One Little Chance (Sweet River)

Chapter 17

AUTUMN 2023

S ummer was sweet as cotton candy and dissolved just as quickly. I had summer break off work, so Jordan and I made up for lost time. It was our own summer bubble, spending lazy warm evenings catching up on the chapters of each other’s lives we’d missed.

There were small-town whispers as we met up on Jordan’s lunch breaks or walked hand in hand at the Sweet River Summer Festival.

One old high school teacher of ours joked when he got behind us in line at Coffees and Commas, “Have I gone back in time? Am I back in Sweet River High School? It’s Sophia and Jordan cuddled up again!”

We didn’t care. And mostly, people celebrated.

As we pushed grocery carts through the market or discussed work struggles, it felt good to be doing adulthood arm-in-arm for the first time. It didn’t feel like we were picking up from where we left off years ago. It felt like we were growing something new—something made to last. Our years apart made us better partners for each other now, like all along God knew we’d find our way back together and had been preparing us for it.

Months passed of this brand-new bliss until autumn came and our little couple bubble had to burst.

The school year began. Jordan helped me set up my classroom and acquainted himself with my coworkers. We showed up together at football games and potlucks. Our names were a duo in people’s mouths again: Jordan and Sophia .

Jordan’s family had been busy traveling a lot over the summer, so we went from phone calls with his parents here and there to weekly family dinners returning in the fall.

Sitting at their long, walnut family table felt surreal. I was back somewhere so familiar, but it felt so different.

Growing up, the Silk family dinners felt like a cozy, happy place where I got to eat Pat’s divine southern cooking, tease Jordan with his siblings, and maybe fall asleep on Jordan’s shoulder while we watched a football game in their living room by the fireplace. I always felt like a page in their story, nestled in somewhere I belonged.

Now, I felt anxious.

We started family dinners again in September. During the drive over to the first dinner, I broke out in nervous sweats. I hadn’t been to the Silk’s house since the funeral, which was such a different situation. This time, I was returning as Jordan’s new girlfriend but also his ex-childhood sweetheart.

The air between his sisters and I felt sort of awkward. I wasn’t sure.

His parents greeted me with bear hugs. Pat remembered my favorite dip and had set it out as an appetizer.

“Just for you,” she said with a wink.

Sarah and Jenna smiled at me when I walked in but kept their distance, barely engaging in conversation. The air was tense.

I knew I could win them over. I was set on winning them over.

But, as fall flew by, and so did family dinners and football games and back-to-school fundraisers with Jordan’s nieces and nephews, they kept me at a distance. They were polite, but the warmth from years prior was completely snuffed out. The comfort that was once there was completely gone.

Halloween night, Jordan and I showed up at Jenna’s house for trick or treating dressed as a cheeseburger and fries. I skipped up her steps, trying not to bump my red carton into Jordan’s big ole bun.

She cocked her head to the side standing in the doorway. Her shiny, blonde hair was tucked behind her ear, as she said, “Oh, I didn’t realize Sophie was coming.”

“Of course she is.” Jordan shrugged. “I’ve got to spend the holidays with my girl.”

Jenna’s eyes locked with Sarah’s, and even growing up without sisters of my own, I knew the unspoken conversation happening between them.

“I’m sorry. Am I intruding on a family thing?” I offered to try and chip away at whatever ice was between us.

“No, no, it’s okay.” Sarah brushed the air with her hand as if brushing away my insecurity.

“You’re here. You look cute in this little french fry getup.” Jenna’s smile was devoid of warmth. “Let’s get moving,” she said to Sarah, and the night went on. The kids tumbled down the front porch steps racing out to trick or treat.

I was sure Jordan had forgotten about that conversation, maybe even Jenna and Sarah had forgotten, but it stayed with me.

O ne night, Jenna’s questioning cocked head returned. In early November, we were at the family dinner table, everyone chattering about Thanksgiving plans, when Pat turned to me. “Well, Sophie, you’re coming to the Turkey Trot with us, right?”

The Silks spent every crisp Thanksgiving morning at the Sweet River Turkey Trot. Everyone showing up in Downtown Sweet River bleary-eyed with sneakers on at 8 a.m. on the dot. A man in a giant turkey costume waited to high-five each of us as we crossed the finish line.

I hadn’t been in years. Another tradition I was excited to get back.

“Oh, well, yeah!” In my mind, it was a no-brainer. But, after I answered, I felt the awkwardness tighten across the room.

“Definitely.” Jordan squeezed my hand.

“You know, I was talking to Jordan the other day about Thanksgiving. Your mom and Orlando are welcome to come with you for dinner.” Pat stabbed a bite of broccoli.

“I’ll invite Mom and Orlando. I’m not sure if they already have other plans.” My eyes shot over to Sarah and Jenna.

They exchanged a loaded glance with each other.

I swallowed air. “Can I bring anything?”

“I usually have the kids bring desserts or sides?” Pat still referred to Jordan and his siblings as “the kids,” even though a couple of them had kids now.

“I’ll bring an apple pie.” My mom had the best recipe.

“A pie sounds perfect,” Pat beamed. I wished someone would crack a joke or say they were excited to have me there. Sarah moved food around her plate. The jingle of ice in a glass.

“Never enough pie,” Jordan said, stabbing a bite of meatloaf.

“I didn’t realize it was already planned that Sophie was coming,” Jenna said hesitantly like she wasn’t sure she should be saying the words as they left her mouth.

“Of course she is,” Jordan said as if the question was laughable. I felt the anxious sweating return, grabbing at my thick sweater.

Pat’s brows puckered. “You’re surprised?”

“Yeah, it’s a family thing.” Jenna’s voice was layered with innuendo.

“Soph is basically family,” Westley, Jenna’s husband, piped up, waving a fork toward me.

“Are we really doing this?” Cody whispered under his breath.

I stared at my hands in my lap.

“I didn’t know new relationships were invited to all the family things now.” Sarah crossed her arms and leaned against her chair.

My heart hammered against my chest. I was racking my brain for the exact right thing to say at this moment, but it was agonizingly empty.

“ New relationships ?” Jordan spat out. “Come on.”

“Sophie has peed in our pool,” Pat said through laughter. “This is the farthest thing from a new relationship.”

Sarah sharply inhaled, avoiding my gaze as I glanced across the table.

“I…don’t want to intrude?” I said, but I did want to intrude. I chose Jordan and that included his holidays and his family.

“You’re not intruding!” Pat leaned in toward the table as she looked at me. “Come and bring your folks.”

Why don’t you want me there? The question was pounding in my ears. I wanted to ask Sarah and Jenna right then and there. But the conversation steamrolled on, and before I knew it, I was driving back home and dreading Thanksgiving.

M y apple pie caught fire. The night before Thanksgiving, after the longest work week ever, my apple pie literally caught on fire.

A couple of days before, I’d been added to the Silk family group chat, and the conversation was dedicated to Thanksgiving meal planning.

Pat

I can make the green bean casserole. I know the right way to do it.

Sarah

you mean you like the way you do it better

Jenna

you mean you like using the canned green beans

Pat

I don’t use canned green beans! But honestly I don’t like to use the ones you use, they’re too crunchy

Sarah

green beans should have crunch

Pat

Not in a casserole, sweetie. It’s supposed to be gooey!

Jordan

I like it either way, guys

Pat

Then I’ll just bring mine then!

Jenna

Okay, okay, I’ll bring sweet potatoes.

Cody

ha ha

Pat

What’s so funny…You guys don’t like my green bean casserole?

Jenna

That’s not it, your way is fine! We just also like the new way.

Pat

Fine? I’ve made green bean casserole for decades.

How are you making the sweet potatoes?

T here was no way around except through. I knew I needed to throw my opinions into the group thread if I was going to make any headway. The conversation had moved on to dessert.

Jenna

I can’t remember who is bringing what desserts? I’m bringing a pecan pie.

Mom

I’m making my brownies

Jenna

Yesss! YUM!

Me

Hi. I’m bringing an apple pie!

Pat

yes, dear, thank you!

Sarah

I was doing sides and an appetizer. But do we think we need a pumpkin pie? It is Thanksgiving.

Jenna

ooh, yeah, it would be weird without a pumpkin pie.

I am not a baker. But I am a people pleaser.

Me

I can bring both—an apple pie and a pumpkin pie?

Pat

Thanks, you’re a doll!

N o one else replied.

A mere few hours after a Thanksgiving play at school where I had to sweat in a full-body turkey costume, I stood in the kitchen covered in flour, throwing together an apple pie. I was also multitasking researching pumpkin pie recipes on my phone. I barely had time with fall school shenanigans to stop by the market and buy a couple cans of pumpkin puree let alone sit down and find a recipe.

I ran a sweaty, flour-covered hand over my forehead. I regretted agreeing to two pies.

Sliding the apple pie into the oven, I noted it looked a little fuller than usual, but maybe that meant a thicker, tastier pie.

As it baked in the oven, I leaned against the kitchen counter scrolling through “easy and quick pumpkin pie recipes” on Google. The keywords were easy and quick .

I decided on one, perused the pantry, and realized I needed a few extra ingredients, so I shot off a pleading text to Jordan to pick them up on his way over. As I pressed send, I sniffed the smoky air.

I blinked my eyes against my suddenly foggy vision.

A couple of seconds later, it finally clicked, and I dashed toward the oven. It was ablaze inside with fierce oranges and red flames, and in the middle of it all, my apple pie. I screamed and reached for the oven door but then stopped myself. I took a breath, reminding myself , Do not open the oven door. Do not feed this fire any more oxygen.

With shaky hands, I turned off the oven and prayed to sweet Baby Jesus to please let the fire burn out quickly. Panicked, I called my mom.

With the phone to my ear, I squinted through the maze of smoke behind the oven door and could see bits of extra filling spilled over the pie dish and into the sides of the oven all ablaze. It was the extra filling.

“Mom!” I screamed into the phone. “Mom!”

“Honey?” Mom answered with a tone of surprise.

“My oven is on fire!”

“Honey!” She gasped.

I knelt beside the oven, watching as the fire dimmed, and my pie baked to a blackened crisp. All I could think was, Now I’d need to ask Jordan for more apples . I’d promised an apple pie.

“What are you doing? Call 911!”

“It’s burning out,” I said, staring through the oven door. “I ruined it though.” The weight of how much these pies, this Thanksgiving dinner, the Silk family, all meant to me weighed heavy on my chest until I broke under it, crying in a ball on the kitchen floor.

“Sophie. Is it the pies? What happened? Do you need me to come over and help you?” Mom said, her voice still high from the panic of hearing her daughter had a small kitchen fire.

I broke into a sob. “I don’t have the ingredients for either of my pies. And now I’m making two. Because I just wanted them to like me again.”

“Forget about the pies. I’m bringing Nonna’s famous tiramisu, so we’ll say it’s from the both of us.” Mom’s voice was soft like a hand brushing against a forehead. “And who do you want to like you?”

“All of them. Jordan’s family. His sisters can’t seem—” I was sniffling into the phone when Jordan walked in through my front door, arms full of grocery bags.

“Rogers, what’s going on in here?” His face was a mix of terror and care when he spotted a flour-covered, sobbing me sitting in the midst of a smoke-filled kitchen.

“Mom, I got to go. Jordan’s here,” I whispered into the phone then ended the call.

Jordan set the bags on the counter. “I take it the apple pie is no more?”

I nodded, swiping at my eyes. “No use crying over spilled apple pie, huh?” I tried to joke. Just Jordan’s appearance in my kitchen made things feel a little lighter, a little brighter.

“Two fires in one year—not a good look for us.” Jordan plopped down beside me in the middle of the mess. “What happened here? You look sad. Is it because of the pie?” He peered through the oven door. “Clearly caught fire.”

“I am sad, yes. Because I burned the apple pie, and now, I have to remake it. I also have to make the pumpkin pie. I’m also out of apples, and it’s getting late. And I was all sweaty in that turkey costume…” I felt a sob try to escape my chest again. “I just want your whole family to…” My voice dropped, barely a whisper as I said, “Love me back.”

“You love me. And you love me good. That’s all you’ve gotta do for them to love you.” Jordan pulled me close to his side.

“It’s not that easy in the world of in-laws,” I moaned into his shoulder. He smelled like pine and clean laundry. I burrowed in closer.

“In-laws?” He grinned. “Thinking ahead.”

“I know how much your family means to you. So they mean a lot to me.” My voice felt small under the weight of my big feelings—my big fears.

“This is about my sisters and their weirdness about your holiday invitations?” Jordan tipped my chin up with his index finger to look into my eyes.

I nodded.

“This is the first holiday in a lifetime of holidays spent together. My sisters will get used to it. Plus, you’re easy to love, Rogers. The girls don’t stand a chance.”

I let out a big breath. Jordan breathed with me.

I grinned at him and swiped a flour-covered finger across his nose. “Are you looking forward to a lifetime of pies on fire and flour everywhere?”

“I’m looking forward to a lifetime of you . I want it all. Every version.” He pulled me into his lap as he spoke. “Messy flour-covered you. Starting-fires you. Young you. Old you. Crying you. Melting-in-my-arms you. I’ve loved every version I’ve known, so keep ‘em coming.” He ran his fingers through my hair as he pulled my lips against his, kissing me deeply.

My hands left smears of flour across his sweater as we kissed there on the kitchen floor.

He kissed me until I was breathless—until I was giggly and happy. All my stress went up in smoke.

As we stood back up, he said, “Now, put me to work. If you’re making pies, then I’m making pies, too.”

I winced. “I’m all out of apples. I migh?—”

“I got you covered.” He reached into one of the paper bags sitting on the counter and pulled out a bag of apples. “I saw these in the baking section and thought, ‘Why not have a backup?’”

“You knew I would mess up the pie.” I gasped.

“No, no.” He started to laugh. “But I have seen you in the kitchen, and I know it takes a few?—”

I gave him a playful shove. “You had no faith in my pie-making skills.”

“You know, I can honestly say, I didn’t expect you to catch the pie on fire.” He pointed toward the oven and the charred pie inside.