Page 22 of Done

Questions I want to ask Jesse.

“Oh my,” I gasped. It was impossible not to smile. He had sent me an actual binder, and the image of him putting it together was making my cheeks hurt as I tried to resist the charm he clearly sent my way.

When I flipped the front open, there was a page with the same words that were on the front of the binder. Only they were typed up in a bold font, and centered to look like a title page. The next page had a typed up question, 12-pt in Times New Roman. The one after that had a different question, and it went on until there were five questions on five pages. He had even provided blank lines for me to write in my answers, and I laughed again, thinking of him hitting shift and the dash keys simultaneously to create the long lines.

When I got to the last page, instead of a question there was another note, type up and italicized.

More questions may follow since I doubt I will ever be done asking them. Please return to the box and give back to Ms. Ellison.

There was no way the binder actually existed when we were joking about it in his room. It was exactly that–a joke–and that meant he had to have put it together within the last few days.

My hand gently traced the handwritten words on the front of it while I thought about how I was going to respond. The smart thing to do would be to ignore it. No matter how cute and endearing his effort was, nothing changed about what I had said. Being a single mom was hard enough, why would I complicate it more by entertaining someone’s interest? Especially someone that would only be interested until he got what he wanted.

Then there was the other part of me. The one whose heart fluttered a little while picturing him with a three-hole punch athis dining room table, or wherever he did this. No one had ever gone to so much trouble to ask me a few simple questions.

Clicking the pen he had enclosed, I opened the binder up to the first question and saw how simple and innocent it was. The next question was just as easy and as I read through all five, I realized that his questions weren’t too personal, nor were they invasive. They were just common, easy to answer, questions and I started writing my responses with a smile.

Chapter Thirteen

EASTON

On the wayhome from Sunday dinner, I decided to grab everything I needed to make the notebook for Jesse. At the very least, I hoped it showed her I was sincere. I didn’t want her thinking that just because she had tried to blow me off that I was done trying.

At the rate I was going, I’d never be done.

“Here, take it,” Ms. Ellison whispered, sliding the box across the hood of my truck and looking around as if she had just passed a drum of Uppers. “Quick.”

She was taking her role, and the mission I had sent her on, incredibly seriously. Even dressing the part in a big floppy hat that covered her face, sunglasses that made me think hereyeshad just been dilated, and combat boots that looked three sizes too big.

Wait? Combat boots?

“Ms. Ellison? What’s with the boots?”

“Shhh,” she hushed me, throwing her arms around in a panic but then immediately shifting as if she were swatting a fly. “Justtake the box and go. I didn’t read it.” She hesitated for a second then added. “I mean, I wanted to, but I didn’t. Where’s the next meet up? It's too busy here, people can see.”

We were in the parking lot of Harmony Haven's busiest grocery store. It was just a little bigger than a gas station, but everyone in town passed through at some point. I chose it because it was convenient and easy, not to mention I needed to grab a Hungry Man for dinner.

“Now that I have my answers,” I lifted the box that had the binder packed back inside, “There won’t be a next time.”

“What?” Ms. Ellison broke character and stood up straight, putting her hands on her hips. “This is the most fun I’ve had in years. It can’t end here.”

“Maybe there’ll be another mission I’ll have to send you on when it comes to your new neighbor.”

“Good,” she huffed and backed away toward her own car. “Keep me posted. I’m gonna go take these damn boots off.”

Holding the box tight, I waited as Ms. Ellison drove away slowly in her old Cadillac. Then I jumped into the driver’s seat of my truck and looked down at the neatly wrapped package. The ribbon was the same one I had put on it, but it had clearly been redone. It was prettier, daintier, and some stupid part of me didn’t want to mess it up.

The bigger part of me said,‘fuck that,’and I ripped it off, pulling the binder out and tossing the box—and ribbon—into the passenger seat of my truck. Without even considering driving home first to put my Hungry Man in the freezer, I flipped to the first page and settled in to read her answers.

Question 1: What is your favorite color?

It was a simple first question, and easy to answer. There wasn’t anything personal about telling me her favorite color, but I wanted to be prepared in case I ever needed to know.

Instead of a one word answer, though, Jesse gave me details.

I used to love pink, but Max prefers yellow. All his favorites become my favorites. So the answer is yellow… for now.

Yellow was my favorite color too. It wasn’t before I read that, but what was good enough for Max and Jesse, was good enough for me.

---