Page 11 of Hale Yeah, It’s You
Those early days with Roman had been easy.
It was as if the moment our eyes met, our souls had recognized each other.
We’d spent days talking on the phone, filling every second that we couldn’t physically be together with each other's voices. Writing notes and passing them between classes, watching each other's soccer practices and games. We were inseparable and yet, we moved slower physically. It had taken two weeks before Roman finally got up the nerve to kiss me, and then I hadn’t understood his intentions and he’d met my cheek instead of my lips.
I think it knocked his confidence, because he didn’t try again over the following few days, and I was not that patient.
I’d waited for him after school, leaning against his black sedan.
The grin that lit up his face when he saw me waiting there was more than enough encouragement.
I’d reached up on tiptoes, taking his face in my hands and softly brushed my lips against his.
Even though I’d been the one to initiate the kiss, he’d instantly taken charge.
I saw fireworks, my whole body bursting alive with color.
I knew without a doubt, I’d fallen hard for that boy and I was going to keep him forever.
But forever ended up being a lot shorter than I ever imagined.
I rub my eyelids, not letting the burning needles turn to tears. I like the anger better than the wishful thoughts about what could have been.
Despite the absolute failure to communicate we’ve suffered tonight, I can’t help the irrational flicker of hope growing in my heart.
Maybe we can never be friends–the scars we’ve left on each other may never heal enough for us to move past them–but after years of silence, of nothing at all, having Roman back in my life—even like this—is something.
I’m not sure if it’s a step forward or backward, but it’s something.
A glance at the clock tells me it’s getting late, almost eight-thirty.
Clay and Alayna will be getting ready for bed, dinner finished and dishes done.
We have a good routine, the three of us.
Guilt gnaws at me for turning off my phone and ignoring Clay’s call.
As much as I let him into my day-to-day life, I need a moment alone, I need to do this by myself.
No one can figure out what my heart wants but me.
And after his proposal last night, I’m not entirely sure where things stand between us.
Clay has never really crossed any privacy lines with me before.
We do a lot of family things with Alayna, but it’s never felt like more than that.
As long as we know who is watching Alayna, the rest is up to our own schedules, our own routines.
We have personal lives outside of the house that don't involve the other person.
He’s known when I’ve gone on dates over the years, and he’s never asked me questions when I roll in super late, letting me keep my walk of shame details to myself.
I do the same for him, never asking about his dates or his relationships.
Bringing someone home with a child in the picture means it had better be pretty damn serious, and I never found someone that made me want to risk the peace.
Mara being the only exception, Clay has never introduced any of his dates to me or Alayna either, so it’s never been an issue we’ve needed to talk through.
Did his actions this week mean he was worried I’d bring Roman and our history home with me? Was he jealous? Was that what had pushed him into sharing his feelings? His words echo in my head.
My heart knows what it wants, Frankie, and it wants you. I want you.
The problem is, my heart has been broken for so long… I no longer trust it to know what it wants.
Perhaps it wants too much.
With a long sigh, I get up from the table and turn out the lights. My mind bounces around, hitting every nerve like a game of pinball, and I hope like hell that I’ll come home to a quiet, sleeping house. I don’t have the energy to explain to Clay how tonight went, when I’m still not sure myself.
Somehow I manage to avoid Clay and Alayna for the rest of the week. Clay must have sensed my need for space when I didn’t return his call after the meeting with Roman—and then stayed in my room until they left the next morning.
Alayna wouldn’t have given me this much space on her own. I’m thankful we know each other well enough that they’ve granted me this reprieve—even if part of me wonders how long it’ll last.
Alayna doesn’t need me to drive her to school.
Clay’s more than capable of getting her there most mornings before work.
He’d never admit it if she were listening, but he loves those quiet drives with her.
Their father-daughter bond is solid—one of those rare, unshakable things I’ve always felt lucky to witness.
By Friday, Clay finally breaks the silence.
He texts me from the grocery store, asking if there’s anything we need that didn’t make it onto the fridge list. I lean back in my desk chair, scanning my brain for what we might be out of.
I’ve been so caught up in my feelings, I’ve barely remembered to eat.
ME
Microwave popcorn & bananas
CLAY
That sounds disgusting
ME
Not together, you heathen
CLAY
Everything good with you?
ME
Yep.
CLAY
Home for dinner tonight?
ME
No. Sunday I’ll cook though. Lasagna? I think we need mozzarella.
CLAY
I’ll grab some. You got a hot date?
ME
Having drinks with a friend.
CLAY
A certain high school principal?
I stare at the screen. Actually, it’s Sarah—my only remaining girlfriend from high school—that I’m meeting. She comes to town once a month to check on her parents, and we’ve had a standing bar date for years. She’s the best friend I have outside of Clay and Alayna.
My head pulses with irritation. Why is Clay asking about my dating life like it’s normal conversation for us? It never has been. Then again, I never followed up on the front porch conversation either. I’ve been hiding. Eventually, I’ll have to stop.
I roll my shoulders and shoot off one more text.
ME
No. I’m meeting Sarah. I’ll tell her you forgot about our monthly night out. She’ ll love that.
CLAY
Please do not do that. I do not want an angry Sarah coming after me. Have fun. Call me if you need a ride.
Not once in my entire life have I called Clay for a drunk ride home, and I would not start now.
Usually if I have too much to drink, I order a ride-share and sleep it off at the hardware store, or if I’m being extra boujee, I’ll get a nice hotel room for the night.
Clay assumes I spend those nights with Sarah at her parents’ house, and I’ve never corrected him.
There’s a lot of speculation that goes on around a small town like Pinewood. Sometimes allowing people to believe whatever they want to is the best form of self-preservation.
People in this town have always assumed things about me and Clay.
When I moved in with him, the rumors immediately started to fly.
People think we’re more than we are even now.
When we’re out in public they stare and whisper, taking bets on how it will all end.
I know it. He knows it. Neither of us talk about it.
We know how our dynamics work and that’s enough.
Alayna has never been confused by our arrangement.
I’m Auntie Keke, and that’s her dad. The end.
Why should I care what anyone else thinks?
Including my mother.
After locking up the store, I fix my hair and makeup in the small employee bathroom.
I brought my outfit and supplies with me so I could avoid heading home before my night out.
I’ve decided to wear my normal worn-out skinny jeans and a loose black spaghetti strap blouse.
I skip the heels and slide on some plain black flats.
One night of heels was enough for this week.
Sarah is already waiting for me at the bar when I get there, even though I’m five minutes early.
She looks stunning and put-together as usual: a black pencil skirt and a cream-colored top that might be silk, mile-high chunky heels, and her blonde hair expertly styled.
She waves me over, a sly look on her gorgeous face.
"You’ve been holding out on me," she says, sliding a fresh raspberry mojito into my hand as I take my seat next to her.
The barstools here are more comfortable than the booths, but what they make up for in comfort, they lack in privacy.
I swivel my head to see who is within earshot, and, not seeing any of the local tongue-waggers, I turn my attention back to my friend.
"Well hello, gorgeous, it’s nice to see you too," I smirk back at her. The familiar smell of patchouli wraps its welcoming arms around me.
"Hi," she says, with a dramatic wave of her hand. "Now start talking."
"So your mom was quick with the gossip, then?" I should have known she would hear about Roman’s return before I could tell her myself. It seemed like something I should share in person and not over the phone. Besides, I have more news than that to share.
Sarah nods. She takes a long sip from her own drink, a giant pink margarita, and shimmies her shoulders as the alcohol hits her tongue, a move she’s been doing for as long as I can remember. "I can’t believe you didn’t call me the second you found out he was back. Have you seen him yet?"
So she had only heard he was back in town then. I can barely hide my surprise. The gossip mill needs to up its game. "Oh yeah. We met up at work last night."
Her blue eyes widen, and she squeezes my arm, red manicured nails digging into my skin. "Oh. My. Gracious. You better start spilling, and fast, I’m about to combust on this barstool."
"He thought Alayna was his daughter." I let the words hang there, watching them land. "I told him that she’s Clay’s daughter, but for the life of me, I couldn’t tell him that she wasn’t mine. "