I nod. “It’s getting late, and I know you have to get to bed early for school.”
She flings her arms open. “I can’t wait to decorate tomorrow.”
I hug her tight, and she smells like peach-scented soap. “Me too. I’ll bring my grandmother’s chocolate chip cookie recipe.”
“Okay.” She lets me go, and Caleb hands her two chocolate truffles. She runs over to the couch where he already has on her cartoons.
“Want me to walk you out?” he asks.
My heart skips a beat, and I suck in a breath. “If you want to.”
“Honey, I’ll be right back,” he says to Alyssa. He opens the front door, and we walk out onto the porch. The rain has stopped, and the cold front has moved in. If it were this cold earlier, the rain would’ve been snow. I stand facing him, and he takes a step closer. “I’ll have the files emailed to you tonight.”
“Perfect. I want to get them printed and framed as soon as possible. I’m tempted to put some out, but in a way, I want to save them for the showcase.”
He shrugs. “I’m good with whatever you want to do. Hopefully, people won’t hate them.”
“They will love them, Caleb. That I can promise you.”
His eyes search mine, and I hold my breath. There’s tension between us, but it’s a good feeling. In a way, I feel like I’m back in high school on a first date, waiting to be kissed. Caleb moves closer, and I’m still holding my breath. Are we ready for this step? The better question is … is he ready?
Our lips touch ever so lightly, and his warmth seeps into me. There’s no tongue, no deepening of the kiss. Caleb slowly steps back and smiles. “Goodnight, Bree. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“See ya then.”
He stays out on the porch until I get into my car and back out of his driveway. I don’t know what I’m getting myself into, but it feels right.
6
Caleb
I stay on the porch until I can’t see Bree’s taillights. My mind is spinning. My heart is racing. For the first time since I met my wife, I’ve kissed another woman. Every voice in my head . . . believe me there are many. . . tell me what I’ve done is wrong, that I’m somehow tarnishing the memory of my wife, our marriage, and the vows we took. But my heart is saying I’m right. It’s healthy to move on and not wallow in what I can’t fix. If the roles were reversed, I’d want my wife to move on, to find a suitable man who could be a father to Alyssa. If I have learned anything over the last year, it’s that life is too short to watch it from the sideline or your rear-view mirror.
After checking on Alyssa and finding her snuggled on the couch with her bear and eyes focused on her cartoon, I head back into the kitchen and pull my phone out to call my mom. It’s not that I need her approval, but maybe advice.
“I’m spoon deep in peppermint ice cream, so if you need me to come over, you’ll have to wait.”
“No worries, Mom. I just wanted to talk to you about something.”
“Your date with Bree?”
“It wasn’t a date.” Was it?
“Caleb, you invited a woman to your house to cook you and your daughter dinner. A woman, I might add, who you haven’t seen or spoken to since high school, who you didn’t date, and who you just became reacquainted with yesterday. You may not realize it, but subconsciously this was a test to see how Alyssa would react to another woman being around you, in your home, and with her. Am I right?”
“Maybe,” I mutter. “What if I wanted a homecooked meal?” I counter with.
My mom laughs. “Then you would’ve been here at six for dinner. Nice try, buddy.” There’s a pause, and I hear her spoon clanking against her bowl. Now, I want ice cream and wonder if I have any in the freezer. “So, tell me, how was dinner?”
“Amazing.”
“And the company?”
“Amazing,” I say again.
“You need a thesaurus. Maybe Santa will bring you one for Christmas.”
“Okay, enough harping on my choice of words.”
Mom sighs. “Fine, tell me what’s on your mind.”
I inhale deeply and think about my life. When I try to picture my future, I see Alyssa. She’s there, smiling. She’s happy and always laughing. She’s not the sad little girl who cried herself to sleep for the first six months after her mom died or the child who refused to talk to a therapist until the bear arrived and then finally opened up. Behind her, in this montage of images, is Bree. We’re holding hands and her belly is round, filled with our child.
“Caleb?”
“Do you remember the first time you met Bree?” I ask my mom. “She had come over; I think it was our junior year. We were partners on a social studies assignment. I remember how she wasn’t nervous. She didn’t try to flirt or suggest we study in my room like other girls had.”
“Ugh,” my mom groans, and I smile.
“My friendship with her was effortless. I was going to ask her to prom that year, but someone beat me to it. I thought the summer would change things, and then we started our senior year. She had a boyfriend, and I was just there, in the background. I wonder why I didn’t push harder?”
“Because you needed to find yourself first.”
“Am I lost?” I ask her.
“No,” she says. “To find yourself doesn’t mean you were lost or are lost. You had to grow, experience life. Unfortunately for you, you’ve experienced one of the worst heartaches ever. You lost your wife. In a way, you can never get her back. The pain and hurt you’ve been through are meant to make you stronger. Before, when you looked at life, you saw your cup almost empty. Now, you embrace each day and see yourself with an almost full cup. You owe it to yourself to be happy. To make Alyssa happy. And if Bree is the person that brings a smile to your face, explore it. Don’t let some arbitrary rule of a mourning period tell you otherwise.”
“What if I’m wrong? What if I pursue her only to realize my heart isn’t in it?”
“Caleb, your heart is already in it, or you wouldn’t have asked her over or shown her your photos.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh. “How do you even know this?”
“Small town living hasn’t changed. Carol saw you in Bree’s gallery, and then Lindy told her mom, who told Sharon, who told—you get the picture.”
“You ladies need a hobby.”
Mom laughs. “We have one. It’s called spilling the tea, and we do it very well.”
I glance at the time on the microwave and see that I need to get Alyssa into bed. I tell my mom goodnight and thank her for her advice. I make it a point to hang up before going into the living room. If Alyssa knows her nana is on the phone, it’ll be another hour before she makes it to bed.
“Bedtime,” I tell her as I enter the living room. She sits up, the couch crinkling from the plastic still on it. “Sorry, I’ll take this off now.” I expect Alyssa to head toward the bathroom to brush her teeth, but she starts lifting the plastic off the sofa. “Thanks for helping.”