away.
“If there’s ever anything I can do . . .” Gavin says. Instead of completing the sentence, he looks at me so intensely that I look away, my face burning.
“You’re really nice to offer, Gavin,” I say. “But I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than worry about the old lady who runs the bakery.”
Gavin arches an eyebrow. “I don’t see any old ladies around here.”
“That’s nice of you to say,” I murmur. “But you’re young, you’re single . . .” I pause. “Wait, you’re single, right?”
“Last time I checked.”
I ignore the unexpected feeling of relief that sweeps through me. “Yeah, well, I’m thirty-six going on seventy-five; I’m divorced; I’m sinking financially; I’ve got a kid who hates me.” I pause and look down. “You’ve got better things to do than worry about me. Shouldn’t you be out doing something . . . I don’t know, something young, single people do?”
“Something young, single people do?” he repeats. “Like what, exactly?”
“I don’t know,” I say. I feel foolish. I haven’t felt young in ages. “Clubbing?” I venture in a small voice.
He bursts out laughing. “Yeah, I moved to the Cape because of the wild club scene. In fact, I’m just on my way back from a rave now.”
I smile, but my heart’s not in it. “I know I’m being dumb,” I say. “But you don’t have to worry about me. I have a lot on my plate. But I’ve always handled everything before. I’ll figure things out.”
“Letting someone in once in a while wouldn’t kill you, you know,” Gavin says softly.
I look at him sharply and open my mouth to respond, but he speaks first.
“Like I said the other day, you’re a good mom,” Gavin goes on. “You’ve got to stop doubting yourself.”
I look down. “It’s just that I seem to screw everything up,” I say. I feel the color rise to my cheeks and I mumble, “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”
I hear Gavin take a deep breath, and a moment later, he has come around the counter and wrapped his arms around me. My heart thuds as I hug him back. I try not to notice how solid his chest is as he pulls me close, and instead focus on how nice it feels to be held. There’s no one left to comfort me this way anymore, and I hadn’t realized until this moment how much I’ve missed it.
“You don’t screw everything up, Hope,” Gavin murmurs intomy hair. “You’ve got to cut yourself a break. You’re the toughest person I know.” He pauses and adds, “I know things have been hard on you lately. But you never know what will happen tomorrow, or the next day. One day, one week, one month can change everything.”
I look up sharply and take a step away. “My mother used to say that. Those exact words.”
“Yeah?” Gavin asks.
“Yeah.”
“You never mention her,” he says.
“I know,” I murmur. The truth is, it hurts too much to think about her. I’d spent my childhood hoping that if I behaved a little better or thanked her a little more profusely, or did more chores around the house, she’d love me a little more. Instead, she seemed to drift farther and farther away with every passing year.
When she was diagnosed with breast cancer, and I came home to help her, the same cycle took over; I expected that she’d see how much I loved her as she lay dying, but instead, she continued to keep me at a distance. When she told me, on her deathbed, that she loved me, the words didn’t feel real; I want to believe that she felt that way, but I knew it was more likely that she was hazy and delusional in her final moments and thought she was talking to one of her countless boyfriends. “I was always a lot closer to my grandmother than to my mom,” I tell Gavin.
Gavin puts a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry you lost her, Hope,” he says. I’m not sure whether he means my mother or Mamie, because in a lot of ways, they’re both gone.
“Thanks,” I murmur.
As he leaves a few minutes
“If there’s ever anything I can do . . .” Gavin says. Instead of completing the sentence, he looks at me so intensely that I look away, my face burning.
“You’re really nice to offer, Gavin,” I say. “But I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than worry about the old lady who runs the bakery.”
Gavin arches an eyebrow. “I don’t see any old ladies around here.”
“That’s nice of you to say,” I murmur. “But you’re young, you’re single . . .” I pause. “Wait, you’re single, right?”
“Last time I checked.”
I ignore the unexpected feeling of relief that sweeps through me. “Yeah, well, I’m thirty-six going on seventy-five; I’m divorced; I’m sinking financially; I’ve got a kid who hates me.” I pause and look down. “You’ve got better things to do than worry about me. Shouldn’t you be out doing something . . . I don’t know, something young, single people do?”
“Something young, single people do?” he repeats. “Like what, exactly?”
“I don’t know,” I say. I feel foolish. I haven’t felt young in ages. “Clubbing?” I venture in a small voice.
He bursts out laughing. “Yeah, I moved to the Cape because of the wild club scene. In fact, I’m just on my way back from a rave now.”
I smile, but my heart’s not in it. “I know I’m being dumb,” I say. “But you don’t have to worry about me. I have a lot on my plate. But I’ve always handled everything before. I’ll figure things out.”
“Letting someone in once in a while wouldn’t kill you, you know,” Gavin says softly.
I look at him sharply and open my mouth to respond, but he speaks first.
“Like I said the other day, you’re a good mom,” Gavin goes on. “You’ve got to stop doubting yourself.”
I look down. “It’s just that I seem to screw everything up,” I say. I feel the color rise to my cheeks and I mumble, “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”
I hear Gavin take a deep breath, and a moment later, he has come around the counter and wrapped his arms around me. My heart thuds as I hug him back. I try not to notice how solid his chest is as he pulls me close, and instead focus on how nice it feels to be held. There’s no one left to comfort me this way anymore, and I hadn’t realized until this moment how much I’ve missed it.
“You don’t screw everything up, Hope,” Gavin murmurs intomy hair. “You’ve got to cut yourself a break. You’re the toughest person I know.” He pauses and adds, “I know things have been hard on you lately. But you never know what will happen tomorrow, or the next day. One day, one week, one month can change everything.”
I look up sharply and take a step away. “My mother used to say that. Those exact words.”
“Yeah?” Gavin asks.
“Yeah.”
“You never mention her,” he says.
“I know,” I murmur. The truth is, it hurts too much to think about her. I’d spent my childhood hoping that if I behaved a little better or thanked her a little more profusely, or did more chores around the house, she’d love me a little more. Instead, she seemed to drift farther and farther away with every passing year.
When she was diagnosed with breast cancer, and I came home to help her, the same cycle took over; I expected that she’d see how much I loved her as she lay dying, but instead, she continued to keep me at a distance. When she told me, on her deathbed, that she loved me, the words didn’t feel real; I want to believe that she felt that way, but I knew it was more likely that she was hazy and delusional in her final moments and thought she was talking to one of her countless boyfriends. “I was always a lot closer to my grandmother than to my mom,” I tell Gavin.
Gavin puts a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry you lost her, Hope,” he says. I’m not sure whether he means my mother or Mamie, because in a lot of ways, they’re both gone.
“Thanks,” I murmur.
As he leaves a few minutes
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