Since You Happened by Holly Hall

Chapter 18

I don’t have much time to dwell on the news Landon broke, because Thanksgiving arrives before I know it. After my Wednesday night shift at the hospital, I grab the duffel bag I already have packed, tossing it into the backseat of the car before heading out west to Silverthorne.

Just as I’m pulling onto the highway, my phone rings from my purse. Arielle’s name flickers across the screen on the dash, and I click a button to activate the hands-free feature.

“Happy Thanksgiving!” her voice shrills from every speaker in my car, causing me to reach for the volume dial.

“Thanks, you too. You already at your parents’?”

“Oh yeah, I came yesterday, though I’m not sure how much longer I can stand it. Dad’s already brought up my quarterly sales goals three times.”

“Ahh, just another day as Nick Richardson’s daughter,” I say fondly. Arielle’s father is a district attorney, and for as long as I’ve known him, he’s always pushed his daughter for success. He didn’t care what she chose to do as long as she strove to be the best at it. So far, she’s lived up to his expectations.

“Yep. Anyway, I called because I just thought of something, and I’m not sure why I haven’t asked you about it sooner. A friend of mine is organizing an event benefitting an organization that raises awareness about drinking and driving and assists families affected by drunk driving incidents. I thought it would be something that might interest you.”

This conversation has gone somewhere so unexpected that I have to reel in my thoughts and redirect them. I chew my lip while I mull it over. It was only last weekend that I told Landon how I wanted to help with Arielle’s philanthropic work, but an event like that almost hits too close to home.

“I don’t know—” I begin, but she cuts in.

“I know you think it will be uncomfortable, but it would be really beneficial to have your perspective. You should think about it. In the meantime, I’ll send you her contact info so you can decide. This could be good for you, Blake.” Her voice tapers off to where I can barely hear her.

“That’s fine,” I finally answer, my thoughts whirring. I’m still so shaken after what Landon told me the other night that I feel like I can’t even think this over at the moment, but what does enter my mind is how far out of my comfort zone helping out with that event would be.

“I’ve worked with the girl organizing the event a few different times. Her name’s Emily, and she’s really sweet and dedicated. She would understand your situation.

My situation. The word leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I know Arielle doesn’t mean it, but her words insinuate that there still is a situation, and that I’m not dealing with the past like I should be. Like I’m failing at moving on. Unexpected tears prick my eyes, making me grateful that this is only a phone call and she can’t see how much this still bothers me.

To top it off, this weekend was supposed to distract me from dwelling on the admission Landon made last weekend, but the topic of the event has brought everything back to the forefront of my mind. Every time I think about it, a sick feeling twists in the pit of my stomach, as though I’ve been transported back to that bathroom and he’s just admitted everything all over again. I know it will only get worse the longer I wait to tell him my side of the story, but I’ve just now begun to get my life firmly back on track. I’m actually going out and enjoying each day instead of just pretending, like I used to, and I don’t want to go back to the way things were. I don’t want to chase Landon away. A better time will present itself when the emotional moment from last weekend isn’t so raw and fresh in his mind, and when that time comes, I’ll tell him. The problem is, I don’t know if there will ever be a better time.

“Promise me you’ll think about it?” Arielle’s voice prompts me from my speakers, stirring my thoughts.

“Yeah, I’ll think about it. But I’ve got to let you go. Traffic on the road.”

“Okay. Have a good holiday. I love you!” she says, her voice reaching a cheerful level again.

“Love you, too.”

“Your jeans are a little loose. Have you lost weight? Honey, has Blake lost weight?” It’s the greeting I receive immediately upon walking in the door of my parents’ house. My father edges past my mother to give me a hug and a sympathetic smile, all while holding a rolled-up morning paper in his hands. My mood is still bleak from being trapped in a car ride alone with my thoughts, but there’s no room for them in my family home.

“Give her some time to walk in the door and kick off her boots, Emma,” he scolds lightly. “You look great, Little Blake. I’m glad you made it.”

“Thanks, Dad.” I turn to hug my mother, batting away her fingers that are prodding at my limbs as if appraising my body fat.

My uncle Grant walks out of the kitchen with a glass of scotch in hand. “Hey-oh. About time you decided to show. They keeping you locked up in that old hospital?”

“I see you started early.” I ignore his teasing and nod toward his glass.

“It’s never too early on a holiday.” He pulls me into a one-armed hug while his other hand stays firmly secured around his scotch. “Maybe you’re starting too late,” he says with a wink, continuing on into the living room.

“Are they really working you that hard at the hospital?” my mother asks, a dishtowel dusted with flour draped over one shoulder.

“No, Mom,” I say exasperatedly. If we start on this subject, she’ll be stuck on it for days. I don’t want to give her another chance to remind me I could always work for a nice doctor’s office that doesn’t keep me up at an “ungodly hour,” as she would say.

She holds up her hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. Go on into the kitchen. We were waiting on you to start eating.”

My relatives and I all float around the kitchen island, spooning food onto our plates with well-practiced efficiency before we take seats at the tables. I’m not sure how or why, but my cousins and I, all well into our twenties, somehow still belong to the fold-out kid table. We eat while catching up on each other’s lives, all the things we miss while busy with our own. My cousin Kendra and her husband, Todd, are expecting their first baby in March, so there’s plenty to discuss when it comes to new developments.

“So, Blake, how’s the single life?” Todd asks. At the mention of my dating life, I catch my mother leaning back in her chair to peer at me out of the corner of my eye. It’s all done in a way she probably thinks is inconspicuous.

“I wouldn’t know, actually. I’ve kind of been dating someone.” The room goes silent, and I hear someone’s fork clatter to their plate. Probably my father’s.

Todd looks around guiltily, as if he’s said something wrong.

“Get it, girl! Now that you mention it, I did see a photo of you with a handsome guy on Facebook,” Kendra says, her expression much more casual than everyone else’s. “New boyfriend?”

Boyfriend. The word hits me like a kick to the chest. A boyfriend is someone you don’t lie to, or at least, he’s someone to whom you don’t omit important information. A boyfriend isn’t someone whose fragile trust you break as soon as you win it over.

“I wouldn’t necessarily call him that.”

“Okay, a little something-something on the side,” Kendra’s brother, Will, says with a loaded look.

“Will!” Aunt Janice scolds.

“Who’s your something-something, Blake?” My mother asks, now fully committed to the conversation.

“Settle down and eat, everyone. Broncos play at three,” my father grumbles, and Will and Todd both dig back into their food.

“Anyway, how long has this guy ‘not’ been your boyfriend?” Kendra continues.

“A month. So it’s still early. Which is why I didn’t tell anyone.” I raise my voice at the end to send a hint to my mother, who’s unsuccessfully pretending not to be offended that I haven’t told her about Landon.

“Show me the picture, Blake,” says Mom.

“What’s his name?” Kendra cuts in to save me.

“Landon,” I say. Now that they have a name, perhaps their curiosity will be satisfied. But I doubt it.

“Aww. The first months are the best, aren’t they?”

“They are,” I say with a smile I hope is convincing.

The majority of my family ventures out to the porch after dinner to watch football. It’s probably more of an excuse to show off my father’s handiwork, as we sit around the television that’s been mounted up in one of the corners of the porch; his latest project. We sit around the fire pit on the lawn with beverages in hand, commenting on the game or various current events. My mother only joins in after she’s finished cleaning up in the kitchen. She is meticulous to the point of being anal, and she prefers things done her way. We tend not to argue with her. She sits next to me, spreading a blanket over her and I both, and pats my knee.

“So, this boy of yours,” she begins, and I mentally prepare myself. “Does he have any potential to be a serious one?”

I take a swig of my beer before answering. “I don’t want to jinx it, but I hope so. I really like him.” In those things I’m confident, so they’re easy for me to admit.

My mother links her arm through mine and gives it a motherly squeeze. “Well, however it turns out, I’m really happy for you. You deserve all the happiness in the world, Blake. I’ve always wanted you to find someone you trust, who accepts you for all that you are.” I wince. Landon doesn’t know who I am, yet. Is it because I don’t trust him enough? “I just hate knowing you’re in the city alone.”

“I’m not alone. I have Haley and Arielle, and a few other good friends. I have my job. All those things make Denver feel like home.”

She gives me a thin-lipped smile, not fully convinced. “I’m glad you reminded me. I’ll pack up some pie to go for Haley.”

I ascend the steps up to my old room later that night, pausing in the doorway. It’s been changed since I moved out, but only slightly. My bed and dresser still occupy the same places in the room, but the band posters that wallpapered my walls have been taken down, and all my other familiar knick knacks—soccer trophies, prom corsages, movie tickets, etcetera—have been packed away into some dark corner of the attic.

I walk in and flop backwards onto my bed, pulling my phone from my purse. My smile comes automatically when I see I’ve received a text from Landon.

MR FARRAR: The debutantes are putting up wanted posters featuring a familiar, green-eyed brunette.

Me: They work fast. How does your mom feel about this brunette-haired vixen?

MR FARRAR: Hey, who said anything about a vixen?

Me: I knew that’s what you meant ;)

MR FARRAR: She’s already searching for an excuse to visit Denver so she can meet you.

I smile inwardly, and a swarm of butterflies takes flight in my stomach. Somehow, someway, this wonderful man’s mother wants to meet me.

Me: She’s always welcome. Having a good time?

MR FARRAR: I may have eaten the equivalent of two turkeys, I’ve taken three naps today, and I have a few stains that might be cranberry sauce on my shirt, but I can’t be sure. It’s pretty embarrassing. You?

Me: Of course . . . after I fended off my mom’s borderline-criminal interrogation techniques when she learned I’m seeing someone.

MR FARRAR: Ohhh, I bet she likes me already.

Me: Cocky. Anyways, I’m exhausted. Happy Thanksgiving, Mr. Farrar!

MR FARRAR: You too, Little Blake. Just one question so I can go to bed with sweet dreams. What color are your panties?

Me: Really Farrar? Phone sex? How trashy.

Then, a minute later:

Me: Black lace.