Fixing Her Read online

  Fixing Her

  Copyright © 2018 Miranda Elaine

  All rights reserved. No part of this novel may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted without written permission from the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. If you would like to share this book with others please purchase a copy for each person. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people.

  Fixing Her is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and occurrences are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, events, or locations is purely coincidental.

  Editor: Emily A. Lawrence with Lawrence Editing

  Proofreading: Julie Deaton of Deaton Author Services

  Cover Designer: JM Walker with Just write. Creations

  Interior Design and Formatting: Stacey Blake of Champagne Book Design

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About The Author

  For Amie:

  I’m going to go out on a limb and say most readers don’t know me and therefore don’t know I suffer from anxiety. I let it rule my life way more than I should. I like to think I’m an extroverted introvert. I want to put myself out there, but I’m either too scared or I just don’t know how.

  That’s where my best friend comes in. She challenges me to push my limits. She encourages me to put myself out there in situations I’m quite honestly terrified of. Without her having faith in me and my abilities, even when I myself had none, this book would have never happened.

  There aren’t enough words in my vocabulary to adequately express how much everything she does means to me. So, I’ll leave it like this.

  This one’s for you, Amie! You said I could and I did.

  Thank you for believing in me.

  “ELEANOR GRACE, GET YOUR CUTE, tiny tushy out here right this second.” I’m rushing through the house yelling out to my menacing little girl, searching every little nook and cranny. With her loose blond curls, hazel eyes, and button nose my daughter might have the face of an angel, but she’s as devious as they come. How someone so young is able to plot and carry out plans that are able to alter my entire day is beyond me.

  There was no way to prepare for the chaos my life would become after I had a child. At twenty-two, I found out the only one-night stand I’d ever had made a baby. I was twenty-three when I realized I’d be raising this beautiful, special little girl on my own. One day I was single and only having to care for myself and then the next I had this baby, who was depending on me for everything.

  It didn’t take long before I knew we couldn’t survive with me working one job; we’d get by even if it meant constant worries and struggles. I wanted more for her and if that meant me sacrificing, then I would. I’d do anything for her life to be happy.

  A little over three years since her birth and we’re not only surviving, but thriving together. I often joke that my daughter is an asshole and, trust me, she is, but she’s also a blessing. I love being a mom to her and though it’s been tough at times, I wouldn’t change these last four years since finding out I was pregnant for anything.

  Some mornings, though, this being one of them, I wonder how other people got docile, sweet daughters who calmly play with dolls, while I ended up with one whose favorite phrase is “Worry about yourself.”

  “Ellie, seriously, sweetie! This is not funny. School starts in twenty minutes and if I’m late dropping you off again I’m gonna get in trouble.”

  I’m desperately looking in every small hiding spot I know of in the house. Holding in my frustration, I continue to plead with the little devil I created.

  “Please don’t make Mommy sit through a ‘We really need all kids here by 9:15 a.m. so we can start the class without any disruptions.’ talk again. Please, baby girl.”

  This is what I’m reduced to, begging a three-year-old to come out of hiding so I can save face. “If we leave now maybe after school we can go out for donuts.” Yeah, I’m that mom. Judge me.

  A squeaky giggle from my bedroom tells me everything I need to know. I tiptoe into the room and as stealthily as I can I grab the ankles of my girl and tug her out from under my unmade bed. The blankets and sheets that were just seconds earlier piled atop the edge of the bed are now covering her seemingly innocent face.

  She continues to giggle as I untangle her and pull her up into my arms. I grab my purse, her tiny backpack, and a hair bow from the table next to the door as I rush out of my small house into the carport where my 2004 brick-red Toyota Camry is parked.

  Getting a glimpse of my reflection in the window confirms my fears. The twenty minutes I spent searching for my mischievous daughter would have been better spent using a hairbrush, some concealer, and dressing in something other than sweatpants that are four sizes too big and have elastic in the ankles.

  ELASTIC IN THE ANKLES.

  Sadly, the ladies at the daycare won’t even bat an eye at my outfit or that my hair and makeup are clearly remnants of yesterday’s attempt at looking like a human. This is more the norm for me than the put together looks most of the other moms sport first thing in the morning.

  I drop Ellie off only six minutes late with the promise of donuts and chocolate milk when I pick her up and somehow even manage to evade Mrs. DeMarco, the woman who runs the Ribbits and Rainbows Learning Center. A miracle in itself since her life goal is to point out what a ‘hot mess mom’ I appear to be. Like I don’t already know. Hello, I own a mirror.

  Pulling out of the school’s parking lot, I breathe a sigh of relief that I don’t have to rush to work. Usually, I have to be at the office immediately after dropping my little girl off. Often I’m running late because of my inability to get my shit together in the mornings. This has been cause for contention with me and my boss over the past three years.

  But today Mr. Garcia has a conference out of town, so I can work from home. I’m lucky to have found a job in this town that pays decent. The main downfall, however, is that my boss is constantly a complete ass.

  I can’t complain. I need this job. Even with the steady income I still need to have several other part-time gigs. The joys of being a single mom are never-ending.

  I roll the window down, enjoying the breeze, and decide to treat myself to a coffee from my favorite coffee shop, Brewed. I don’t typically splurge on myself, but it’s been a crap morning, and I desperately need the dose of caffeine, sugar, and whipped cream that an overpriced coffee drink delivers. Caffeine is a must before I attempt to run into the grocery store for milk unnoticed and then home to tackle the stack of overdue bills just waiting to ruin my rare day off.

  I order the most over-the-top sugar-coma inducing drink I can find on the menu and pull through the drive-thru. Coffee in hand and blasting Taylor Swift on the radio, I’m ready to tackle the day. Thank God, I grabbed my oversized sunglasses. Hopefully, I can make it into the store then home without running into anyone I know.

  I barely make it to the grocery store before my decision to drive one-handed while using the other hand to drink my much-needed coffee proves to be yet another mistake.

  “FUCK!” I cry out as the burn of the hot liquid sears my skin. My loud shriek made everybody in the parking lot stop and look my way. I jump out of my car, hoping to avoid a massive stain on the seat, and just as my feet hit the ground I hear a loud crunch.

  Immediately I notice my white T-shirt has now been blessed with a coffee stain all down the front, and I don’t even need to look down to know my sunglasses fell off during my leap out and have now been obliterated by my hot pink flip-flops.

  “Great, just great,” I mumble to myself as I open the back door and search for a jacket, scarf, or anything that might hide the clear display of my klutziness.

  Sadly, this was the week I decided cleaning out the car would be a good idea. That’ll teach me. Coming all the way back here later with Ellie is not worth the trouble, so I hold my head high and head into the store. I’m about to approach the checkout, grateful I haven’t run into anyone I know. Red Oak’s a smaller town, and it seems you can’t toss a stone without hitting an acquaintance.

  Just as I start to think I’ve got the all clear and will get out of here unnoticed, the ringtone for my best friend, Leigh Ann Simms, “Baby Got Back” by Sir Mix-A-Lot, starts playing at full volume from inside my bag. Seeing as how it’s stuffed full of sippy cups, pull-ups, crackers, lollipops, and no less than three dolls, it takes a solid minute before I can wrangle the phone out of its depths to answer it.

  “Mouse, where are y
ou right now?” Leigh whispers through the phone. Leigh and I have been inseparable from the day she moved to town in the second grade. We could not be more different, but somehow our friendship just works.

  “Store,” I respond. “Had to grab Ellie some milk. I desperately need her to go to bed at a reasonable time tonight. Was out of it last night and it took over an hour to convince her she didn’t have to have it before going to sleep. Not gonna let that happen again.”

  “Good. You’re close. Put it down and drive to my parents’. Stat. There’s no time to waste. Get here. NOW. I gotta go.” She immediately hangs up the phone, leaving me questioning what could possibly be so important.

  I toss the milk at the closest associate and hightail my ass out of the store to my car like it’s on fire. Fearing the worst, I speed the half mile to the Simms’ house.

  I pull into the oddly full driveway, but I’m relieved that none of the cars occupying it are emergency vehicles. Glancing in the mirror, I attempt to clean up the crusty eye makeup currently surrounding both eyes but give up and admit it’s a losing battle. Ellie refused to stay in her big girl bed last night and by the time she finally fell asleep, it took every ounce of my energy just to get into my own bed. No way was I wasting a moment of precious sleep to clean my face.

  Yeah, kinda regretting that decision right about now, which seems to be the theme of the day. Sighing, I come to the conclusion this day is not going to get any better and make my way out of the car and up the porch stairs. I have my fist in the air ready to knock, but before I can even get the chance, the door is yanked open and Leigh grabs my wrist, dragging me through the front door, down the hall, and into the hall bathroom.

  “What in the ever-loving hell is going on?” I whisper, thoroughly confused.

  “Really, Temperance, really,” Leigh sighs. Frustration and judgment drip through her voice while studying me up and down.

  I know I’m not looking my best, but honestly, is now really the time for her to worry about my appearance? She’s the one who demanded I get here right away.

  “You did not go into the store like that. Please, I’m begging you to tell me you didn’t go into the store dressed like that. Please tell me that on the way here you saw a homeless woman, took pity on her, and traded clothes.” Her eyes are closed now as she awaits confirmation of what we both know is the truth.

  “I just had to run in. I had a hell of a morning and this”—I point up and down my body—“is the result of you thinking it was a good idea to teach Ellie hide and seek. Deal with it.”

  “I thought I told you that you were never allowed to wear those pants outside of your house. I knew I should have burned them when I had the chance. I don’t care how comfy they are, they add at least fifty pounds to you.” She begins the lecture I’ve heard no less than twenty times. I zone out as she lists the many reasons my favorite pants, as well as most of my entire wardrobe, is not acceptable. I’ve told her I’m not searching for a man, so I don’t care if my comfy lounge pants are unattractive.

  “Leigh! If I promise to let you burn them next time we have a bonfire, will you tell me why I abandoned my milk and braved being seen by your parents like this? Are they okay? Is someone hurt?” I interrupt her well-practiced rant, needing answers to my million burning questions.

  “Okay, don’t freak,” she starts, but that phrase alone is enough to get my pulse racing and my brain going to every possible worst-case scenario. “Asher Kade is here.”

  I’M FROZEN.

  The star of every one of the high school fantasies I’ve had is less than a hundred feet from me.

  “My parents are remodeling the kitchen. They hired Kade Construction, and apparently, he’s back in Red Oak working for his dad.” She gives me big, goofy eyes as she raises her eyebrows up and down repeatedly. “I just popped in to see how Mom was and when I went into the kitchen he was just there, talking to Dad.”

  I stare at her with my mouth hanging open as she explains something I would’ve never thought to be possible. Asher Kade is back in Red Oak. I’m currently in both my best dream and worst nightmare, all at the same time.

  I spent five years crushing hard on him before he moved to the city for college. I haven’t seen him in ten years, but just the sound of his name makes me a mute, teenage wallflower all over again. I’d love to say I was popular and outgoing throughout school, but that would be an epic lie. I mostly just hung out with Leigh and kept to myself.

  He was two years ahead of us and loved by everyone. I noticed him my first day of sixth grade in the auditorium. His sun-streaked blond hair and tanned skin grabbed my attention right away. Not to mention his sparkling green eyes every girl got lost in. Then he smiled in my direction, starting a five-year-long crush that never really died.

  Of course, he was older and completely out of my league, but from that moment on he was the guy I dreamed about at night and made puppy dog eyes at during the day.

  To everyone else in school, he was Kade—the quarterback, the homecoming king, and valedictorian of his graduating class; most popular and hottest guy around. But in my head, for as long as I can remember, he was just my Asher.

  His first name is softer and kind sounding, like the way he always treated me. Even though we weren’t friends, in the occasional interactions we had, I always felt as though I wasn’t just a nobody.

  He was never flirtatious or even overly friendly while we were in school, but he was always thoughtful. He saw I was there. He said hello. Seems silly now, but back then it meant the world to me.

  “You can’t be serious,” I finally get out. “You did not let me walk in here looking like I was run over by a garbage truck and not give me any notice that the only boy my heart ever melted for is in the house.” I narrow my eyes, pointing my finger into her chest. “Are we even really friends? Do you secretly hate me?”

  “Sweetie, you know as well as I do that if I told you Kade, the one boy you’ve wanted since you first discovered boys, was not only back in town a decade later but inside my parents’ house looking like he spent the last ten years working out and growing the most delicious scruffy five o’clock shadow, you would have driven your beat-up car right out of town.”

  She isn’t wrong. Just the idea of Asher, or Kade as everyone else calls him thanks to his football god status in high school, has me stuttering and scrambling to get my pulse under control.

  “That’s not solving my current predicament,” I state, pointing to my messy bun, my stained chest, and then straight down to the elastic around my ankles. “I have to get out of here.”

  I’m moments away from a full-blown panic attack when I hear voices down the hall edging closer. Before I can escape out of the bathroom to make a run for it, Leigh grabs me by the wrist and pulls me in the direction of the stairs.

  “I’ll create a distraction and you sneak up to my room,” she exclaims. “I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.”

  I dash up the stairs, into the room I spent many a sleepover in. Her parents have kept it as a shrine to their only child. I could go blind from all the neon colors adorning the walls, not to mention the giant daisy flowers she painted on top of the neon paint. A matching daisy pop-art style comforter adorns the bed. The shelves of the one bookcase are filled to the brim with CDs and a couple of caboodles.

  The room is just as I remember it and I’m reminded of how I felt back in high school, still wishing he’d look my way and give me that smile that would make my heart race. Only now, I’m a twenty-six-year-old single mother who hasn’t so much as kissed a man in over three years. If I thought I was undeserving of him back in my prime, then I’m most definitely not in his league now.

  “Okay, I bought us ten minutes. Dad saw your car and was trying to find you since they haven’t seen you in a while. I told him you needed to find an old DVD for Ellie in my room that you think you left here in high school. Can’t believe they bought that. Kade was measuring the kitchen. Dad says they’ll be here for a bit longer.”

  Leigh yanks the closet door open. I’m trying to keep the full-blown panic attack I feel building inside at bay. I watch in astonishment as she tears through her entire dated wardrobe, in denial that this is happening right now. I need more time. I need a shower and to be at least ten pounds lighter. But most of all, I need a good backstory for the turns my life has taken.