Back to You

“Because you deserve answers,” Je

“Well, maybe I deserve them, but I don’t need them,” Lauren said, deciding it was time for a subject change. “Besides, if you’re looking for something juicy, you’re asking the wrong questions.”

Je

Lauren smiled, knowing her friend was fully baited, and she took a slow { display: block; text-indent: 0%;“n the sip of wine, drawing out the suspense. “Ask me about my chiropractor,” she finally said.

“Your chiropractor?” Je

Lauren waggled her eyebrows, and Je

“Are you screwing your doctor?” she asked, appalled.

“God, Je

“Really? Your chiropractor?”

Lauren nodded, a small smile playing at her lips as she twirled the stem of her wine glass. “He’s so smart and well-spoken, but at the same time, he’s fu

Just then the waiter approached the table, and the girls were temporarily distracted as they placed their orders. As soon as he left, however, Je

“But when I think chiropractor, I think graying hair and crow’s feet and a little potbelly.”

“Not even close,” Lauren said.

“No? What’s he look like?”

Lauren pursed her lips and looked up to the ceiling, thinking. “Kind of like Abercrombie and Fitch released a new line of medical scrubs.”

“Shut up,” Je

Lauren laughed as she moved her wine glass out of the way to make room for the salad the waiter was placing in front of her. “We’ll see,” she said, laying her napkin on her lap.

Je

“On to me?”

“Yep,” Je

“What?” Lauren said through a laugh. “What are you talking about?”

“Come on, Lauren. For starters, can we agree on the fact that you jump into relationships with guys, and as soon as things start to get good, you bail?”

“I do not!”

“Tyler Ramsey.”

“He was my college roommate’s brother. Things got weird. Try dating a guy when you live with one of his family members.”

“Greg Harris.”

“He was a substitute at my school!” Lauren said, exasperated. “He was always around. I didn’t have a chance to miss him. Or breathe, for that matter. Besides, it’s like a cardinal rule that you shouldn’t date people you work with.”

Je

“Please,” Lauren said with an eye roll, taking another sip of wine.

“You can deny it,” Je

“Whatever,” Lauren laughed. “All I know is that when I find the right guy, there won’t be a reason for me to leave.”

Je

“What story do you want tonight?” Michael asked his daughter as she climbed into bed wearing her Disney Princess pajamas, her hair still damp and smelling of her shampoo.

“Can we look at the picture book?” she asked as she grabbed her stuffed cat and tucked it under the covers beside her.

“The picture book?” he asked, surprised. “You haven’t asked for that in a long time.”

Michael walked over to her bookshelf, squatting down in front of it as he looked for the small red photo album he’d put together the first year he moved to New York. There were only about eight pictures in it; for him, it had been a way to remember those things from his old life that he wanted to remember. And everything else, everything that wasn’t in that little book, could just disappear.

It was a nice idea, but he should have known his demons would exist with or without photographic documentation.

Still, he kept the album, even though he’d only looked at it a handful of times in rare moments of wistfulness. And then one day, Erin found it when she had crawled under his bed while they were playing hide and seek. For months on end after that, she asked for “the picture book” as her bedtime story; Michael would sit with her and they’d look at the pictures, and he’d tell her the story behind each one. After a while, all he had to do was turn the pages, and she’d be the one reciting the stories to him.

But when they had moved to Bellefonte last month, their new neighbor, a kind, elderly lady named Mrs. Brigante, had given Erin a box of fairy-tale books as a welcome present, and she had become so entranced with them that she had forgotten about the album until tonight.

Michael grabbed the little red book and walked back to her bed, sitting beside her and lifting his arm. She immediately crawled into the nook of his body, snuggling against him with her stuffed cat, and Michael put his arm around her before he opened the album in front of them.

“Do you think you remember the stories, or should I tell them?” he asked.

“I remember,” she said softly, pointing to the first picture. “That’s you, Daddy, when you were a little boy and a baseball star.”

Michael smiled, looking down at the faded picture. He was in his red and white peewee baseball uniform, his oversized hat nearly covering his eyes, which were squinted against the sun despite the giant visor. He was just shy of six years old; the team’s coach had taken photos of each of the players that year and given the pictures to them in their end-of-the-season goodie bags. Michael had kept his in his drawer for months after that, with hopes that when he finally found out his father’s new address, he could send him the picture and show him that he was a baseball player now, just like his dad wanted.

He hoped maybe that would be enough to bring him back.

“That’s right,” he said. “I played second base. Nobody ever got past me.”

“Can I play second base?”

“You can do anything you want, baby girl. How about one of these days while it’s still warm, we go outside and I’ll show you how to throw and catch like me?”

“Okay,” s a little tighter around herself23sohe murmured sleepily, reaching up to turn the page. “That’s you and your Grandma Rose. You were sticky, Daddy,” she said with a giggle. “‘Cause you got in the jelly.”

Michael smiled down at her, leaning over to kiss the top of her head. “That’s some memory you got.” He turned his attention to the picture of him sitting on his grandmother’s lap, his hair wadded into sticky clumps and his face and hands covered in orange goop. “My Grandma Rose was the best cook ever. She made homemade jelly, and apricot was my favorite. And one day…” he trailed off, knowing Erin would continue.

“One day she made some and left it on the table and you ate it all up!” she squealed and burst into hysterics, the kind of youthful, genuine laughter that always made Michael respond in kind.

“I ate it all up,” he repeated with a nod. “And I made a big mess, huh?”

“Yeah, you need a bath, Daddy.” Michael smiled before she added, “My grandma lives far away.”

His smile dropped. “Yes,” he said, trying to keep his voice casual.

“When will she come to visit me and make me apricot jelly?”