The flowers. While I was at it, I told her about Fletcher teaching me how to play poker, having an emotional breakdown in his bathroom, and then going back to his house for an early Christmas celebration with some of his friends.

Thankfully, I didn’t recognize any of them from my other life with Hunter. None of them seemed to know me either beyond being dubbed “neighbor girl” or “Dom’s teacher”.

She’d let me get it all out in the open while she drove us back to my neighborhood, soaked it all in, before saying, “I can’t believe you never told me.”

I’d hurt her feelings and felt bad.

But in the days following, we’ve made up. Instead of her sending me apology gifts, I sent a gift card to Sephora to her job, and then some of her favorite chocolates to her house. We never stay upset with each other long, especially with the bribes we offer one another, so she was texting me again in no time.

I’m lounging on the couch in my favorite pair of pajamas that say pizza is my favorite love triangle across my chest when there’s a knock at the door. And even though I tell it not to, my heart does a little jump when I get up and glance out the window to see a wagging tail, then two other bodies beside it.

Fletcher’s eyes go to my shirt before his lips quirk up after I open the door. “Morning.” He gestures toward my pajamas. “Like your shirt.”

Dominic holds up a plate of cookies covered in saran wrap. “We brought you cookies! My mom made them.”

My eyes go from Nicki to his dad when Fletcher explains. “Trace wanted to say thank you for always helping out with Dominic at school. She’s sad she keeps missing you. Surprised she hasn’t just shown up here, to be honest.”

The mother of his child just randomly showing up at my doorstep? That’d be… I don’t know how I’d feel about that. “Oh.” Hesitantly, I accept the plate and smile. “They look good.”

“Mom is a great baker. Not like Dad.”

Holding in a laugh, I see the amused look on the man in question’s face. “I’ve been known to burn a few cookies here and there.”

“And brownies,” Nicki adds. “And my birthday cake that one time.”

Fletcher sighs.

I can’t help but smile. “It took me a while to get things right,” I tell the youngest Miller, who’s looking at something in the house. Admiral is sitting beside Fletcher, nose pointed toward the plate, head cocked as if he’s waiting for me to feed him something. “Tell your mom I said thank you for the cookies.”

The little boy’s eyes go up to me before quickly darting away again. “I need to use the bathroom.”

Fletcher puts his hand on his son’s back, shaking his head. “We’re almost home, bud.”

“But I need to go really bad now.”

I look between them, my eyes focusing on the man when I say, “I don’t mind. I’ve got a bathroom right off the kitchen he can use.”

He gives me a nod before I show Nicki where to go, Fletcher and Admiral walking in and closing the door behind them. It’s the first time he’s been inside since I put up my Christmas tree, a cheap find at a store that looks like I found it on clearance. There are gaps and missing needles and sadly strung lights around it. Most of the ornaments were on sale too, except the ones of mine that my parents collected over the years.

“It’s not much,” I note when his eyes go to the single stocking hanging off the TV stand. Then to the few cards I’d gotten from friends and family that are taped to the archway between the living room and dining room. “I thought I’d be more in the spirit since this is the first time I’ve really decorated a place by myself, but…” I shrug.

It’s the first house I’ve ever owned that I could have decorated any way I wanted. When I was little, I’d always beg my parents to let me start putting up Christmas decorations the day after Halloween. Dad would usually crack, helping me string up lights and put window decals up on his enclosed porch, but Mom would make me wait until after Thanksgiving.

“I could have helped,” that rumbly voice cut in, eyes coming back to me. “I’m sure I wouldn’t have needed to twist Nicki’s arm as much as I would yours.”

I fidget with the saran wrap-covered plate, glancing at the various treats beneath. “You’re probably right. It’s fine, though. My friend Vickie came over and helped a little. And when Bex was here, she did too.”

We’re quiet for a while.

So, I ask, “Did you and Dominic have a good holiday? Did Santa bring him everything he wanted?”

Fletcher’s lips twitch. “Santa may have gone a little overboard, but it produced a happy kid in the end.”

“That’s what matters.”

“Got to see some family, so it was nice,” he adds, eyes going in the direction of the bathroom before turning back to me. “What about you?”

I tell him about my Christmas. The food, the presents, and Vickie coming over and getting slightly drunk and arguing with my dad about which football team deserves to go to the Super Bowl while Mom and I watched with wine.

When Nicki comes back out, he stands by Admiral and pets him. “How come you live by yourself? Don’t you get lonely?”

Fletcher stares down at his son. “Nicki, we don’t ask people things like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s rude.”

“How am I supposed to get to know people unless I ask them questions? It’s a big house. I’d be lonely here all by myself too.”

He makes a valid point. “I do get lonely sometimes, but it’s not so bad. I have friends and family who visit me, and I go see them at their places. I’m never alone for long.”

From the corner of my eye, I see Fletcher’s jaw tick.

Nicki cocks his head. “You should get a dog.” He keeps petting Admiral. “Or a cat, but I think dogs are way better.”

“Yeah?”

He nods enthusiastically. “I can help you choose one! There’s a pet store in town that Dad won’t let me go into because he says we don’t need any more animals.”

Fletcher grumbles, “We don’t.”

Nicki tugs on his dad’s arm. “But Ms. Foster does! She’s lonely.”

I wince despite trying to hold it back.

“Dominic—”

“Please, Dad?”

I cut in. “That’s very sweet of you to offer, Nicki, but I don’t think I’m quite ready for an animal. They’re a huge responsibility.”

“If I can do it, you can,” the child responds with confidence that reminds me a lot of his father. “I’m autistic, but I own a dog, and I feed him and take him out and play with him. So, you can do that too because your brain is wired right.”

Fletcher’s hand curves over his son’s shoulder and squeezes once. Quietly, he says, “I told you before that there’s nothing wrong with your brain.”

“I’m not like other kids.”

“Doesn’t mean you’re not normal,” Fletcher tells him firmly.

“You’re a great pet owner to Admiral.”

The dog barks in acknowledgment.

“Tell you what,” I proposition the youngest Miller. “I’ll think about it. Okay? Does that sound like a deal?”

Dominic presses his lips together, looks around the house for something before returning his gaze back on me. “Deal. But I get to help pick the pet out, okay?”

“Dominic,” Fletcher murmurs.

My lips waver. “Deal.” I lift the plate. “I appreciate the cookies. Remember to tell your mom I said thanks.”

“I will. Maybe next time she’s here, I’ll bring her over! She keeps saying she wants to meet you, but Jacob tells her that she needs to mind her business.”

I blink. “O-kay?”

Fletcher clears his throat. “Jake is her fiancé.”

Dominic nods. “I’m not going to call him dad, though, because he’s not. But he’s okay, I guess. He wants to teach me how to throw a baseball, but I don’t really want to.”

All I can do is stare and absorb the information they just gave me.

“Come on, bud,” Fletcher urges. He lifts his eyes. “Have a good rest of your day.”

“Bye, Ms. Foster! Hope you like the cookies. And think about the dog. Dad says you’re a good person and that he likes you just fine, so he’ll probably let me go with you to the store without him when you decide.”

A strangled laugh raises from my throat as I take that in, waving to them as Fletcher walks them out. He doesn’t acknowledge what his son just said, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t hear.

Fletcher Miller likes me ‘just fine’ whatever that means.