Reminders of Him

by Colleen Hoover

“What are we going to name you?” I know she’ll more than likely be nameless for a few days while I think about it. I take the responsibility of naming things very seriously. The last time I was responsible for naming someone, I took it more seriously than I’ve ever taken anything. That could have been because the whole time I sat in my cell during my pregnancy, all there was to do was think about baby names. I chose the name Diem because I knew as soon as I was released, I was going to make my way back here and do everything in my power to find her. Here I am. Carpe Diem.

“What can I get you?” I ask her. “Water and a Diet Coke, please.” She doesn’t look up at me, so I back away to fulfill her order. She’s still writing in her notebook when I return with her drinks. I try to get a glimpse of what she’s writing, but she closes her notebook and lifts her eyes. “Thank . . .” She pauses in the middle of what I think is her attempt at saying thank you. She mutters the word you and sticks the straw in her mouth. She seems flustered. I want to ask her questions, like what her name is and where she’s from, but I’ve learned over the years of owning this place that asking questions of lonely people in a bar can quickly turn into conversations I have to maul my way out of. But most of the people who come in here don’t capture my attention like she has. I gesture toward her two drinks and say, “Are you waiting for someone else?” She pulls both drinks closer. “Nope. Just thirsty.” She breaks eye contact with me and leans back in her chair, pulling her notebook with her and giving it all her attention. I can take a hint. I walk to the other end of the bar to give her privacy. Roman returns from the kitchen and nudges his head in her direction. “Who’s she?” “I don’t know, but she isn’t wearing a wedding ring, so she’s not your type.” “Very funny.”

And you. I miss expensive coffee and you. Love, Kenna

There are things I want to be good at. I want to be a good mother. To my future kids, but mostly to the daughter I already brought into this world. I want to have a yard that I can plant stuff in. Stuff that will flourish and not die. I want to learn how to talk to people without wishing I could retract every word I said. I want to be good at feeling things when a guy touches my waist. I want to be good at life. I want to make it look effortless, but up until this point, I’ve made every aspect of life appear entirely too difficult to navigate.

I could cry. I do cry. As soon as he gives his attention to someone at the other end of the bar, I take a drink of my coffee and close my eyes and cry because life can be so fucking cruel and hard, and I’ve wanted to quit living it so many times, but then moments like these remind me that happiness isn’t some permanent thing we’re all trying to achieve in life, it’s merely a thing that shows up every now and then, sometimes in tiny doses that are just substantial enough to keep us going.

this hit hard.

Drinking is only stressful to alcoholics. She doesn’t drink the wine, though. She quietly sips on the soda until it’s empty. I reach for the empty glass at the same time she does. When our fingers touch, I feel something else trapped in my chest other than my voice. Maybe it’s a few extra heartbeats. Maybe it’s an erupting volcano. Her fingers recoil from mine and she puts her hands in her lap. I pull the empty glass of soda away from her, as well as the full glass of wine, and she doesn’t even look up to ask me why. She sighs, like maybe she’s relieved I took the wine away. Why did she even order it? I refill her soda, and when she isn’t looking, I pour the wine in the sink and wash the glass.

I left money on the bar,” she says. “I know.” We stare at each other for a quiet moment. I don’t know what to say. I just stand here like a fool. “What, then?” “Nothing,” I say. But I immediately wish I would have said, “Everything.” She stares at me, and I never do this, I shouldn’t do this, but I know if I let her walk away, I won’t be able to stop thinking about the sad girl who left me a ten-dollar tip when I get the feeling she can’t afford to leave me a tip at all. “You should come back tonight at eleven.” I don’t give her a chance to tell me no or explain why she can’t. I go back inside the bar, hoping my request makes her curious enough to show back up tonight.

“Who are you?” he whispers. I already told him, but I repeat my middle name anyway. “Nicole.” He smiles but then loses the smile and says, “I know your name. But where’d you come from? Why have we never met before tonight?” I don’t want his questions. I have no honest answers. I move a little closer to his mouth. “Who are you?” “Ledger,” he says, right before he rips open my past, pulls out what’s left of my heart, drops it on the floor, and then kisses me.

What else can I do? I pull her to me, and for a second, she stiffens, but that’s almost immediately followed up by a sigh as she relaxes. We’re the only people around. It’s after midnight, everyone is home sleeping, watching a movie, making love. But I’m here on Main Street, hugging a really sad girl, wondering why she’s sad, wishing I didn’t think she was so beautiful.

“I know,” you said. “But I only need one plate.” “Then why is this the fourth one you’ve bought?” “Because I’m trying to work up the nerve to ask you out.”

I have a daughter I have never held. She has a scent I have never smelled. She has a name I have never yelled. She has a mother who has already failed. Love, Kenna

Amy looks me up and down. “Why are you so desperate? The pay is shit.” I put my shoe back on. “I, um . . .” I tie my shoe, stalling the inevitable admission. “I just got out of prison.” I say it fast and confidently, like it doesn’t bother me as much as it does. “But I’m not . . . I can do this. I won’t let you down and I won’t be any trouble.” Amy laughs. It’s a loud laugh, but when I don’t laugh with her, she folds her arms over her chest and tilts her head. “Oh, shit. You’re serious?” I nod. “Yeah. But if it’s against policy, I totally get it. It’s not a big deal.” She waves a flippant hand. “Eh, we don’t really have a policy. We aren’t a chain—we can hire whoever we want. To be honest, I’m obsessed with Orange Is the New Black, so if you’ll promise to let me know which parts of the show are bullshit, I’ll give you an application.” I could cry. Instead, I fake a smile. “I’ve heard so many jokes about that show. I guess I need to watch it.” Amy rolls her head. “Yes. Yes, yes. Best show, best cast; come with me.”

I tap the pen on the back of the clipboard. “Are you, um . . . you aren’t married, are you?” His grin tells me no. He doesn’t even need to say it, but he shakes his head and says, “Single,” then motions toward the clipboard on my lap. “You applying for a job?” “Yep.”

But he’s right—it was more than fine. I can’t even look at him without staring at his mouth. He’s a good kisser, and it’s toying with my head right now because I have so many more important things going on in my life than his mouth. He stands silent for a couple of seconds and then reaches into a sack in his cart. He pulls out a brown bottle. “I bought caramel. In case you come back.” He tosses the bottle into the cart. “Anyway. Good luck.” He looks uneasy when he turns and walks out the door.

A niece? Or could it be his deceased best friend’s daughter? Does he shop here with my daughter? I somehow force a smile through the onslaught of emotions suddenly spiraling through me. I thank her again, but then I leave in a hurry, hoping by some miracle Ledger’s truck is still outside and that my daughter is in the truck with him. I look around the parking lot, but he’s already gone. My stomach sinks, but I can still feel the adrenaline disguised as hope running through my body. Because now I know he coaches T-ball, and Diem more than likely plays on his team, because why else would he coach if he doesn’t have children of his own? I debate going straight to the T-ball field, but I need to do this right. I want to speak with Patrick and Grace first.

I walk over to her and kneel. “D, you can’t take all the T-balls.” “They’re dragon eggs,” she says. “I’m going to plant them in my yard and grow baby dragons.” I toss the balls one at a time to Roman. “That’s not how dragons grow. The momma dragon has to sit on the eggs. You don’t bury them in the yard.”

A couple of minutes later, she’s buckled up in her booster seat and I’m scrubbing her hands and arms with the wet wipe when she says, “When is my mom getting a bigger car?” “She drives a minivan. How big of a car does she need?” “Not Nana,” Diem says. “My mom. Skylar said my mom never comes to my T-ball games, and I told her she will when she gets a bigger car.” I stop wiping her hands. She never brings up her mother. This is twice in one day we’ve brushed the conversation.

Why does Diem think her mother isn’t in her life because she needs a bigger car?

already fighting for its first breath. I lost the custody battle before Diem was even born. There aren’t many rights a mother has when she’s sentenced to several years in prison. The judge said, because of the nature of our situation and the duress I’d caused to Scotty’s family, he could not, in good conscience, honor my request for visitation rights. Nor would he force Scotty’s parents to maintain the relationship between my daughter and me while I was in prison. I was told I could petition the court for rights upon my release, but since my rights were terminated, there’s probably very little I can do. Between Diem’s birth and my release almost five years later, there has been little anyone could, or would, do for me. All I have is this intangible hope I try to cling to with childlike hands. I was praying Scotty’s parents just needed time. I assumed, ignorantly, that they would eventually see a need for me to be in Diem’s life.

Imagine being told she left him there. “Fled,” they said. Imagine being told they found her the next day, in her bed, hungover, covered in mud and gravel and your kind son’s blood. Imagine being told your perfect son had a perfect pulse and might have lived a perfect life if only he could have had that wreck with a perfect girl. Imagine finding out it didn’t have to be this way. He wasn’t even dead. Six hours they estimated he had lived. Several feet he had crawled, searching for you. Needing your help. Bleeding. Dying. For hours.

Apologize. Express my gratitude. Beg for their mercy.

“Your name isn’t Nicole.” He says it like it’s a depressing realization. I wince. He’s put it all together. Now he looks like he wants to rip it all apart. He points at his house. “Go.” The word is sharp and demanding. I take a step into the street, away from him. I feel myself begin to tremble, just as he steps into the street and closes the gap between us. His eyes are on the house across the street again as he reaches his arm around me, pressing a firm hand into my lower back. He begins pushing me along with him as he points toward the house opposite where my daughter lives. “Get inside before they see you.”

“I didn’t know you before I showed up at your bar last night,” she says with a trembling voice. “I swear.” Her head falls back against the headrest, and she stares straight ahead. Her chest rises with a deep inhale. She exhales at the exact moment my finger meets the unlock button. My cue for her to exit. “I don’t care about last night. I care about Diem. That’s it.”

“They don’t want you in her life, Kenna.” A cry mixes with a gasp that sounds like it’s filled with years of heartache when she says, “She’s my daughter.” Her voice decides to reconnect with her spirit in this moment. It’s no longer a wisp of air escaping her mouth. It’s full of panic and desperation. I grip my steering wheel, tapping it with my thumb while I think of how to say what I need for her to understand. “Diem is their daughter. Your rights were terminated. Get out of my truck, and then do us all a favor and go back to Denver.”

“Kenna is back.” “Diem’s mother?” I nod. “Shit.”

Roman raises a brow. “Murderer. That’s a bit dramatic. Her actions led to Scotty’s death, sure. But the girl isn’t some cold-blooded murderer.” He kicks a pebble across the pavement. “I always thought they were a little too harsh on her.”

Roman shoves his hands in his pockets. I watch his face, looking for the judgment. “How long ago was this?” he asks. “It’s been a few hours.” “You aren’t worried about her?” “Who? Diem?” He shakes his head with a small laugh, like I’m not following. “I’m talking about Kenna. Does she have family here? Friends? Or did you drop her off alone after telling her to fuck off?” I stand up and brush the back of my jeans. I know what he’s getting at, but it’s not my problem. At least that’s what I keep telling myself. “Maybe you should go check on her,” he suggests. “I’m not going to check on her.” Roman looks disappointed. “You’re better than this.” I can feel my pulse hammering in my throat. I don’t know if I’m more pissed at him or at Kenna right now. Roman takes a step closer. “She’s responsible for the accidental death of someone she was in love with. As if that wasn’t hard enough, she went to prison for it and was forced to give up her own child. She finally shows back up hoping to meet her, and you do God knows what with her in your truck, and then you prevent her from meeting her daughter, and then you tell her to fuck off. No wonder you’ve been slamming shit around all night.” He walks back up the steps, but before he goes inside, he turns to me and says, “You’re the reason I’m not dead in a ditch somewhere, Ledger. You gave me a chance when everyone else gave up on me. You have no idea how much I look up to you for that. But it’s really hard to look up to you right now. Y...

“Now you’ll know how I felt every time the state took you from me. I went through so much to get you back both times, and you never appreciated it. You never even said thank you.” She really wanted a thank-you? She wanted me to thank her for being so shitty at being a parent that the state took me from her twice? I stood up and left the room in that moment. She was saying something to me as I left, but I couldn’t hear her because I was so angry at myself for being desperate enough to call her. She hadn’t changed. She was the same self-centered, narcissistic woman I had grown up with. I was on my own. Completely. Even the baby still growing in my stomach didn’t belong to me.

“Are you at all curious about what she wants? What if she’s not trying to take Diem? What if she just wants to meet her?” “Not my concern,” Patrick says abruptly. “What is?” “Our suffering is my concern. There’s no way Kenna Rowan can fit into our lives, or Diem’s life, without it affecting our sanity.”

“It’s true,” I say, reassuring him. But Patrick still seems sad. I try to think of one of the lighter stories about Scotty. “One time, we were sitting inside the jungle gym, and out of nowhere, this pigeon landed in the yard. It was only three or four feet away from us. Scotty looked at it and said, ‘Is that a fucking pigeon?’ And I don’t know why, maybe because we were both high, but we laughed so hard at that. We laughed until we cried. And for years, up until he died, every time we’d see something that didn’t make sense, Scotty would say, ‘Is that a fucking pigeon?’” Patrick laughs. “That’s why he always said that?” I nod. Patrick starts laughing even harder. He laughs until he cries. And then he just cries.

“You like that one?” you asked. It was in a case with all the other rings, so you asked the guy behind the counter if we could see it. The man took it out and handed it to you. You slipped it on the ring finger of my right hand and it fit perfectly. “It’s so pretty,” I said. It was honestly the prettiest ring I’d ever seen. “How much is it?” you asked the guy. “Four grand. I could probably knock a couple hundred off. It’s been in the case for a few months.” Your eyes bulged at that price. “Four grand?” you asked in disbelief. “Is it a fucking pigeon?” I sputtered laughter because I had no idea why you always said that phrase, but it was at least the third time I’d heard you say it. I also laughed because the ring was four thousand freaking dollars. I’m not sure I’d ever had anything on my body worth four thousand dollars.

Kenna walks toward me, her clothes soaking wet. She takes the same seat she sat in the first time she was here. She pulls Diem’s scrunchie out of her hair and then leans over the bar and grabs a handful of napkins. “Well. You were right about the rain,” she says, drying her face and her arms. “I need a ride home.” I’m confused, because the last time she got out of my truck, she was so angry with me I was positive she’d never be inside of it again. “From me?” She shrugs. “You. An Uber. A cab. I don’t care. But first I want a coffee. I hear you guys carry caramel now.” She’s in a feisty mood. I hand her a clean rag and start making her a coffee while she dries off. I look at the time, and it’s been at least ten hours since I was in the store. “Did you just now get off work?” “Yeah, someone called in, so I worked a double.” The grocery store closes at nine, and it likely takes her an hour to walk home. “You probably shouldn’t be walking home this late.” “Then buy me a car,” she retorts. I glance over at her, and she raises an eyebrow like that was a dare. I top her coffee with a cherry and slide it over to her. “How long have you owned this bar?” she asks. “A few years.” “Didn’t you used to play some kind of professional sport?” Her question makes me laugh.

“Do you regret kissing me?” she asks. My focus swings from the road and over to her as soon as she asks that. She’s staring at me expectantly, so I look at the road again, gripping my steering wheel. I nod, because I do regret it. Maybe not for the reasons she thinks I regret it, but I regret it all the same. It’s quiet all the way to her apartment after that. I put my truck in park and glance over at her. She’s looking down at the scrunchie in her hand. She slides it onto her wrist, and without even making eye contact with me, she mutters, “Thanks for the ride.” She opens her door and is out of my truck before I find my voice to tell her good night.

“No, she doesn’t.” He kissed me on the forehead. “The two of you will be best friends someday.” He took a final drag of his cigarette, and then I followed him back inside the house.

“What was it like having a good family?” I asked him. “I’m not sure I knew how good it was until just now,” he replied. “Yes, you did. You love your parents. And this house. I can tell.” He smiled gently. “I don’t know if I can explain it. But being here . . . it’s like I can be my truest, most authentic self. I can cry. I can be in a bad mood, or sad, or happy. Any of those moods are accepted here. I don’t feel that anywhere else.” The way he described it made me sad I never had it. “I don’t know what that’s like,” I said. Scotty bent down and kissed my hand. “I’ll give it to you,” he said. “We’ll get a house together someday. And I’ll let you pick everything out. You can paint it however you want. You can lock the door and only let the people in that you want in there. It’ll be the most comfortable place you’ve ever lived.” I smiled. “That sounds like heaven.” He kissed me then. Made love to me. And as quiet as I tried to be, the house was even quieter.

I feel like Kenna’s monster and Diem’s protector. Kenna looks like she’s about to collapse from agony. She’s in no shape to finish her shift. I point to my truck. “I’ll give you a ride home. What’s your boss’s name? I’ll let her know you aren’t feeling well.” She wipes her eyes with her hands and says, “Amy,” as she walks defeatedly toward my truck. I think I know the Amy she’s referring to. I’ve seen her in the store before.

She keeps walking. “You told her to leave! You saw me coming and you told her to leave! Why do you keep doing this to me?” I continue driving at the pace she’s walking until she finally turns and faces me through the window. “Why?” she demands. I press on the brakes until we’re even. My hands are starting to shake. Maybe it’s the adrenaline, maybe it’s the guilt. Maybe it’s the anger. I put my truck in park because she looks like she’s ready to tackle this. “Do you really think you can confront Grace in the parking lot of a grocery store?” “Well, I tried to do it at their house, but we both know how that turned out.” I shake my head. The location isn’t what I’m referring to. I don’t know what I’m referring to. I work to gather my thoughts. I’m confused because I think she might be right. She tried to approach them peacefully the first time, and I stopped her then too. “They aren’t strong enough for whatever it is you’re here for, even if you aren’t here to take her from them. They aren’t even strong enough to share her with you. They’ve given Diem a good life, Kenna. She’s happy and she’s safe. Is that not enough?”

“Other mothers told me what it would be like,” she says. “They told me they’d take me to the hospital to give birth, and that I’d get two days with her. Two whole days, just me and her.” A tear falls down her cheek. “I can’t tell you how much I looked forward to those two days. It was the only thing I had to look forward to. But she was born early . . . I don’t know if you know that, but she was a preemie. Six weeks. Her lungs were . . .” Kenna blows out a breath. “Right after she was delivered, they had to transfer her to the NICU at another hospital. I spent my two days alone in a recovery room with an armed guard keeping watch over me. And when my two days were up, they sent me back to the prison. I never got to hold her. I never even got to look into the eyes of the human Scotty and I made.” “Kenna . . .” “Don’t. Whatever you’re about to say, don’t. Trust me, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t come here with the ridiculous hope that I would be welcomed into her life and even given some kind of role. But I also know she’s where she belongs, so I would have been grateful for anything. I would have been so grateful to finally get to look at her, even if that’s all I was ever allowed to do. Whether you or Scotty’s parents think I deserve that or not.” I close my eyes because her voice is painful enough. Looking at her and seeing the agony on her face when she talks makes it so much worse. “I am so grateful to them,” she says. “You have no idea. The whole time I was pregnant, ...

Kenna becomes a different person right in front of my eyes. It’s as if I’m witnessing her become a mother. It might be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I feel like an absolute fucking monster for not helping her experience this moment sooner. I’m sorry, Scotty.

“I don’t have anything yet. I’m sorry.” She seems embarrassed when she says that. “It’s just . . . it took everything I had to move here. I’ll get paid soon, and I plan to move eventually, to somewhere better, and I’m getting a phone and—” I lift a hand when I realize she thinks I’m judging her ability to provide for herself. Or maybe for Diem. “Kenna, it’s fine. I admire the determination that got you here, but you need to eat.” I slide my phone into my pocket and head toward the door. “Come on. I’ll buy you dinner.”

Ledger is good looking, but not in the way Scotty was. Scotty was more the boy next door. Ledger isn’t the boy next door. Ledger looks like the guy who might beat up the boy next door. He’s rough around the edges, and the fact that he owns a bar doesn’t soothe that image any. He doesn’t come off quite the way he looks when he opens his mouth, though, and that’s the most important thing.

“What happens if they won’t let you meet her?” he asks. I’m definitely not hungry now. Just the thought of it is nauseating. I shrug. “I guess I’ll move away. I don’t want them to feel like I’m a threat.” I force myself to eat a french fry, only because I don’t know what else to say. Ledger takes a sip of his tea. The truck is quiet. It feels like there might be an apology hanging in the air between us, but I’m not sure who it belongs to. Ledger claims it when he shifts in his seat and says, “I feel like I owe you an apology for stopping you from—” “It’s okay,” I say, cutting him off. “You were doing what you thought you needed to do to protect Diem. As mad as I am for my own sake . . . I’m happy Diem has people in her life who protect her that fiercely.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know, Kenna.” He shifts in his seat so that his attention is more directed at me. “That first night you walked into my bar, I thought you were the most intriguing girl I’d ever met. But then when I saw you the next day in front of Patrick and Grace’s house, I thought you were the most disgusting person I’d ever met.” His honesty fills my chest with embarrassment. “And tonight?” I ask quietly. He looks me in the eye. “Tonight . . . I’m starting to wonder if you’re the saddest girl I’ve ever met.” I smile what is probably the most painful-looking smile, simply because I don’t want to cry. “All of the above.” His smile is almost as painful. “I was afraid of that.” There’s a question in his eyes. Lots of questions. So many questions, I have to look away from his face to avoid them.

“It wasn’t a good look, you know. To his parents, to the judge, to everyone in that courtroom . . . you just seemed so . . .” He can’t finish his sentence. “I seemed so what?” His eyes connect with mine. “Unremorseful.”

“Scotty was the greatest thing that ever happened to me. I wasn’t unremorseful. I was too devastated to speak. My lawyers, they told me I needed to write an allocution statement, but I hadn’t been able to sleep in weeks. I couldn’t get a single word out on paper. My brain, it was . . .” I press a hand to my chest. “I was shattered, Ledger. You have to believe that. Too shattered to even defend myself, or care what happened to my life. I wasn’t unemotional, I was broken.” And it happens again. The tears. I’m so sick of the fucking tears. I turn away from him because I’m sure he’s sick of them too.

I blink back tears and blow out a calming breath. “I know I shouldn’t have come back here. You’re right. But I can’t just up and leave. It took everything I had to get here, and now I’m stuck. I have nowhere to go and no money to get there because the grocery store is only part time.” The empathy has returned to his face, but he’s quiet. “If they don’t want me here, I’ll leave. It’s just going to take time because I don’t have the money, and every business in this town has turned me down because of my past.” Ledger pushes off the counter. He clasps his hands behind his head and paces a few steps. I don’t want him to think I’m asking for money. That would be the most mortifying result of this conversation.

Ivy is rubbing against my ankles, so I bend down and pick her up. I bring her up to my chest and cuddle her. Ledger might have just offered me a job to get me out of town, but I sit down on my couch with a smile, because I got to see my daughter’s face today. No matter how depressing the rest of the day was, I finally got a piece of something I’ve been praying five years for.

Dear Scotty, She looks like both of us, but she laughs like you. She’s perfect in every way. I’m so sorry you never got to meet her. Love, Kenna

I hear Roman swipe his phone and his keys off the bar. Right before he disappears through the double doors to the kitchen, he says, “I don’t want to hear another word about the fucking cupcakes ever again.” He’s gone before I can point out that his being obsessed with the married baker down the street is a little different than my giving Kenna a job to get her out of town faster.

“I want to do that thing with the swords,” Diem says, swinging her fork back and forth in the air. “Fencing?” Patrick asks. “They don’t have fencing lessons in this town.” “Ledger can teach me,” Diem says. “I don’t have swords. And I don’t have time. I already coach your T-ball team.” “T-ball is hell,” Diem says.