Page 12 of Forget Me Knot

Donuts.

Thinking about getting a cat.

Collect rent.

Be nice.

Sharing a space with anyone is a challenge after essentially living on my own since college. I went eight years without checking in with anyone. Tidying the way that I know to be right—just how my mama taught me. Paying bills. Cooking for myself. No need to label food in the fridge and cabinets to ward off others from eating it.

Sometimes I feel like I’ve time warped backwards. I’m the strangest version of codependent that I’ve ever been. I thought by now I might share my home with my wife. Kids. A dog. I had the woman and life we’d share, in mind. But all of those ideas were basically obliterated three years ago, and I never could have imagined where I’ve ended up.

Winnie snores from where she’s passed out on my couch. She sleeps over at least one night a week, usually if she’s too tired after a late shift at the tattoo shop. She says going to her own apartment, the one she rents a few blocks away, is just too far to travel. But I know these are just excuses for her dutiful babysitting.

One leg hangs precariously off the edge, kicking a little bit with every breath she takes. Winnie’s always been a mouth breather, and I just happen to be the lucky guy to witness it this morning, violent snoring and all. She looks exactly like Owen right now. Normally I’d tell her to earn her annoyance, but I’ve already given her a piece of brotherly love she hasn’t discovered yet, so I’ll forgo for now.

Instead, I throw a pillow at her body, and she jumps off the couch like she’s being mauled by a mountain lion.

“Whoa! What’s happening? Are you okay?” Her voice is groggy and ash brown hair, rumpled wildly by sleep, but her eyes are on high alert. I almost feel bad.

“I’m fine. I just need to get to work.”

She scratches her head, then her face, and I have to hold back my laughter. “Okay. You still need me to do deliveries today?”

“If you don’t mind.” I wish I didn’t need my baby sister to pick up my slack, but Gregory, the kid who usually delivers for me, has mono. I’m desperate and in a bind.

“I don't mind, Jacky.” She skips over to me and plants a kiss on my cheek.

Growling low, I stomp to the coffee pot, where—surprise, surprise—another note waits for me.

We could name the cat something cool.

Larry

Lucy

Coconut

As always, the lists this fool makes are pointless and less than helpful. I don’t know if he means let's name the cat thatwe are NEVER gettingLarry, Lucy, or Coconut or if the latter is a part of his grocery list. I crumple it and throw it in the trash with the others he’s left over the last few days.

“You're such a caveman.” Winnie pushes me aside, surprisingly strong for the miniature woman she is. I grunt and earn a chuckle. For whatever reason, knowing I made my little sister laugh, no matter how insignificant, makes me feel as if I’ve won something.

Unbidden, thoughts of Dinah pass through my mind, wondering what her laugh would sound like. Which is so far-fetched considering I met the woman for a whole five minutes, and I certainly didn’t make a good first impression. Internally, I cringe at just how terrible it really was.

Of course, Winnie notices and nudges me with her hip, pouring a cup of coffee and then pushing herself into a seated position on the counter before taking a long sip.

“So.”

I lift an eyebrow.

“The girl.” She's only the third member of my family to mention Dinah since my initial meeting with her last week. It did not go well. That much is clear. And apparently the whole Jones family, and extended family, and likely the rest of the town have heard about my epic failure and discussed it ad nauseam.

According to my house and journal notes, Mr. Cotten spent an exorbitant amount of time in the shop explaining thedos and don’tsof properly wooing a woman. I never said I wanted to woo anyone, but that didn’t stop him from offering more than enough advice on the subject. And Mrs. Cotten, a known town gossip, likely made a call train and probably ordered a small-town meeting to convene over my epic failure.

“What girl?” I decide playing stupid is the best course of action. Winnie isn’t a busy body, but she also isn’t easily swayed. Once she goes down this imaginary path, there will be no reeling her in.

“Dinah Knot. Pretzel queen. Your new, very pretty neighbor. Ringing any bells?”

I choke on my sip of coffee and feel the sting as some goes up my nose.

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