Page 6 of I Love a Good Challenge

I feel in extra need of the reminder today. Even though it’s been over a year without him, I feel Graham’s absence in every cell of my being. With every breath, I want to tell him how I feel, yet he’s not here for me to do it.

During our too-brief romance, I got used to having someone besides my best friend to talk to. Sparrow (or Rory, as I call her) is the most incredible listener, but there is something different when it’s a man you trust with your innermost thoughts and not another woman. Knowing the difference now, it seems that both are necessary. I’ve been effectively cut off from one. And I know it’s my fault.

Swallowing back my emotion, I direct my attention toward the shops lining this section of the river. They are quaint and idyllic in the afternoon light, the back of each positioned against the riverbank. If I turn around to the other side, I’ll see clusters of birch trees (the origin story of our town’s namesake) and the herons that hang out there. It’s a wonderfully familiar sight after so much of my life has changed.

Just before my brief chapter in LA, my parents sat me down and told me they had sold our family home. Not as if it was a future event, but that it had already happened. I didn’t even have a chance to attempt to talk them out of it. I had always dreamed of taking over my childhood home if I could ever afford it. When I asked them, weeks earlier, why they were “spring cleaning” after noticing some things being driven to the local donation center, they told me they were simply decluttering. Yeah, decluttering to another time zone.

And while I know my parents love me, their way of showing it is mostly through financial provision and doesn’t have much to do with my heart. As a child, they constantly tried to get me to be more well-behaved, to be more proper, and to live the kind of life that seeks to help others. They just didn’t always know how to help me. I know I embarrassed them with my antics. I remember the tension in their voices when they tried to explain to my teachers (more than once) how they planned to work on my behavior. I was never actually violent, but I was good at making threats. I’ve always been good at speaking my mind and letting people think I don’t care. Except, I do care—possibly more than anyone can know.

I try to be grateful and remember that some families are found rather than made. Sparrow’s dad was always more of a father figure to me than my own dad, anyway. He taught me how to make croissants at Sparrow’s Beret, the French American bakery and café I now co-own with Sparrow. He took me under his wing and gave me the attention I needed. He always knew when I was having a hard time at school. Whether it was allowing me to make the pains au chocolat to let out my frustration or putting music on to help calm my nerves, he always did it with a sense of calm care. His little glasses perched on the end of his nose, and his smile was warm.

Sparrow’s mother, who was French, passed away when Sparrow was a little girl. It happened before we even met. Looking back, I see how grief frayed her father’s edges. Still, he somehow knew that I needed them. And, for as long as he was with us, I felt how deeply I belonged.

I wander farther across the bridge, the sunlight sparkling off the water, still calming me after all this time. As much as I love this place, believing that I belong has always felt just out of reach. So, I hold fiercely to the friends who feel like home. Sometimes, though, it feels like I’ll never leave the wounded parts of me behind.

I was the one the boys liked to tease. They would try to recruit me to enact revenge on their nemeses. I’m the girl a high school jock teased with a fake prom proposal only to add, “As if anyone could be with Lily and not be crushed to pieces.” Call it a self-fulfilling prophecy, but those words haven’t been wrong yet.

I’m still the girl with the quick wit who mainly dresses in black. I’m the unexpected one. The wild one. The woman who speaks her mind and says whatever outlandish thing she wants. I call people on their crap and love to push people’s buttons. Men seem to have a hard time realizing I’m a complex human and not a board game.

Have I had some good guy friends? Yes. But I haven’t been so lucky with love—until Graham.

Sixteen months ago, I was careless with Graham. He moved through my defenses before I realized what was happening. I craved him. I needed him. And when I saw the ring tucked into his pocket, a whisper in my heart said it would shatter for good if he ever left me. I knew then what I had to do: Make a clean break. I had to be the one to end it before he did.

“Honey, did the river finally hypnotize you, or are you really that lost?”

I snap out of my thoughts, hearing Gladys’ voice before her warm arm comes to rest around my waist. If Sparrow’s dad was a father figure, Gladys is my eccentric aunt. The aunt you admire yet understand that if you give her free rein in your life, you’ll either end up with stories worthy of winning an award or being arrested. There’s no in-between with Gladys. If there’s an art to speaking your mind, I’ve learned from the best by her example.

“I’m not lost,” I counter, except she knows I am.

“You keep telling yourself that, honey.”

I bristle, but there’s no point in correcting her.

Her arm remains around my waist. “Now, about that strapping young man you were seeing . . . the tall, dark, and handsome one . . .”

“Edgar.” I cringe. He’s the latest casualty in the list of men I’ve dated this year in an attempt to forget Graham, even though I just . . . can’t. After months of sulking, I thought maybe, if I couldn’t have Graham, I’d try to move on. It might not be the dream, but maybe I could get close to something like happiness. After a series of tragic experiences on dating apps, I took a chance on someone who works in Birch Borough but doesn’t live here. My odds felt safer that way. I genuinely like Edgar too. I’d say we made the friend category.

After about a year of acknowledging each other at his boxing studio, we went out for nearly three months before he sensed I was holding back and asked me if there was someone else—to which I replied, “No.” But it turns out I would’ve failed a lie detector test yet again. Because ever since meeting Graham, there has always been someone else, even if it’s only a ghost made of memories.

“Yes. Edgar,” Gladys says with a hint of sadness. “Poor dear didn’t know what hit him after you. And that new haircut he just got isn’t doing him any favors now either. Looks like he got into a fight with a Weedwacker.”

I laugh lightly, even though the truth of what she’s saying stings. “You have no idea.”

Gladys shrugs. “Hmm, well, maybe the new man in town will be more promising.”

I turn to face her, taking in the way her eyes dance with mirth and a bit of conniving. “Gladys,” I warn.

“What? I know this town like the back of my hand. And someone needs to keep an eye out for all the eligible men. Besides your, albeit brief, stint with Edgar—a fine contender despite his unfortunate hair—you’ve been wilted for months. Lately, that sharpness in you has more bite, and that laughter of yours is harder to come by.”

She’s not wrong. I am trying to think of a dismissal of the truth when I feel my hand lovingly captured between her own. “You’ve been different since LA, darling. Since your parents left. Since Rory’s dad passed. And I know you’ve got more spunk and fight in you than you know what to do with, but I miss the girl who had more hope about her.”

“Me too,” is all I manage to get out.

“Okay, well, I’m off to bring Edgar a coffee at his store. I’m going to see if I can sign up for boxing lessons.” She raises her brows at my glare, a wry grin painting her face. “Just because you don’t want him doesn’t mean other women don’t need his expertise—for fitness reasons, of course.” She winks, and I let myself laugh. Gladys is ridiculous.

She steps away but looks back at me over her shoulder. “Oh, and take a walk around Founding Street today. I hear it’s lovely this time of year.”

I shake my head at her antics, but part of me is curious to find out who this mystery man is she’s trying to direct my attention to. It’s not as if I believe anyone could or would take Graham’s place, but it’s been long enough that I need to do something to fill the void. At the very least, I have to try.

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