Page 23 of Half-Hearted
“Now? Don’t you think we should go back? Mom probably…”
He waved off the rest of my sentence. “Nah, Marta knows.”
I frowned. “Knows what?”
In lieu of answering, he nabbed a beer and took a seat at the kitchen table. His mouth twitched in good humor before he said, “I ever tell you about how your mother and I met?”
I huffed a humorless, polite laugh and joined him at the table. “Hasn’t come up, no.”
I’d heard the story twice a year—minimum—since before I even had a full grasp of the English language.
It was Jonathan Bennett’s first day at Midtown West Auto Repair Shop. He was a “nineteen-year-old kid” who’d just moved to the city, full of excitement and nerves about being on his own for the first time. He’d spent the day training, meeting coworkers, and learning the basics of daily operations, and at three o’clock in the afternoon on the dot, just as he’d been about to clock out, “She’dwalked in.”
He told this story with a fond smile on his face every single time, like he was reliving the whole thing all over again.
“She was the most beautiful girl my small-town eyes had ever seen, with her short curls and wide smile. She walked in there with freshly baked apple pie, and the whole shop lost it. There were celebratory hollers and hoots and oily rags being thrown in the air. She’d laughed at the reception her pie had earned, and I fell in love. Right then and there.”
Marta Thompson had worked at the bakery across the street, and every Monday afternoon, she would go around neighboring shops with baked goods for the staff. “Because that’s just who she is—it’s how she shows love. She was everyone’s favorite part of the week, my Marta. Everyone loved her. Took me four weeks to gather up the courage and introduce myself to her and another four years to ask her to go dancing with me.”
I sipped my beer. When Mom told this story, she always talked about how surprised she was when he’d finally asked her out. “Not once did this man give me any indication that he was interested. He was always looking busy when I went into the shop, barely said a word, and every time I tried to strike up a conversation, he would make an excuse and leave. I always thought he was handsome, though. He’s got those soft, kind eyes.”
“I didn’t think she’d say yes,” he went on, still smiling. “It was a total shot in the dark. I walked into that bakery in my best shirt with a small bouquet of flowers, well prepared for the rejection I was sure would come. The only reason I’d even decided to do it was because I was driving myself out of my own goddamn mind, wishing and wondering. Always wondering. And four years in, I knew if I didn’t get an answer, I’d keep wondering for the rest of my life.
“And that’s what gets you, you know? That’s the stuff that keeps you up at night when you’re older, the stuff you regret when you’re watching the timer run out. The ‘what-ifs.’ And the potential for that much regret scared me a hell of a lot more than rejection ever would.”
I took another, much larger sip of my beer.
He pushed at his glasses, watching me. “Joel, I’m gonna ask you again. What are you doing?”
I put the can down. “What?”
“I’m not blind yet, kid,” he answered. “We all saw how you reacted to our unexpected guest out there—who’s done nothing wrong, by the way. In fact, he seems like a rather nice young man.”
I stayed quiet, not entirely sure how to get myself out of the accusation.
“It’s none of my business, I know,” he went on, leaning forward. “And I initially promised your mother I wouldn’t say anything, but it’s become so painfully obvious over this last year—”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“And I know what love looks like, Joel.”
To say I was shocked would be an understatement. My entire body tensed.
“Y’know what my only regret with Marta is? That I waited as long as I did to finally ask her out. That’s it. The one thing I would change if I were to do it all over again. Woulda saved myself a whole lot of heartache, let me tell you.”
“I’m not— It’s different.” It felt like I’d swallowed sandpaper.
He snorted. “You’re right, it is different. Poor Alexis has had to wait a hell of a lot longer for you than your mother ever had to wait for me.”
“We’re just friends. That’s it.”
He frowned, the corners of his mouth hooking down the way they only did when he was disappointed. Then he stood up and gave me a firm pat on the back. “You’re not stupid, Joel. Stop acting like it.”
8
Alexis
I was barely keepingit together. My insides were a wreckage of nerves and nausea, and it felt like I could burst into tears—again—at any given moment. It was horrible. I’d cried more in the last six weeks than I had… well, ever. It shouldn’t have been possible for a person to produce that many tears.
