Page 51 of Meet Me in the Valley (Oakwood Valley #2)

Chapter Thirty-Three

TIA

Every time the doorbell rings, Mom’s face lights up the same overflowing enthusiasm. The repetitive reaction has nothing to do with her illness, and everything to do with something I’ve always admired about her.

Simple joy.

“Coming!” she calls out, shaking the bright orange bowl filled to the brim with candy. Mom adjusts her tiny witch hat headband before opening the door to Wonder Woman, two out of four Ninja Turtles, and a ballerina.

“Trick or treat!” the group of tiny people shout in sugar-induced unison. I watch from a distance as my mom happily grabs handfuls of candy, dropping them into pillow cases and jack-o’-lantern buckets.

Dad sits idly by, sipping on the hot chocolate I fixed for us with extra marshmallows. We both smile at Mom’s unbridled happiness.

She’s had some really good days over the last few weeks since I’ve moved back to Oakwood Valley.

Mom and I go for short walks around the neighborhood, arm in arm, laughing about everything and nothing.

I curate special menus that accommodate the diet her doctors recommend.

We reminisce a lot. I like to sift through old photo albums as Mom and Dad tell stories about Nora and I in the way they remember them.

Sometimes when Mom recalls something, it lands heavier in my chest than I expect. It’s like a light beam of hope every time I see slivers of herself shine through the broken cracks of her brain.

But then come the bad days. The grocery list with ingredients that are already in the pantry. The bittersweet smell of cinnamon and dough. The haunting Happy Birthday song.

The days I’m not Tia, but my big sister instead.

On those days, I encourage Mom to rest. Take naps and drink jasmine tea on the back porch with dad. They hold hands. He reads to her. I’m simply an observer, waiting in the wings to step in when I need to.

But today is a good day. Mom is happy handing out endless amounts of sugar to other people’s kids—uncaring about the consequences, much like the way a grandmother would spoil their grandchild.

Grandchild. Cali. My parent’s grandchild.

Dad sees the shift in my expression, eyes distant and mood suddenly somber. I hear the small laughs of children and the echo of thank yous as my mom shuts the door. She notices my eyes welling up before I can hide them. Concern floods her features like a motherly instinct.

“Sayang , what’s the matter?”

I’m just thinking about your grandchild. The one you deserve to know.

“It’s nothing, Mom. It makes me happy to see you happy, that’s all,” I say, softening my tone and my expression.

Mom frowns, but then kisses me on the cheek, pinching the black cat ears on top of my head. “This suits you.” She looks down at the almost empty bowl of candy. “I need to refill this before the next wave of cuties comes,” she nearly squeals, pattering with a pep in her step toward the kitchen.

My dad and I make eye contact—his soft smile is always there to bring me reassurance. He reads me so well, patient in the quiet moments when I’m in my head. Guiding me out of the dark when I slip. He continues his sudoku when something outside the window catches my eye.

Another group of neighborhood kids skips past on the sidewalk, their laughter trailing behind them. I can’t help but chuckle when I spot two costumes that instantly jog my memory—flashing me back to a Halloween night a few years ago.

Without thinking, I’m already pulling out my phone, thumbing through my favorites album. I swipe until I find the photo I’m looking for—one I haven’t seen in a long time.

Logan and I had done a Halloween couple’s bar crawl on 6th Street that year. He was Buzz Lightyear. I was Woody. I’m sitting on his shoulders in the middle of the street, grinning like I’ve never had a bad day in my life. There I was, on top of the world.

It was his idea. Toy Story was his favorite movie growing up. He said the costumes were perfect for us since Woody and Buzz were best friends. Just like us.

It must’ve been a year or two after college, when our careers were just taking off and we spent nearly every waking moment together, caught somewhere between youth and adulthood. That picture always makes me smile. Despite the amount of tequila in my system that night, the memory is crystal clear.

I was the Woody to his Buzz.

He wouldn’t shut up about his wings, and I was so drunk I kept shouting, “There’s a snake in my boot!” at strangers like it was the funniest thing I’d ever said.

I exit the photo and notice a seven-second video thumbnail right below it.

Even the still frame is ridiculous. I’m already stifling laughter as I tap it.

Logan, very drunk and very proud, is running down the sidewalk yelling, “To infinity and beyond!” My giggles trail behind him at the end of the clip.

I watch it three more times before I finally let out a breath.

This is the longest I’ve ever gone without talking to Logan. Not because I didn’t want to. God, I’ve wanted to every single day.

But after the way we left things, there was no going back. Not right away.

Everything with my mom has consumed every inch of me lately. But when the day slows down—when I’m not running a million miles an hour—he’s there.

Always there.

I watch the group of kids come up the path to my parents’ house just as Mom emerges from the kitchen, beaming, a full bowl of candy in her hands. The doorbell rings, and I pause to soak in the joy on her face—how she lights up with every tiny costume and giggling voice.

I quietly step away, letting her have her moment with the neighborhood kids, and head down the hallway toward my room. The photo of us is still open on my screen, and as I walk, I can’t stop staring at it.

That familiar dull ache presses against my chest—the kind that only shows up when I’m missing him too much to ignore. I close the door behind me and sit at the edge of the bed. The quiet makes me uneasy.

My phone trembles slightly in my hands as I hover over his name. I attach the Halloween photo with me on his shoulders. When life was easy. I start typing.

Tia

image attached Happy Halloween, Buzz.

My heart beats in my throat and pulses in my ears as I wait for his response. When it doesn’t come right away, my mind plays conniving tricks.

Is he out at a party? Is he in the middle of talking to another woman? Is she falling at his feet with his effortless charm and melting at the sight of his crooked grin?

The back of my neck heats when Krista suddenly appears like an unwanted parasite, latching onto my memory and forcing me to play it in my head.

Krista’s lips on his.

Logan’s fingers gripping her hips.

Krista’s desperate and needy moans.

I wasn’t in the room with them, but my mind certainly tells me otherwise. I’m there in that room. It’s visceral and painful. A fly on the wall, trapped with no way out.

But then my phone buzzes, jolting me out of my Krista hell.

Logan

Talk about a blast from the past. Happy Halloween, Woody.

It’s short. Friendly. Not our usual banter, but it’s a start.

Weeks of no communication would do that to you.

He’s angry with me, that much I know. I felt his frustration that night.

I broke as I watched his eyes beg me for a different outcome.

But I also saw surrender. Logan knew what needed to happen, even with his protest.

I lay back on my bed, tossing off the black cat ears my mom wanted me to wear. Biting my lip, I think of a response. It feels like I’m sixteen again, texting the cutest boy in school.

I don’t want to seem too eager, but I also don’t want to seem too distant. Not too clingy, but not too short. I groan, annoyed with myself that I’m getting so worked up over a reply. A reply to Logan out of all people. The one person I should know how to fucking talk to.

He doesn’t owe me a reply. I broke us that night. But he replied anyway, and I don’t want the conversation to end.

Tia

It’s one of my favorite memories of us.

Logan

Mine, too.

Tia

Got plans tonight?

I watch the screen, heart thudding, as the typing bubble appears—then vanishes.

Reappears. Disappears again.

It goes on like that for minutes, long enough for the laughter of trick-or-treaters and distant neighborly chatter to fade into background noise.

My eyes blur from staring at the screen too hard, and suddenly I’m not sure I even want his answer.

What if he’s with someone else? Smiling. Laughing. Being Logan with someone who isn’t me?

God, I hate how selfish that sounds.

Then the message comes through, causing my stomach to plummet.

Logan

Yeah, I do. I’m hanging out with Chloe.

Chloe.

Of course.

Hell, I practically handed him the runway and told him to take off. I don’t get to feel this way—not jealousy, not regret.

He’s not mine anymore. Not in the way I want, anyway.

But the ache doesn’t care about logic. I swallow hard and type back.

Tia

Have fun.

A second later, his reply comes in.

Logan

image attached

My breath catches. I open the photo and nearly choke on a laugh. It’s Logan grinning like an idiot, an arm draped around a golden retriever wearing a sparkly pink tutu and a crooked plastic crown.

Chloe. The dog.

Not a girl.

Relief crashes into me like a wave, followed by a kind of embarrassed laugh that shakes out of my chest without warning.

Tia

What a pretty girl.

Logan

She’s a close second.

A blush spreads across my cheeks, full and warm, pulling my mouth into a wide smile I haven’t worn in weeks.

For a beat, I just sit with it. The photo. His face. His words. The weight of all that’s unspoken between us.

Tia

Is she yours?

Logan

No. She’s Roy’s new rescue. He’s out of town for a project at the same time his wife is on a girl’s trip. So I volunteered.

Tia

You look like a natural dog dad.

Logan

Yeah? Well, Roy’s gonna have to fight me to get her back.

Tia

Careful now. Roy wouldn’t hesitate to fire you ;)

Logan

Wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

Tia