Page 40 of The Wives of Hawthorne Lane
She and Lily Lane have been through so much together over the years. This place was there for her when she’d dropped Lucas off at kindergarten, holding back her tears as he let go of her hand and walked through the front doors all by himself; it was a sanctuary forher when she and Bill had tried and failed for a second child, a place she could come to work through the heartbreak of each negative pregnancy test, the babies that weren’t meant to be; it was there to support them when Bill got into that car accident years back and was unexpectedly out of work for three months, and now it’s here for her when he no longer wants to be.
“Good luck on your date,” Libby says as cheerily as she’s able as her customer shuffles toward the door.
“Thanks, but I won’t be needing it,” he replies with a wink and a tip of his driver’s cap.
“Well,that’sa disturbing visual,” Erica mutters as the shop door closes.
“I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to get it out of my head,” Libby replies with a mock shudder, surreptitiously trying to sneak a look at her phone.
“Who’s been texting you all morning?” Erica asks, one eyebrow raised.
Libby drops the phone back into the pocket of her apron, messages still unread. “Oh, uh, just Lucas letting me know his plans for the afternoon.” She blushes despite herself. She’s never been a very good liar.
“Right,” Erica replies, stretching the vowels sarcastically, “of course. It’s Lucas who has you in such a suspiciously good mood lately.” But mercifully, she doesn’t press the issue. “How did his math test go yesterday?” she asks. “I know you said he was nervous about it.”
Libby exhales in relief, happy to move to a safer topic. “He aced it.”
“Some kid you’ve got there, Lib. A varsity athleteandstraight As. It’s impressive.”
“I know. Sometimes I can’t believe how lucky I got with him.”
“Lucky?” Erica huffs as she bundles the cut stems on the workbench and points them at Libby. “You never give yourself enough credit. Do you realize that? Luck has nothing to do with it. Lucas is a great kid because he was raised by a great mom.”
Libby feels a lump forming in her throat as she watches Erica finish wiping down her station. She hadn’t realized until this very moment how much she needed to hear those words. Shehasbeen a good mother to Lucas. Or at least, she’s tried to be.
It wasn’t always easy, running Lily Lane and raising her son. After she opened the shop, she finally felt like she had it all: a family, motherhood, a job that made her feel personally and professionally fulfilled. Though it often felt like she had two cups, work and home, and she had to be deliberate about how she poured her time and attention into them, giving each what they needed at any given moment without allowing the other one to run dry. But at the end of the day, Lucas had always been her priority.
Libby might not have been the type of mother who was known for her homemade cookies at the school bake sale, but she was there for her son when it mattered. She’d closed the shop early, without hesitation, whenever the school nurse called, and she’d organized her shifts around Lucas’s soccer schedule so that she never missed a game. She knew how much it meant to him to have her there in the stands, even when he became too cool to admit it. She could see it in the way he’d always search for her face in the crowd after he scored a goal, pride in his eyes, and the way he’d dissect the game in the car on the way home, chatting animatedly to Libby as he recounted each save, every offensive maneuver.
She and Lucas might be going through a tough stage right now, but she hopes he knows that he’s always been the most important thing in her life. She hopes he knows she did her best.
“You okay?” Erica asks, watching Libby suspiciously.
“Yes. I’m fine. Just…thank you. You know, for everything. For what you do around here, and for being such great a friend to me.”
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Erica replies, waving Libby off. “Don’t go getting all sentimental on me now.”
Libby laughs, though she still feels like she could cry. And then her phone pings again.
“Do you need to answerLucas?” Erica asks, a knowing smile playing on her lips. Libby should have known that Erica wouldn’t let this go so easily. She can imagine her reaction if she were to tell her the truth: that she’s been chatting with a man named Peter, whom she met on the dating site. Erica would be elated, wanting to see a photo, scouring his profile.
Erica has been fiercely loyal to Libby since she hired her but even more so since Bill left.
“I never liked him,” she’d declared, folding her arms over her chest, when Libby told her that she and Bill were taking some time apart. “He’s a goddamn idiot, that’s what he is,” she’d added, her consonants clipped. (Her accent is always more noticeable when she’s angry.)
Libby is thankful to have Erica in her corner, but she’s not sure she wants to unleash her on Peter just yet. It still feels so new. Tenuous.
“How about I grab us some lunch from that café you like?” Libby offers, eager to change the subject. “My treat.”
“Oh, Green Fare?” Erica essentially moans. “That sounds amazing. Have I told you lately that you’re the best boss ever?”
“Yes, and I never get tired of hearing it.” Libby unties her apron and shrugs the strap of her purse over her shoulder.
—
It’s a beautiful fall dayoutside, sunny and golden in the way only autumn afternoons can be, and Libby walks slowly down Main Street, enjoying the crisp breeze, the smell of the dry leaves that have gathered in windswept piles along the curb. Now that she’s alone, she pulls her phone out of her pocket, eager to read Peter’s latest messages.
They’ve been chatting for a few weeks now, which is more than she can say for anyone else who’d messaged her through the site, most of whom had sent her aggressive advances that she’d quickly turned down. But Peter was different. At first, he’d seemed nice enough, if a little bland. They’d exchanged a few harmless messages—comments on the weather, their favorite artists, classic movies. But lately Libby has noticed that their conversations have taken a turn. They’ve gone from making small talk to discussing things that really matter: his job as a mortgage broker, her store, their families. Conversations that span days and weeks as they slowly, cautiously get to know each other.
