The Getting a Grip Duet: Complete Box Set (#MyNewLife)

by M. E. Carter

  Catching my second wind, I turn back to my house, determined to get the last of the boxes unpacked. Movement on the front stoop of the house next door catches my attention.

  Sauntering over to check it out, I realize it’s Deborah, Elena’s oddball friend. I’ve only met her once briefly when they had a barbecue shortly after I moved in, but it was a memorable meeting. She brought veggie hot dogs and gluten-free ketchup or something for her kid. When her back was turned, Greg gave him a real hot dog. I’ve never seen a child sneak behind a bush to eat a hot dog with real ketchup before.

  The scene in front of me is almost as odd. Deborah is half standing, half crouching in front of Greg and Elena’s door, sliding slowly to the ground. And I mean sloooooooowly. It’ll probably be another hour before she makes it all the way down. I’m surprised her legs haven’t given out yet.

  “Deborah?” I ask gently, trying not to poke the proverbial bear. She looks surprised when she notices me standing in front of her. “Deborah? I don’t know if you remember me. I’m Aputi, Greg’s neighbor. Are you okay?”

  The words are barely out of my mouth when her face crunches up in a very odd-looking grimace and a long-winded shriek comes out of her. It’s like a cross between a deflating balloon and that sound your car makes when the fan belt is getting ready to go out. A single tear slides down her cheek.

  And then, just as quickly as she crumbles, she pulls herself right back together.

  Pushing off the door, Deborah stands up, straightens her clothes, and wipes away the wetness from her face. “Sorry for that emotional display. It’s been a hard day.”

  That was an emotional display?

  “It’s okay.”

  “No. No it’s not okay,” she commands, nodding once for effect. I’m not sure if she’s trying to convince me or herself of, well, whatever she’s adamant about. “It’s highly inappropriate for me to bring people into all my drama. Except Elena. She’s been divorced before, so she’ll know what to do. Plus, she’s my elder, so she’s wise or something.”

  Shaking my head, I’m struggling to keep up with whatever she’s talking about. “Hold on. Are you getting a divorce?”

  Her face contorts again and yet another long-winded noise comes out of her mouth. I’m still not quite sure what’s happening, but I think this might be her version of going into hysterics.

  Once again, it lasts just a few short seconds before it’s over. “I’m so sorry. I can’t seem to keep myself pulled together. Yes. It appears I am about to be a divorced woman, and I’m not sure how to navigate this.”

  Somehow, the fact that she’s very clearly trying to remain rational during what is obviously a very trying time, is kind of endearing. Strange, yes, but I learned years ago we all deal with life differently. Unless I’m reading this all wrong, I think Deborah just needs a supportive friend.

  “Wanna talk about it?”

  “Nothing to talk about.” She smooths the front of her pants again of invisible wrinkles. “I was looking for Elena. She’s been divorced before, and she revamped her entire self, and now look at her. I thought she’d know what to do. I have exactly,” she pauses to look at her wristwatch, “one hour and forty-three minutes to put together a solid plan on how to live as a single mother.”

  I chuckle and her eyes snap up to mine, obviously unhappy at my outburst. “Sorry. I’m not laughing at you. It’s going to take longer than an hour and forty-three minutes to figure this out. Maybe you need to talk some of this out first. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to come in for a bit? I know I’m not Elena, but I have a teenage daughter, so I’m not completely inept at dealing with female emotions.”

  I say that last part with a smile, hoping it warms Deborah up to me, but she remains stoic as she takes me in, probably trying to figure out if this is a “stranger danger” situation. At six four and two eighty, I’m a pretty big guy. I know my size can be intimidating, especially to women. But Deborah doesn’t seem afraid. More annoyed that I’m trying to make her smile.

  This isn’t going well so far.

  “Okay,” she finally says with a shrug, shocking the shit out of me.

  I falter and blink a couple times, before pulling myself back together. “Okay? You’ll come inside and talk for a bit?”

  “You already saw me cry. Twice. Maybe you can help me put those emotions aside and forge ahead.”

  Huh. I did not see that coming.

  “Well, okay then.” Pointing toward my new house, I add, “I just moved into Greg’s old place.” Then I lead her across the lawn and through the front door, heading straight for the kitchen while she takes in the details of the front living area.

  “Would you like something to drink?” I call over the half-wall that separates the two rooms. “I don’t have much—some bottled water and Gatorade. But it’s all cold.”

  Still looking around the room, she sits on the couch. “No, thank you. Did you just move in? It smells like bleach and Lysol.”

  Smiling as I twist the top off my favorite Blue Ice Gatorade and making my way back to the living room, I’ll take that as a win. It wasn’t what I was going for, but I suppose that’s better than the house smelling like dirty socks and man stink. “Yeah, I officially moved in yesterday.”

  She nods. “I can tell. You really should skip the bleach and look into non-toxic cleaning product options. They are much better for your respiration. I have a lot of recipes that use vinegar as a cleaning agent. It works magic on your windows, and don’t get me started on the benefits of using it on your kitchen counters…” Suddenly, she stops and closes her eyes, taking a breath. “I’m so sorry. I’m not trying to sound critical.”

  Her apology strikes me as odd, and I have the overwhelming need to reassure her. Furrowing my brow, I try to put her mind to rest. “Why are you always apologizing? You haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “I think I do more things wrong than I realize,” she grumbles.

  I don’t think we’re talking about cleaning products anymore.

  Leaning forward, I put my bottle down and clasp my hands together. “I take it you didn’t know the divorce was coming?”

  She looks dejectedly at her hands on her lap. “I don’t really want to talk about that part. It’s over and done with. Rick has made his decision and moved in with his girlfriend. But I always have a plan and right now, that’s what I need to come up with. A plan on how to move forward.”

  My heart breaks when she looks up at me, the pain so very evident in her eyes. Her entire world has been upended sometime recently, and she’s doing her very best not to crack under the weight of her grief. I’m not sure she realizes she’s doing it. But she’s very aware of what she needs to get to the next step.

  Order and control.

  I don’t fully understand that, but I can respect it, and I think I know how to help.

  Crossing the room to the small desk that houses my laptop and important papers, I snatch a notepad out of the drawer and turn back to her.

  Checking the time on my phone, I give my best guestimate and say, “We’ve got one hour and thirty-nine minutes until school pickup. Let’s get this plan written out.”

  The look of relief that radiates from her just about knocks me over, and I can’t help but wonder how many times her soon-to-be ex made her feel this way.

  With a smile like that, I’m willing to bet it won’t take long for his loss to become someone else’s gain.

  Chapter Three

  Deborah

  I turn onto the main road and cross the railroad tracks by looking left, then right, then left again, all while ignoring the honks behind me. A few more minutes and a couple of turns later and I’m making a U-turn at the end of the cul-de-sac to park on the correct side of the road in front of Aputi’s house.

  It’s rude to turn up unannounced. I know that. But in my emotional state the other day, I didn’t think to get his phone number. I probably could have asked Elena for it, but that seems unnecessary. Plus, she has a tendency to
distract easily, and I don’t want to be responsible for her vacuuming going on the wayside or something.

  Still, I need to properly thank Aputi. He was a wonderful help as my life crumbled around me. It took exactly one hour and twenty-seven minutes to write out the top ten things I need to focus on as my life shifts into new territory.

  Hire an attorney and file an emergency petition to ensure all money is deposited into the joint accounts as normal. It never even occurred to me that Rick would cut us off. He’s much too straight-laced to be that man. But it never occurred to me he would move to the beach with his new girlfriend either. I know the ocean is fun to visit, but hurricane prep and cleanup is the kind of stuff my nightmares are made of.

  Schedule an appointment with my doctor to check for any disease exposure.

  Vacuum the blinds. I never got to that the other day, and I can’t seem to focus on anything else until it’s done.

  Tell my girlfriends, Callie and Elena, about the divorce so they can be supportive. I still don’t quite understand what that means they’ll do, but Aputi assured me I was going to need a tribe around me. Again, I don’t quite understand what he means, but I can try it.

  Figure out a budget. This is going to be a little trickier. Rick has always been the one to pay our bills, so I honestly don’t remember how much they are. I’m sure I’ll have to cut back on a few things. Making my own bento boxes instead of purchasing ready-made ones will help with living on a budget.

  Explain to Trevor why his daddy isn’t living with us anymore.

  This is the one that broke my heart the most. For all his flaws, Rick is a good dad and is deeply loved by his son. Yet, I’m the one who has to tell him his daddy isn’t coming back. The thought brings tears to my eyes. At this point, I’ve told Trevor that Rick is on a business trip, but I know I have to tell him the truth soon.

  The other four items were all Aputi’s ideas. They focused on things like having a “girl’s night” and “finding a hobby”. All things he described as self-care. Does he not realize eating healthy and keeping my house nice is also a form of self-care? Apparently not.

  Regardless, the entire conversation helped organize the situation in my brain. I walked away feeling stronger. Like I can do this. And for that, I owe him so much more than the gluten-free, low-carb, non-dairy enchiladas I’m bringing to him.

  Carefully stepping over the crack in the sidewalk, I gingerly make my way to the front door. It needs a good painting and the landscaping could use some weed eating. But considering he’s only lived here a short time, I’m impressed to see the front stoop has been recently swept and the welcome mat looks free of mud. Not very many people have that much attention to detail.

  Knocking twice, I suddenly realize the blood is draining from my face as my anxieties kick in. What if he’s taking a nap? What if he has company? I should have called first. Darn it. I know better, but with all the kerfuffle happening around me, I forgot all the reasons why you always call before showing up.

  Turning quickly back to my car, I make it only a couple of steps before I hear the door open behind me.

  “Deborah?”

  I freeze and take in the sound of his voice. His tone doesn’t indicate he’s irritated or upset with me. More curious about my surprise visit. Turning slowly, I straighten my spine and brush the invisible lint off my neatly-pressed pants.

  Decision made, I take two quick steps toward him and shove the dish his direction. “I brought you this.”

  He takes it in his hands, confusion written all over his face. Great. I’m already messing this up.

  “As a thank you for the other day.”

  He cocks his head and looks down at my gift, still not speaking. I should have presented it better. Maybe if I’d put it in a gift bag or attached a thank you note to the top. Shoot. My brain is all swirly. I’m usually so much better at this kind of thing.

  “You brought me food?” Aputi finally asks, still inspecting the bowl.

  “As a thank you,” I interject quickly so there’s no question.

  Aputi’s mouth stretches into an amused smile. “You said that already.”

  Flustered at yet another faux pas, I thank my lucky stars my makeup covers a multitude of sins, including blushing when I’m embarrassed. Taking a deep breath, I try to center myself because it might not seem like much to everyone, but a healthy meal is the sign of true appreciation, and Aputi needs to know how much I appreciate him.

  “It’s my award-winning chicken enchiladas, famous for their hand-rolled corn tortillas and creamy secret sauce. The chicken comes from a free-range farm where the hens are fed only high quality, GMO-free corn, and all the rest of the ingredients are local and truly organic. Not like the federal requirements, which is only thirty-three percent organic to use the label legally. These are well and truly artificial ingredient and pesticide free.”

  Aputi peels open the lid and sniffs the food. If I’m not mistaken, he looks excited to eat them. That’s exactly what I was going for, which makes me happy.

  “They don’t have onions, do they?”

  Lifting my chin with pride at a job well done, I give him the answer most people love to hear. “Chopped to the finest size possible so as to add flavor, but not an overwhelming crunch.”

  “I’m allergic.”

  Throwing my hands over my mouth, my eyes widen. “Oh, I’m so sorry. That was so stupid of me. I shouldn’t have made them without asking you first.” I snatch the dish away from him and hug it close to my chest. “I’ll make more for you right now and bring them right back over. Well, it’s going to be a couple hours because I need to deep clean the kitchen to rid it of any onion residue, but if I shift around my cleaning schedule and maybe read through Trevor’s teacher reports while he’s doing jujitsu, I can have them over by dinner time.”

  “No Deborah. Please don’t go out of your way.”

  Aputi steps toward me, his hand out, but I instinctively take a step back, making sure to keep the food far out of his reach or breathing space. I’m just know he’s about to go into anaphylaxis shock. It’s a good thing I have an EpiPen in my purse, for times like these, but I might have to go pick up another one at the pharmacy if I need to use it now.

  “No, really. I want to. It’s the least I can do for almost killing you.”

  “You didn’t almost kill me.”

  “I did. I handed you onions and practically made your throat close up myself.”

  Aputi does the last thing I expect him to do. He laughs. Well now I’m not only embarrassed, I’m annoyed as well.

  “Why are you laughing? This isn’t funny. This is life and death.”

  “I’m laughing because you’re cute.”

  “I beg your… what?”

  Did he just say I’m cute? I’ve been called a lot of things, but cute has never been one of them. But looking at him leaning against the door jamb, arms crossed over his very wide chest that I never noticed until just this moment and…WOW is he a large man. And not in a bad way. In a I’ve-had-many-lovers-because-I’m-so-virile kind of way. That’s saying a lot because I don’t ever read books that have the word “virile” in them, so you know he must have that look about him if I notice it.

  “I said, I think you’re cute.”

  I furrow my brow, still not sure how to take his statement. Is this a compliment or condescending? “I don’t understand what you mean.”

  He shrugs one shoulder. One very massive, very muscular shoulder. How odd to be thinking about his shoulders at a time like this. I’m almost a divorcée and just tried to kill Aputi with onions. Yet, I’m ogling his shoulders. Am I turning into a floozy? Is this what they mean by “emotional upheaval”? I may have to ask Elena about this as well.

  “What other interpretation can there be?” Aputi asks me. “Bringing me dinner as a thank you is one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me. And then to be so concerned about my food allergy that you practically run away with my meal… it’s really sweet. Nice.
Cute.”

  “Oh.” I find my eyes blinking quite a few times as I process what he says. Usually people find me overbearing, not endearing. This is a new reaction. I’m still unclear on how to proceed. I think I need to leave and go clean my bathroom. Nothing clears my thoughts more than making my mirrors shine. “Well, um, I’ll see you later.”

  Turning on my heel, I make quick work of walking back to my SUV and climbing inside, laying the enchiladas inside my travel warming bag so they stay fresh and ready to eat. Still feeling frazzled by the entire exchange, I don’t notice the vehicle coming up behind me until it honks.

  Slamming on my brakes, my body jars forward as I barely avoid the collision. The dirty red Jeep in great need of a paint job speeds around me, the driver probably making a lewd gesture my direction. I barely notice. I’m too busy trying to figure out these weird emotions.

  Aputi thinks I’m cute? As in, endearing? How is that possible, and why does it delight me so much?

  Chapter Four

  Aputi

  As wary as I was about moving here, the last couple of weeks have actually turned out to be pretty great. My new job is about thirty minutes away, but the drive isn’t terrible. I’m up early for the morning shift, but I’m home by mid-afternoon. It works perfectly because Abigail already tried out for and was added to the junior varsity softball team at her new high school. Working early means I can be at all the games as soon as the season officially starts.

  Turning into my neighborhood, though, all I can think about is how beautiful of a day it is. Perfect for starting the yardwork I’ve been wanting to get to. I’ve spent the last however many years enjoying the perks of apartment living. And by “perks”, I mean sharing walls with loud neighbors, scrambling for parking, and generally living at the mercy of when maintenance can make it out to fix whatever breaks. The freedom to do things on my time is the only explanation I have for being excited to mow my lawn.

  As I pull into my driveway, the to-do list running through my head comes to a halt. What is Deborah doing hanging out at Elena’s door again? And this time with the hot dog kid.