Twenty minutes in that line made me realise that eating ice cream out of the tub while drinking wine straight from the bottle was a perfect Friday night. I think I was OK with that version of me.
Just as I’d resigned myself to a lifetime of stretchy pants and rom-coms, I heard some decent-sounding music coming out of a hipster-looking bar. I’d never been in a place that cool and decided that since I’d gone to all the effort of getting dressed up, I might as well do something with it.
Inside, I found men with perfectly shaped beards and women with winged eyeliner, dark lips, and tattooed arms. It was like another world, but in a good way. On the wall were bottles of whiskey. As many different types as you could think of. And there were the normal-looking people there too, but I didn’t feel so stuck-out-like-a-sore-thumb different there. I liked it.
Taking a seat near at the bar, I picked up a menu and played with my earring as I perused the different whiskey-based cocktails. “You waiting for someone?” the guy behind the bar asked. He was a blond, with perfectly coiffed hair, a full beard, and those stretcher things in his ears. He wore a pair of faded jeans and a white T-shirt with a black vest on top of it.
“No. Just…checking things out, I guess.”
He smiled. It made the points of his beard tilt upward. “It’s a great place to check out. Are you familiar with any of the drinks here?”
“I honestly have no idea. I don’t think I’ve ever tried whiskey.”
“Whoa. Don’t let anyone else in here hear you say that.” When he laughed, his blue eyes sparkled. “How about I start you out with something mild?”
I agreed and handed over my debit card. He selected a bottle from the shelf, pouring it into a large glass with a ballooned shape. The amber liquid looked like a tiny splash inside it.
“Let me know if you need anything else. I’ll be keeping an eye out for you.”
“Why? Because I’m here alone?”
He nodded. “Pretty girls shouldn’t be out drinking alone.”
I should have summoned the feminist in me and argued that pretty girls should be able to do whatever they wanted. But his words catapulted me back in time to when Tyler had helped me home after breaking my ankle.
“This isn’t really the safest place for pretty girls to live alone.”
I let out a laugh as he brought me my pain pills and some water. “Is that a line?”
He held out the glass for me to take. “I don’t need lines, Sarah,” he said softly, as he placed the pills in my hand, his fingertips brushing along my palm. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m already alone with you in your apartment—anything could happen.”
I smiled at the memory, downed the whiskey, then ordered another. That one arrived with a warning from the young bartender not to drink them too fast. I was supposed to sip it, apparently.
Turning on my bar stool, I surveyed the dimly lit bar. There were couples huddled together, couples flirting. Groups of singles laughing, and then there was me, sipping whiskey alone.
“Want to tell me why you decided to come out all by yourself? You don’t seem like you’re on the hunt,” the bartender asked during a quiet moment.
“On the hunt?”
“You know, like those two.” He nodded his head toward a couple who were obviously flirting with each other. The sexual tension between them was crazy.
“Oh, no. No. I’m not on the hunt. I’m just…reclaiming my life, I guess.” I took a sip of the whiskey, feeling like the grown-up Sarah I’d always imagined I’d be.
Back in high school, I’d always sworn to never be boring or normal. I was going to do exciting things—the kinds of things I saw the beautiful people doing on TV. I’d hold dinner parties where only the smartest people were invited. We’d eat gourmet food and have scintillating conversations where I’d undoubtedly make an uproariously funny joke and everyone would leave, still smiling at my wit. And they’d talk about how wonderful my parties were for weeks after each one was done, begging me for the date of my next one.
Swirling the liquid in the glass, I watched the tiny tornado it created, smiling at trite fancies of a teenage girl who had no idea what the world was like outside her little country town.
“You’re learning,” the bartender commented, watching me.
“There’s life in this old girl yet,” I joked.
“You don’t seem that old. I wouldn’t peg you past twenty-five.”
“Close. Twenty-seven.”
He somehow managed to wince and smile at the same time. “I won’t tell you my age then.”
“Why would it matter? Oh, unless of course you’re flirting with me.”
He laughed and his cheeks pinked up. “I might be. I might also just be doing my job. But we’ll just have to wait and see.” He winked.
“Ha.” The single sound popped out of my mouth and I sipped away the last of my whiskey. “There isn’t very much in these things.”
“I’ll make you something with a mixer this time.”
Taking my debit card for the third time, he made me a whiskey sour and set it in front of me. It was served in an old-fashioned champagne glass. “Fancy,” I said, slipping my card back into my purse.
Smiling, he leaned on the bar in front of me, his forearms looking taut with various black and grey tattoo designs on them. I pegged him in his early twenties. He had that cockiness about him that twenty-year-olds seemed to have.
“So, what are you reclaiming your life from? Breakup? Divorce?”
“I’m widowed,” I responded, the answer surprising me as it fell straight from my lips without catching in my throat. I didn’t know if it was the alcohol relaxing me or if I really was ready to talk about it, but I was secretly pleased with myself. I had been so vehemently opposed to telling anyone about him, that I had no idea I could. Before now, I had barely been able to think about him without choking up. But then, I’d been doing that a lot lately too. I’d been thinking about Tyler yet I hadn’t been crying. I’d been feeling guilty for loving him while wanting Jude. But I hadn’t been crying.
Huh. That was interesting.
The bartender looked a little taken aback. “What happened?” he asked before apologising for being nosey.
“It’s fine,” I said, testing this newfound ability of mine. “He had MS and he took his own life when the pain got too much for him.” I cannot believe that just came out of my mouth. Was I high?
“Oh my God,” he said, leaning forward to hear me better. “Did you know that he was planning to?”
I was so shocked that I was able to talk about this to a stranger no less that I just kept going. “Yes. He didn’t want to lose complete control of his body.”
He stood there, watching me carefully, that look of pity that people get slowly taking over his face. “That must have been really hard for you.”
“I just wish there had been another way, you know? Like how in the movies there can be these miracle drugs or experimental surgeries that make everything suddenly OK. He suffered so much.”
“How long were you with him?”
“A little over a year.”
He was leaning in his elbows at this point. “And how long ago did he die?”
“Almost five years. It still feels like yesterday.”
“Sounds like you’re still really hurting.”
“I don’t want to. But it’s hard to let go. I get the logistics of it, I get that you’re supposed to pack up their things and say goodbye properly. But that feels a lot like erasing a memory to me.”
He opened his mouth to say something but I stopped him and stood up. “I’m sorry, I have to go. I should really be having this conversation with someone else.”
The bartender pulled his head back, looking a little dumbfounded. But it wasn’t his sympathy I was after. I wasn’t after sympathy at all. I’d had enough of that to last me a thousand lifetimes. What I wanted, no, needed, was to be talking to the one man who helped put a little colour back into my world again—the man
who made my heart want to beat again. I needed to talk to Jude. I didn’t want to lose him.
I was ready.
Jude opened the door about ten seconds after I knocked. He was wearing pyjama bottoms, a faded black cotton T-shirt and he had his glasses in his hands.
“His name was Tyler. He died at twenty-two after a long battle with MS. I helped him go and I hate that that’s how things ended. I especially hate that he died not knowing he was going to be a father. And you’re not a Band-Aid, Jude. You’re a reason.”
“I think you should come inside,” he said, sliding his glasses on before looking at me. His eyes almost bugged out of his head when he caught a clear sight of my skin-tight dress. “Have you been out somewhere, drinking?”
“Yes,” I admitted. “But I’m not drunk. And I didn’t go out to pick up, I just…wanted to be Sarah for a few hours.”
“And this is Sarah?” His hand gestured toward my dress and heels.
“No. This is someone trying to be something they aren’t anymore.”
“Who are you now?”
“I’m a mother. I’m a widow. I’m a woman knocking on a man’s door in the middle of the night because I want to add happy to the list of things I am. You make me want to be happy, Jude. That’s a really big deal for me.” I paused, expecting him to say something. But when he didn’t, my nerves flared and I continued on, needing to convince him to give me a chance. “I went out tonight, trying to prove that I could be the girl I used to be. I thought that if I could find her then maybe I could find that strength I once had to tell fate to fuck off; I’m in control of my life. But that’s not really how it works, is it? When you meet someone, and you connect with them, you can’t turn around and decide you don’t want that anymore because you’re scared, right? Because when you’re apart you feel like there’s something really important missing. That’s how I feel right now, Jude. I don’t want to be Sarah on my own. I want to be Sarah and Jude. So here I am. I’ll answer any question you want to ask.”
“You want to be Sarah and Jude?” His voice was calm, giving me no real idea what was going through his mind after I vomited words all over him.
I nodded quickly. “Yes. If you still want that, of course.”
He lifted his head in thoughtful acknowledgement then turned and moved into his kitchen, switching on the kettle.
I followed behind him, my heart thumping like a horse galloping across my ribcage. Why wasn’t he saying anything? Had he already changed his mind about me? Should I just leave and forget this whole thing? The longer the quiet dragged on, the more foolish I began to feel. I took a moment to look around his apartment as a means to calm down so I didn’t turn around and run. It was much smaller than mine, with the lounge room pressing right up against the tiny kitchen. He had it filled with bookcases overflowing with books. There was a couch, a lamp, a coffee table, and a TV. That was it.
“How am I a reason?” he asked finally as he took two mugs out of his cupboard and set them down. My head snapped back to attention, and I stepped a little closer, placing my hands on the edge of his bench top while he prepared the coffee. He didn’t have to ask how I took mine because he’d already figured it out from our previous interactions. I don’t know why, but watching the simple movement, knowing he’d been quietly paying attention to me, calmed my racing heart.
I took a deep breath, ready to explain whatever he needed. “I’ve been mourning for so long. Even before Tyler died, I was in mourning. Knowing it was going to come didn’t make it any easier. It made it so much harder because I felt responsible. I should have convinced him to hold on, just a little more…”
He handed me the mug of steaming coffee and we sat together on his dark brown leather sofa, our knees facing each other. He didn’t say anything, he just waited for me to keep talking. For once, I actually wanted to. It felt surprisingly good to be getting this stuff out of my head. It felt good to be calm while doing it. I knew that Jude was the reason I was able to do that. Something about my developing relationship with him gave me the strength I needed to start healing.
“I know that the end still would have been the same,” I continued. “He only had suffering ahead of him and I helped him have the tiniest shred of control over something that had taken everything from him. I know that, understand it even. But it still feels so heavy on my shoulders. I feel like I’ve been drifting through life counting days, counting anniversaries, honouring his memory by doing some of the things he couldn’t with the money he left us. But nothing was changing. I wasn’t coming out of the cloud of grief I’d found myself in. Until you stepped on my gum and became the reason I stopped being so damn sad all the time. Every time I saw you or spent time with you, I’d forget to be sad. And then somewhere along the way, the sadness stopped coming back and I started to feel more like me again.”
I looked at him, thinking that surely he’d say something at that point, but he just took a sip of his drink and waited for more. My nerves returned, and I wondered if maybe my explanation wasn’t going to be enough. Maybe he’d given it so much thought over the last week that he’d decided that dating a widowed woman with a child would be too hard for him. Maybe I wasn’t explaining myself properly… Was I not saying the words he needed to hear?
“I know that sounds like you were a Band-Aid.” I tried again. “But a Band-Aid is something that covers up the pain. And you haven’t been that for me. You’ve made me want to smile again, to laugh, to…well, feel something more than sorrow and loss. I want this. Whatever this thing is between us. And I know that I have Ty to consider in this scenario and I want you to know that I’m not looking for you to be the standin dad. I don’t want that at all. But I’d like you to be the friend you have been to him. And with me? I was hoping you’d like to be something more.”
Sitting forward, he placed his mug on the coffee table before taking mine and doing the same. Then he removed his glasses, leaned in, and kissed me. It tasted of the coffee he’d been drinking mixed with the whiskey I’d had earlier, his tongue far more sure of its movement than Jude seemed as a man. The butterflies in my stomach rose with full force—wide awake and excited.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him back. He was a smart man with a confident mouth. I found that sexy as hell as I lost myself to the kiss, felt myself sink into his arms, enjoying every nuanced movement. In that moment, I felt happy. I felt something close to whole again.
And Jude Baker, with his quiet strength, his determined, intelligent mind, and beautiful presence, was my reason. He was my reason.
12
Saturday, 10th December 2016
THE NEXT MORNING, a dull whiskey-induced headache roused me. I hadn’t drunk a huge amount, but alcohol mixed with a lack of sleep caused a solid hammering on the inside of my head. It was worth it though, because sitting up till the early hours of the morning talking with Jude had been wonderful. You could throw any topic at him and have an hour-long conversation about it. He could make the manufacturing of a cardboard toilet roll sound interesting. I didn’t know if it was the accent, or just him. But I knew that I could listen to him all day and all night. I was slightly infatuated.
I trudged to the kitchen and pulled two headache pills out of the cabinet above the fridge and swallowed them with a large glass of cold water. It was only then that I thought of Tyler, or more so the absence of him. And it didn’t feel like the brick wall slamming into me that it had a couple of months before. I still missed him, but I wasn’t overwhelmed by the constant pain. Like my headache, the ache in my heart had dulled to a subtle throb.
Walking into Tyler’s room, I sat on his bed and pulled out the journal, running my hand over the worn leather cover. I’d seen it so many times, read every word, studied every drawing, every list too many times to count. It was as if his essence lived inside it; it smelled of him when I lifted it to my nose, and it brought him to life whenever I gazed upon its pages.
Opening it, I flipped through to the end when his handw
riting started to get shaky and his entries a lot shorter. On one particular day, he’d left the date blank and in bold writing in the centre of the page, he’d written ‘When I’m gone’ and underlined it like it was the start of one of his lists. Beneath it, it said only one thing: ‘Fall in love again.’ It had hurt me too much to read those words before now. I had been skipping over them, knowing they were there but refusing to look. But I was ready to see them now. I looked at the page, studied each letter in each word and the way he’d written each letter over and over again on top of itself so the words looked thick and stood out on the back of the page.
I ran my hand over the paper, noticing a slight yellowing stain from where a drop had landed. A tear perhaps? Was it Tyler’s, or was it mine?
Releasing my breath slowly, I held the journal against my chest. “Is this really what you want, Tyler?”
I swore I heard his voice say, “I just want to see you smiling again, sweetheart.”
“I’m trying,” I breathed, lowering the journal to my lap and closing it reverently before taking it and tucking it into the wardrobe in my room, giving it a new home. Then I went to the storage cupboard and pulled out a pile of flattened boxes. It was time to pack away Tyler’s things. He didn’t need them anymore. I didn’t either. Tyler would live forever in my heart, and packing away his things didn’t change that. I didn’t need to keep an entire room dedicated to him any longer. It was time.
“What are you doing?” Looking up, I found Susan standing in the doorway, a wide-eyed expression on her face as she slowly took in the room. Had she been in here since they took him away? I didn’t think so.
I took a moment before I answered her. I honestly hadn’t thought about how my doing this would affect her. “I thought it was time to put some of his things away.”
“Mummy!” Ty came barrelling into the room, jumping on the end of the bed before tumbling off and landing on the floor next to me, giggling. I grabbed him and hugged him tight.
One More Thing Page 9
