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We stand there for a long minute before he pats me gently on the shoulder then walks away, probably heading back to his office on the other end of the house.
Thingshavebeen off between us, and even though we’ve touched on some of the reasons why, I’ve been careful not to address it again, not wanting to dive in too deep. Maybe it’s time to stop avoiding the conversation.
Years ago, if I’d witnessed a man I was talking to embracing another woman, I would have shut down. No conversation, no explanations, no ‘hashing it out’. But when I found out I was pregnant, I started going to therapy, knowing I needed to sort through some of my own issues if I had any chance of being a decent mom to this little girl.
It’s the main reason why Reid and I were able to sort through what happened without it being so much worse. The reason why I didn’t immediately jump to the worst-case scenario when I saw them. Why I was able to believe Reid when he told me what happened.
Maybe I need to do the same with my mom. I think, with her, the reason I avoid the difficult conversations is the same reason Reid was shutting out the idea of love: fear. I’m afraid she’ll realize I’m too much trouble, the thing I’ve kind of always been waiting for. It might not be rational, but it’s there just the same.
I watch them outside for a few more minutes before I slide my phone out of my pocket and call Marie.
“Hey! We’re just loading up. Should be there in twenty minutes,” she says, the sound of kids yelling and laughing in the background.
“That’s actually why I’m calling,” I tell her. “Can we rain-check for another day? I’m thinking about staying at my parents’ for dinner tonight.”
“Oh, no problem!” she says. “We’re still heading over because these monsters need to run around and get some of this energy out. But just text me and we can try again soon.”
“Thanks for understanding. Sometimes you just need…time with your mom,” I say, something like relief settling in my chest.
Marie laughs. “Girl, my mom and I get together every week. I completely understand.”
We exchange goodbyes and get off the phone, and then I tug open the door and head outside over to where they’re sitting in the grass.
My mom turns and sees me then smiles wide. “Look, Junie! Mom’s here!”
Junie giggles and climbs off her lap, tripping over her shoes before she stands again and begins racing toward me. My girl loves to run. I crouch low and accept a big hug, falling back into the grass with a laugh. We snuggle for a second and then I sit up, looking at my mom, who is shaking out the blanket they were sitting on.
“How’d she do today?” I ask.
“Good. Slept well, ate well.” Mom shrugs and gives me a smile. “No complaints. How was work?”
“Also good. I think Briar is already considering hiring a new employee.”
“Oh, wow. Things must be going really well, then.”
I nod, staying seated as she approaches, her blanket flung over one arm.
“Hey, I was thinking, if you don’t have plans tonight, maybe we could stay for dinner?”
My mom’s eyebrows rise, but then she beams at me. “I would love that. I’m making chicken piccata.”
I stand, hoisting Junie with me, something inside of me knowing that everything is going to be just fine.
“Really?” I say, following behind her as she heads for the door. “That’s my favorite.”
chapter twenty-four
Reid
There are lots of things to take into consideration when deciding on what kind of wood to use for a project.
Appearance is the most common care for customers and guides a lot of the decision-making processes, things like grain patterns and color and how well the wood absorbs a stain. Cost is the next most important, followed by durability—how much damage can it sustain? How well does it withstand scratches and other wear and tear?
But the thing people don’t think about, almost at all, is maintenance. The kind of work that goes into keeping your piece looking new and beautiful for years, whether it’s for a table or a bookshelf or a chair or anything else.
Of course, on my end, those are things I think about constantly. When I’m making a piece, I try to use the type of wood that most closely aligns with the purpose. For example, I rarely use red oak for a table top, unless a customer specifically requests it, because the grain has a lot of open pores that make it easy for crumbs to get trapped in the surface.
The hardest part is taking two completely different woods and merging them together. Each type requires different care, can carry different loads, and handles wear and tear incompletely different ways. Sometimes, though, what comes from finding two pieces that are different but well matched is truly beautiful.
