Page 38 of Every Chance After

“No apologies, remember?”

A relieved sigh calms me, especially hearing him say my words fromthatday. I didn’t need his apologies then, and I’m glad he doesn’t want mine now. It’s like he’s giving me permission to be whatever I need.

“Um, did you tell the Sullivans that the deal was bullshit?” he asks, drawing my focus.

“I voiced my concerns, but it’s a numbers game for them. Most people buy multiple steaks. Some see a buy one, get one, and decide to stock up their freezers. Little do they know, the Sullivans raised the price per pound days before the sale. So, really, the savings are pretty negligible, and the Sullivans get to move a lot of steaks, even with lone dissenters like you.”

“They’re crooks.”

“They’re smart business people. Besides, it’s best to pick my battles for something that matters to more people. You know, the ones not buying steaks.”

“Like?”

“A grocery rewards program for locals,” I say, perking up. “Something that’ll save them money across the board, and keep them from driving to Food Lion. Once Ashe takes the new store and I’m Seagrove’s manager, I think Cora will let me try it.”

“Don’t you feel weird? Marrying your boss?”

A chuckling scoff erupts. “I did at first. But it happened so naturally over time that it seemed almost inevitable. Sunny’sismy family, so it makes sense—Ashe and me.”

“And Ashe taking off on you… is that another example of you picking your battles with the Sullivans? Anyone else would be furious.”

I fiddle with the hem of my sundress, feeling suddenly uncomfortable.Should I be mad?

I hate being twenty-five and still not knowing what I should be. Navigating hard emotions, especially regarding Ashe or family in general, feels like standing on the wrong side of a raging river and not knowing which rock to jump on to get me across. Will the angry rock get me to the other side of this? Or the sad one? Resigned has space. So, does the disappointed rock. Or should I simply stay put and avoid rocky emotions altogether?

That seems the safest choice.

“I love him and wouldn’t deny him anything,” I say. “Why would I deny him this?”

“Why would he deny you his love and care when you need it most?”

His question hangs there like a bad smell, lingering and making me grimace. Though I’m cold, the truck suddenly feels stifling. I use the crank to lower the window, wincing with each tug and pull. The cool air hits my face, drying my eyes, and makes my hair dance in crazy waves. The last thing I want to admit right now is that a stranger’s comfort has been kinder than that of my fiancé.

I’ve been alone since fifteen, paying my bills on time and caring for myself. I operate on a budget, get routine oil changes, pay taxes that I do myself, and worry about things like affordable health care and rising food costs. I was an adult before my time and am certainly one now.

But sometimes, I feel an awkward, child-like uncertainty over the basics like love and family. I didn’t grow up with it, so how can I know the roles, rules, and expectations? Even TV versions feel fake, existing in this untouchable universe like “normal family life” is my Mars. I don’t know how to survive here.

Except to smile, chat, and make everything okay for everyone else.

My work family takes me in stride, but I see my awkwardness reflected back on me whenever I ask about their children’s birthday parties or ailing grandparents. I feel as if I’m not supposed to know or care about these things, even if they share tidbits of information with me in passing. Sometimes, I feel like people chat to fill time, not realizing someone’s actually listening.

I listen. That’s what having a work family means. Right?

It’s the same with customers. If I’m told about your husband’s upcoming surgery during a chat in the cereal aisle, I’m going to ask about it next time I see you. Still, I catch people off guard.

“Ah, you remembered,” they say, glancing quickly at my name tag. “He’s doing well, Marnie. Thanks.”

Rarely does anyone ask about me, let alone question my relationship, and maybe I’m not close enough to anyone for that. But it bothers me thathecares to ask—this stranger with a ginormous, beautiful family and slews of Seagrovians desperate to know more about him, though afraid to approach Grouchy Tripp themselves. He makes it clear that he couldn’t care less about getting to know any of them.

The day he confronted me about the meat, no less than seven customers and employees asked me about the interaction.

So, he’s definitely not a vegetarian?

What else did you find out about him?

What’s he like?

Did you see his smolder?

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