Yours to Keep by Claudia Burgoa

As We Are

Hadley

One of the benefits of working as a social media director for a hockey team is that you don’t work on Mondays. There are a few others, like getting signed jerseys for Dad or for charities. There are a few disadvantages, though, like dealing with jocks who don’t take my job seriously. They think I’m just some kind of hockey groupie—not to be confused with a puck bunny—whose only purpose in life is to ogle at them and post pictures of them online, when really, I'm there to make them look good on social media.

Another disadvantage: after a long Sunday game, I’m so exhausted I don’t even have the energy to call my friends and do something fun.

I stare at my fingernails, a freshly painted dark green. At the very least, I can pamper myself during my downtime. I even blow-dry my hair instead of letting it air-dry and tying it up into a ponytail. If only Randall, my live-in boyfriend, was here, we could order takeout and have a candlelit dinner, but I have no idea where he is at the moment.

We don’t see each other often. Lately, I feel like he’s my roommate.

My mom has a special radar. She knows when to call me, when I’m causing trouble, or when I need some homemade cookies. The lady is wise in many ways. She lacks in others, but that’s a different story. It’s Sunday evening. I’m alone at home waiting for my boyfriend to come back from what he calls “work.” I was working just like him, yet I’m here.

Today is one of those days when I wonder if our relationship still works. Other times, I believe we’re meant for each other, and we’ll get married soon. Like last December, when I caught him browsing the Cartier website—I thought that was it, he was buying me an engagement ring.

My hopes to get a sparkly solitaire vanished when he showed me his new Cartier watch. Listen, I’m not dying to marry the man. But if marriage isn’t the next step, what are we doing together? After three years living in the same place, we’re like an old boring married couple.

Hello, I’m just twenty-eight.

Work and his family, who pretty much own him, come first. He always comes home late from work. I can’t even remember the last time we had sex. It was that long ago.

So much for dating an older guy who wouldn’t play games and would know how to treat me. I’d happily give up our fancy downtown apartment for a more loving relationship.

What are the alternatives?

I can push him to discuss our relationship, but my hints don’t seem to land, and we only have so much time to fix it. The other option? Break up with him, move out, and probably find a job where he isn’t my boss. It sucks because I actually really love my job.

But my old college roommate, Alice, who is also a social media director for the company where she works, swears I can earn more than what I’m making right now. Even worse, she says I’m earning the same as her intern. That’s pathetic. But dating the boss makes things tricky. If I ask for a salary increase, human resources and his family might look at it differently.

If I had known he was my boss when we met, I would never have agreed to date him.

Would it be too crazy to suggest couple’s counseling?

We’re not married, but we’ve been living together for two and a half years. Maybe if my schedule was a regular nine-to-five, we’d see each other more often. This would be a great moment to discuss my relationship with Mom.

She might have an idea or two on how to bring my relationship back to life. She’s been married to Dad for thirty-two years. She might agree it’s time to search for a new job. Unlikely, since she loves that I am a director.

My phone rings with a call from my mother just as I’m searching for new jobs. She really is scarily perceptive.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Hadley, sweetie, how are you? Your dad and I were just talking about you,” she says. “I’m sorry the Troopers lost the game.”

“If you ask me, they need a new coach. But Randall isn’t listening.”

Okay, that might be another reason Randall is not home yet. He must be at his uncle’s house discussing the game and strategizing their next move. The Denver Troopers used to be one of the best, if not the best, hockey teams in the league. Now, the Vancouver Orcas have taken that spot.

“How is Randall doing?”

Mom likes my boyfriend just enough. Well, more like she tolerates him, but Dad isn’t a fan. When they come to visit us, Mom’s always complaining about Randall, and Dad barely speaks to him. He says he’s an entitled asshole, but as long as he treats me right, he’s okay.

If you ask anyone else who lives in Baker’s Creek, they’ll tell you Randall is the best boyfriend a woman could ask for. Mom likes to make up stories to make me sound like the perfect daughter. Therefore, I have the perfect boyfriend too—even when she doesn’t think so herself. Thanks to Mom’s tales, the people in my hometown believe he’s the second coming of Prince Charming and that I live a fairy tale. It’s not.

It’s just like any other relationship in the world. We have our ups and downs. Well, we've been in a down for a while now, but maybe in a few months, when hockey season is over, we’ll get back on track. Instead of brooding, I should be googling trips to the Caribbean. That’s what we need—a vacation outside the city, far away from his family and work.

“He’s been busy. Being the general manager for the team isn’t easy. His family is demanding. I think they are going to trade a few players.” The excuses I make for his absence just flow like a well-known nursery rhyme. It soothes the curiosity of others, and it makes me sound like I have everything under control.

I should tell her the truth. I don’t really know how he’s doing because we barely see each other. We don’t speak much, and I don’t know what I should do about it.

“How’s the town?” I ask instead, moving the conversation along. “Are the Aldridges still in Baker’s Creek?”

“Things have been strange since that explosion.” She sighs.

Mom called me a week ago, almost crying. There had been an explosion and gunshots in the Aldridge mansion. The police confirmed the blast, but they said there were never gunshots. The rumors about the brothers killing each other spread like wildfire for days up until four of them reappeared.

I won’t lie. It worries me that the explosion was caused by a person and not an accident. “Mom, is there any more information about the explosion?”

“We don’t know what happened. The doctor and the musician are still missing.” Her voice cracks. “Some people said they died in the fire along with the bandmates. After all, it was his studio.”

If that were true, the real news outlets would have reported it. There’s nothing about the band Too Far from Grace circulating.

“If he is indeed dead, that’ll be two Aldridge boys gone before the age of thirty. At least the rest are safe.” Her voice is slightly lost. “He was a good kid. Always polite. He left good tips in the jar. I don’t know what to believe, the Google says that he was on tour and he had an accident—he was drunk and fell off the stage. He is in the hospital, recuperating. I hope it is true and that he is alive.”

What? I search for it right away, and there it is. The news started circulating today. He was in San Diego when it happened. Interesting. So then, where is the doctor?

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I whisper, instead of asking where the doctor is. “So, the town is mourning?”

“No. Most of the people just want to know what happened. They don’t care if one or all of them died as long as it doesn’t affect them. That is the problem. We don’t know why there was an explosion. And what if we’re not safe. That guy, Vance, was a soldier. If someone followed him here, they could kill the entire town.”

Oh God, the conspiracy theories are crazy. It’s useless to tell her that all of it is gossip, so I just say, “You’re safe.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Mom, it’s Baker’s Creek. You said it was a music studio, right? Maybe the construction company didn’t set up the electrical wires right.”

“That’s another problem. Easton, the new contractor, lost a lot of business because of that,” she whispers. “Ever since those kids came to town, nothing makes sense. We have more tourists. The factory is going back to its golden years, and same with The Lodge.”

She goes silent. So much for having Mom cheering me up.

“I hear a but,” I say. “Why is everyone concerned?”

“There’s that rumor going around that they’re here just because William made them. As soon as they receive their inheritance, they are leaving and selling everything,” she finishes, almost releasing a sob. “What are we supposed to do if they sell?”

“It shouldn’t affect you. Your business is one of the most profitable. Who doesn’t love your croissants, pastries, or cookies? Dad’s goat products are popular. He loves to teach. If they sell the mansion, the lodge, and the factory, you should be fine.”

I don’t tell her that there’s no way the school will be affected if the Aldridges sell their assets.

“They are my landlords. What if the new people increase the rent? I can’t afford that,” she says, finally letting me know what’s been bothering her since the six brothers arrived in town.

If things with Randall were different, I’d offer to lend them the money to buy the properties. As of right now, I’m not sure what’s going to happen between us, and I don’t have much savings. Who am I kidding? I don’t have any savings. My salary barely covers half of the expenses in this house. I should’ve kept my mouth shut when he said he’d pay for the rent when we moved in together. Sometimes being independent and self-reliant brings more problems than I care to deal with.

“Mom, you need to stop listening to gossip. If they were just waiting for their inheritance, they wouldn’t have opened a medical practice. You told me they’re building a hospital. There’s the animal clinic. The lawyer also opened a practice. It sounds like they’re settling in, don’t you think?”

“Probably.”

“I’m right,” I say, lying through my teeth. Well, it’s not a lie, but I’m just feeding her bullshit to calm her down. The Aldridges are billionaires. They can afford to open all these practices and close them just the same. If the businesses are well established, they can even sell them and make a profit. Mom doesn’t need to know that.

“Other than the Aldridges, what is the town up to, Mom?”

“Mary Beth is pregnant,” she says. “Her parents sent her to Portland. They said she got a job there, but we know the truth.”

“One of the Marys?” I hate theMarys. They are the queen bees of the town, and they made sure to make my life miserable while growing up. To spice things up—and in hopes that this will circulate around town—I say, “You think one of the Aldridges knocked her up?”

“No,” she says defensively. “They keep to themselves. They are like their grandmother. She always thought we were beneath her.”

She might be right. But, if they’re anything like me, they’re just avoiding being a part of the gossip. Everyone is nice and sweet until they have something good to tear you apart.

“How do you even know that she’s pregnant, Mom?”

“Your aunt heard the nurse give her prenatal vitamins and a prescription. She also bought a pregnancy test in the convenience store. A week later, she disappeared,” she mumbles.

Who needs to be in Baker’s Creek when Mom can give me the small-town gossip experience?

“Any wedding news?” she asks, changing the conversation back to me.

“Mom, I’m not ready to get married.”

“He’s almost forty,” she reminds me. What would she think if she knew he’s divorced? “He might want to settle soon. That’s why he gave you that ring.”

Okay, so I told her about the time I caught Randall browsing for jewelry. She assumed he’d proposed. I said no, but he gave me a ring as a Christmas present. It was better than what actually happened, which was him forgetting to buy me something and cut me a check when I gave him a Hermes tie. I bought that ring outside the light rail train. It cost me twenty bucks, but it looks like a million-dollar piece.

“He didn’t propose. It was just a gift.”

“I don’t understand the two of you. You’ve been living with him for years, and there’s no commitment.”

Welcome to the club, Mom.

“It’s Denver, Mom. Things are different when you live in a city. Not everyone gets to marry their high school sweetheart and live happily ever after,” I say, wondering if I’ll ever be as happy as my parents are. “How’s Dad?”

“He’s well. He’s currently making cheese,” she says. “Since the Aldridge ladies got involved in the festival’s board, he has been able to set a booth every week.”

“So things are going well with his girls?”

She laughs. “Yes. I guess the investment is paying off—finally.”

Dad is a chemistry and physics teacher. They don’t pay him much at the high school, but he loves what he does. The day he said, “I’m buying goats so we can make cheese, moisturizer, and soap,” we thought he was going crazy.

Randall said, “Goats might be better than a mistress.” That’s what his father chose to do when he was in the middle of an existential crisis.

Listening to Mom talking about Dad’s girls and how much he enjoys his hobby makes me want to visit them. At least for the weekend. It makes me want to, but I won’t.

She’ll want me to bring Randall. The town will want to see my ring. They’ll ask about my penthouse. (I’ll remind you we have an apartment.) Mom likes to keep up with the Joneses; she brags about my life and embellishes it as she sees fit.

I can’t bring my fiancé because I’m not engaged. I can’t tell them about my fancy job because the only thing fancy is the title. All I can do is listen to her talk and maybe convince Randall to pay for their tickets so they can come to Denver.

Maybe I need to work on our relationship. I’ll get us back to a happy place, and then maybe we can work on a proposal and a better salary because, even if we get married, I want my independence.

Is this even possible?

Are Randall and I even meant to be together? Do I want to marry him?

Just as I hang up with Mom, he calls.

“Hi,” I greet him. “Should I order takeout?”

“Nah, I’m having dinner with my parents. You should order something for yourself. Use my credit card. It’s in my office,” he says, clearing his throat. “So, listen, Suzie called.”

My eyes close as I feel the chill of his words sipping through my body. Why is he mentioning his ex-wife? I ask the obvious, “Your Suzie?”

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “She’s moving back from New York, and her parents want me to help her search for a new place. Since we need to find it soon, my cousin Tyler is helping. I might stay with him tonight.”

I understand that Tyler lives close to the foothills, but why is he staying with him? Hoping I don't sound too needy, I ask, “Are we okay, Randall?”

“What kind of question is that, babe?”

The kind you ask when you barely see your live-in boyfriend, and he chooses to spend Sunday with his family searching for a house for his ex,I want to yell, but I don’t.

“I haven’t seen you this weekend. We haven’t been on a date for months. Two more weeks without sex, and I might be re-virginized.”

He laughs. “Leave it to you to make up shit like that. We’re fine. You’ve been busy learning the new social media platforms and making the guys look good even when they suck. I’m trying to figure out a way to make them suck less. It’s temporary. Once the season is over, we’ll go back to normal.”

I sigh with relief. He’s right. I’m just being paranoid.

“See you tomorrow?”

He chuckles in response. “Sure, babe. I’ll try to move my schedule so we can at least have lunch together, okay?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Love you, babe,” he says but doesn’t wait to hear it back.