Page 81 of Don't Call Me Sweetheart

I glanced at my watch. Fifteen minutes. Jessica was already inside, reserving the front row of seats for the family.

“We couldn’t have asked for a more beautiful day,” Mom said, coming to stand next to me. “The bench is perfect.”

“It’s lovely that he has a permanent place here that Juan and Maria can visit,” I conceded. “I should tell them it’s time.”

“All right.” Mom lowered her sunglasses and peered inside the clubhouse. “Is Max joining us?”

My heart lurched painfully at the sound of his name. I rubbed my chest absently, my gaze still on Juan and Maria. “No, he won’t be coming.” At least, I didn’t think so. He wasn’t my boyfriend, and he had never known George.

“Good.” Grace squeezed my arm. “I like him, but this isn’t the appropriate time or place to bring your boyfriend. You made the right choice, Kate. All of this is just as it should be. I’m proud of you.”

By the time the words fully registered, I was alone again. I stared at my mother’s retreating back, eyebrows furrowed.

Choice?

None of this had been my choice. Not the country club, and certainly not losing Max. Because if I had really had a choice in the matter, we would all be bagging up trash and scrubbing obscene graffiti at the skate park where George had spent so much of his time, and Max would be by my side.

I had agreed to it. But I hadn’t really chosen.

Semantics. I knew that. No one had forced me to do anything. I had made decisions that had gotten me here. It was just that all those decisions felt inevitable, like there was no real choice in the matter. Had it always been that way? Not my whole life, but ever since Jessica was born. That’s when everything shifted from really choosing to just agreeing.

Because Jessica had terrified me. I loved her so much, so fiercely, from the very first moment. I would have done anything to protect her and give her what she needed. Marry George, even when I wasn’t sure I was ready to be a wife. Open a candy store, because my parents didn’t think I could handle college and single motherhood, but they could fund a business. Become the kind of person Hart’s Ridge called sweetheart, instead of the cautionary tale of teen mom.

Break up with Max, because I couldn’t be the perfect widow if I was his girlfriend.

I drew in a sharp breath.

None of it had been my choice, but it had always been my decision.

Just because someone built a box doesn’t mean you have to get in it. Max’s words came roaring back to me.

Maybe I hadn’t built this box that I found myself trapped in, but I had absolutely handed them the tools. And climbed right inside without a single complaint.

Dammit.

Max was right. I liked being the town sweetheart. I liked being the Widow of Hart’s Ridge. Every decision I made, I thought of what other people wanted. Never myself. Because all I wanted was to be liked. To be perfect. To finally win.

But Max never asked me to be perfect. He knew I wasn’t, and he loved me. Not anyway. Not in spite of. He just…loved me.

What would I decide, if, for once, I took my own feelings and desires into consideration? What would I choose? For myself. Not for the town, not for my parents, not for Juan and Maria, not even for Jessica. Just for myself.

Max. I would choose Max.

Always Max.

I took a step and then another. Away from the clubhouse. Toward the parking lot. Toward Max. And then I stopped.

There was something I had to do first.

Max

“Do you need condoms?”

I stopped short. I pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose with my index finger and blinked at the trio of women who stood between me and the pharmacy door.

“Come again?” I asked.

Estelle glowered, straightening her tiny frame to her full height, which still only reached my chest. “Don’t be fresh with me, young man. I won’t tolerate your nonsense or your puns. This is a serious matter.”

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