Page 34 of Daddy's Naughty Bartender
I squeeze Jason's hand, drawing strength from his presence. "Jason Schaeffer hasn't replaced Mark. No one could. He's not competing with a ghost or trying to erase the past. He's helping me build a future. He sees the woman I am now. The scarred but strong, grieving but growing, woman. He honors Mark's memory by taking care of the family Mark left behind."
Josh moves to stand beside Emily, both my children showing their support, and my heart swells.
"You want to talk about community standards?" I meet Betty Henderson's eyes directly. "How about the standard of lifting each other up instead of tearing each other down? The standard of celebrating when someone finds happiness after loss? The standard of recognizing that love comes in many forms, and judging how consenting adults express that love is not what good neighbors do?"
I straighten my shoulders. "I've run The Gathering Place with integrity for five years. I've never had a violation, never had a complaint until now. And the only thing that's changed is that I've stopped being the tragic widow you could all pity and started being a woman who chose joy again. If that threatens you, then maybe you need to ask yourself why."
My voice grows stronger with each word. "Mark taught me that love multiplies. Love never divides or subtracts. Loving Jason doesn't steal from what Mark and I shared. It honors it. It says that what we had was so beautiful, so transformative, that I'm brave enough to risk that kind of connection again. That's not disrespectful. That's the highest honor I can give to the man who showed me what love could be."
I look at my children, my friends, the community that has held me up through the darkest days. "The Gathering Place will always be Mark's legacy. But it's also mine now. Mine and Jason's. And we're going to run it with the same love, the same dedication, the same commitment to bringing people together that Mark envisioned. Because that's what he'd want. Not a shrine to the past, but a living, breathing place where love in all its forms is celebrated."
Taking a shaky breath, I finish, "So yes, I'm in love with Jason Schaeffer. Yes, he's protective and caring in ways that might seem old-fashioned to some. Yes, we're building a life together. And no, I won't apologize for any of it. Because finding love after loss isn't a betrayal, it's a miracle. And I won't let anyone make me feel ashamed of that miracle."
I sit down, my whole body trembling. Jason's arm comes around me immediately, holding me steady as the room erupts. Some applaud, some murmur, but I've said what I needed to say. The rest is up to them.
The council votes. The complaint is dismissed as unfounded. Betty Henderson storms out in defeat.
In the parking lot afterward, Emily hugs me tight.
"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I was scared and stupid and cruel."
"You were protecting what you love," I whisper back. "I understand."
"He makes you happy?" She pulls back to study my face. "Really happy?"
"Really happy."
"Then that's all that matters." She turns to Jason. "But if you hurt her, I know where you sleep."
"Noted," Jason says solemnly, though his eyes hold warmth. "I'd expect nothing less from Karen Mitchell's daughter."
Josh joins our hug, and for a moment, we stand there. We’re a family reformed, different but whole.
"Ice cream?" I suggest. "Barbara's staying open late for us."
"Can Jason come?" Josh asks, surprising everyone.
"If he wants to."
"I want to," Jason says simply.
As we walk toward the café, Emily links her arm through mine. "Mom? That thing people are saying... about you being submissive or whatever?"
"What about it?"
"Is it true?"
I think about lying, deflecting. Instead, I choose honesty. "I've spent five years being everyone's rock. With Jason, I get to be soft sometimes. Taken care of. It doesn't make me weak, if anything, it makes me stronger."
Emily considers this. "I think I get it. Like... feminism means choosing what makes you happy, right? It’s the ability and right to have the choice and make it for yourself. Even if other people don't understand?"
"That's exactly right."
"Cool." She squeezes my arm. "Still weird thinking about my mom... you know. But cool."
“Well, if it helps, I don’t have a ball gag.” I laugh, feeling lighter than I have in days. The storm has come, as storms always do in small towns. But we've weathered it. Together.
And as Jason holds the café door open for us, his hand finding mine, I know we'll weather whatever comes next too.
