Page 21 of Hale Yeah, It’s You
Dinner is as normal as I can hope for.
Alayna carries the conversation, excitedly talking about rehearsal and not so subtly bringing up Derek’s name more than a dozen times. For his part, Clay doesn’t question it, but I see his teeth clench a few times, poor guy. I worry how he’s going to handle a front row seat to her on-stage kiss.
Watching this little girl become a woman is like watching a flower bloom in fast forward—stunning and impossible to slow down.
It’s hard to think of her as a young adult when wasn’t it only five minutes ago that we were dropping her off at kindergarten and sneaking ‘Mr. Blankie’ into her backpack in case she got scared?
These memories cling to me lately like static—flickering images I can’t shake.
She’s slipping into her future, and I’m still clinging to the hem of her childhood.
Maybe that’s part of why I’ve started craving something more for myself.
When she leaves, spreads her wings like I know she will… where does that leave Clay and me ?
Clay and I stand shoulder-to-shoulder at the kitchen sink, a well-practiced rhythm between us. He washes, I dry. Alayna bolted the second she polished off her plate, muttering something about homework. We both know it’s a lie, but we let her go anyway.
At least Clay looks more at ease tonight. His hair’s a mess, sandy strands sticking up in defiance after a long day. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up, exposing forearms dotted with soap bubbles. There’s a softness in his smile, a quiet that settles over him when he’s not trying so hard.
“How was your day?” I ask, watching him fill the sink. The faucet hisses, steam rising as he slides the first plate into the suds.
“Can’t complain,” he says. “It’s easier when it’s not an election year. No campaign drama, just the usual budget wrangling and pothole complaints.”
“Not exactly the athletic career you always dreamed of though, is it?”
Clay pauses, scrubbing at a stubborn bit of sauce. “That dream fizzled out a long time ago. I think it was more about momentum than passion. I liked the adrenaline, the team, the simplicity of it. But a career? Probably not. I like what I have now—being home, stability, routine. My girls.”
My breath catches. His girls. I know it’s not the first time he’s made a comment like that, but it hits differently since his confession. I know we’ve always called Alayna our girl, but something about the way he includes me in that now... It unsteadies me.
We’ve talked about his past—the way everything changed the moment Tasha got pregnant—but I’ve never asked if he mourned the life he left behind.
Maybe I didn’t want to know. It's a strange comfort, hearing he doesn’t carry that regret like a hidden scar.
After Tasha left, everything shifted. For both of us.
A bubble escapes from the sink and floats between us like a tiny balloon. Clay flicks a cluster of suds in my direction, grinning when they land on my cheek .
“Earth to Frankie…”
I blink. “Sorry, what?”
He hands me a dinner plate, and his smile lingers. “I asked how it’s been, working at the school all week. You ready to abandon ship and run back to the hardware store yet?”
There’s a teasing edge to his voice, but underneath it, I hear something else—like my answer matters more than he’s letting on.
I huff, taking the plate. “I actually underestimated how much I was going to enjoy it. Seeing how excited they were to show me their ideas, absorbing that creative energy again, it’s like a breath of fresh air I didn’t know I needed.
I get why people teach now. It’s a different kind of reward.
It makes me think… maybe I need to rethink what I want out of my own life. ”
I gently set the plate on the drying rack before taking the next one from Clay. “I thought you liked running the hardware store?” Clay stops washing. He turns his body toward me, pressing his hip against the counter.
“I do love the store. I grew up in those walls, every aisle holds a memory. It’s not that I’m unhappy, I just…” I hesitate, running the towel over the dried plate too many times as I gather my thoughts.
Those things Roman said at our dinner left me questioning my own choices.
When he said I’d had my whole life figured out, that running the hardware store and starting a family had always been my plan, I’d wanted to push back.
But he was right; I’d never questioned the life that was planned for me.
Not the way that Tasha had. I’d accepted that I was meant to run the shop.
I’d chosen to stay for Alayna’s sake, but was that my dream?
Was that what I’d wanted for my life? Why had I given up on the rest of my dream so easily?
“I can’t help but wonder if I’m living my own dream, or if I settled for the one that was handed to me.”
The thought hits like a stone skipping across my chest. I want more .
“Are you thinking about leaving the store?”
I snort. “No. I’d never do that to Dad. He says he’d understand, but I know it would break his heart. Honestly, it might break mine too.”
“What’s the issue then?”
“It’s like I’ve just been skating by in every aspect of my life because it’s comfortable, but I haven’t stopped to ask myself what I really want in such a long time that I don’t even know anymore. I just know I want more.”
He exhales, tension leaving his body. “Okay. Then what’s the ‘more’ part?”
“I don’t know yet.” I lean back against the counter. “I’ve just been… drifting. Going through the motions. I want to want something again. I want to feel like I’m moving toward something that’s mine.”
Clay studies the plate like it holds answers. “Is Roman the ‘something more’ you’re talking about?”
I wince. “No. That’s not what I meant… Maybe I’m being stupid.”
“Sorry.” He curses softly, rinses the last plate, then hands it to me. “That was unfair. You haven’t said much about your date with him. And now you’re working together, talking about changing your life… I guess I’m a little jealous.”
I can’t blame him. I’ve avoided this conversation with everyone, even Sarah. Because saying it out loud makes it real, and I’m still trying to untangle it all. But the change I’m craving—it’s not about a man. It’s about me.
“I should’ve told you sooner,” I say, placing the last plate on the rack. “I’ve been hiding. The dinner with Roman? It was... hard. We talked about the past. That might be where we leave things. I haven’t really spoken to him since.”
I don’t want to cut Roman out of my life, but what chance do we have when we can barely spend an hour together without saying or doing something that hurts the other person?
Once the project at the school is finished, I may never hear from him again.
We’re virtually strangers at this point.
My heart aches even admitting that to myself.
And if I’m not careful, I might hurt Clay and end up a stranger in his life too.
Clay rinses the sink in silence. The water rushes down the drain, leaving only the brittle quiet between us.
“After all this time, I’m not sure what else I expected,” I whisper. My voice vibrates with a sadness I can't quite shake.
He dries his hands and pulls me into a hug. “Aw, Frankie.”
His hand settles on the back of my head, fingers sifting through my hair. I let myself fall into him. It’s familiar and warm, like a favorite blanket you forgot you still had.
His heartbeat thumps beneath my ear. A little fast.
Maybe we don’t have fireworks, but we have something solid. Something I don’t want to break. It seems like he’s waiting for me to bridge the gap between us, both literally and figuratively, but I’m still not ready to make that leap. I might never be ready.
“What do you think about doing something this weekend? The two of us. Alayna’s staying with your parents overnight tomorrow.”
I gently disengage from his hold. “What do you have in mind?”
He shrugs, rubbing his arms. “That bar in Spokane—the Quiz and Quench? They’re doing the ‘90s Sitcom Trivia Challenge again. We could head down early, grab lunch, do some shopping, then go win that golden Q.”
The last time we went, we almost won. Back when Sarah and Trevor were still together, and we went as a group. This would be different. Just the two of us. A real date. An out-of-town date even.
The hairs on the back of my neck rise as little tendrils of fear prickle my skin. If it goes badly, will we ruin the balance at home?
But he’s already opened the box, the words have already spilled out. I can’t stuff them back in and pretend none of this ever happened. So my only choice now is to put my big girl panties on and see where this leads us.
“Okay,” I say, ignoring the pit of fear in my stomach. Clay finally lifts his eyes to mine. “But we’re not coming home without that trophy.”
He laughs, and the tension between us cracks enough to let something hopeful in. “That trophy is as good as ours.”
We’ve earned our sitcom credentials. Alayna was a terrible sleeper, and we spent years glued to old reruns during the midnight shift. We probably know more about the Tanner family than our own extended relatives.
But I wonder, not for the first time—
Who are we without Alayna in the middle?