The Loss Between Us

by Brooke McBride

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know, I just think that coffee and hanging out is different than dinner?”

  “Because dinner is more like a date?” I nod my head. “I get it. Was your husband the type to not let you go to dinner with a friend…a guy friend?”

  “No, of course not, he wasn’t like that! In fact, his best friend was a woman, so we didn’t have those jealousy issues.” I’m not sure if it’s my imagination, but something passes over his face when I mention Julia, and then it’s gone.

  “If it didn’t matter while he was alive, it sure as hell shouldn’t matter now that he’s dead.”

  I glare at him as my body tenses at his brashness. I sometimes think anger is a synonym for grief, and just like a warm blanket, I’m draped in both. “You don’t have to be so crass about it.”

  “Sorry, was I? Wasn’t my intention. I thought I was just stating a fact.”

  “Yeah, but still.”

  “But what? It’s a fact, Jensen, and the sooner you accept it, the easier it will be. Trust me.”

  Chapter 12

  Somehow, he talked me into dinner, but I insisted we go Dutch and he agreed. We’re seated in a booth as I take in the restaurant’s surroundings. The lights are dim, instrumental music is playing in the background, and I try to drown it out by focusing on the sounds of glasses, silverware and plates being moved about. The aroma of fresh spices and sizzling food assaults me as I try to force my eyes away from all of the happy couples out on a Saturday night.

  “Jensen?” I glance back over to Nash, and my eyes fall to the waitress who has joined us. “What would you like to drink?”

  “Oh, sorry. Um, water. Water’s fine.”

  Nash smiles and says, “Two waters please.” His attention focuses back on me as she walks away. “Have you been here before?”

  I’m perusing the menu and thinking about Jeff. He’s never far from my thoughts, but this feels different. I can’t do this, so I close the menu and get ready to tell Nash that I need to go, but as I look up he cuts me off. “Tell me about him.”

  “What?”

  “Jeff. Tell me about him. You’re obviously thinking about him right now. And that’s okay. I want you to know it’s okay to talk to me. About anything.”

  “I don’t think I’m comfortable talking about him.”

  “Why not?”

  I fidget with the paper strip that was wrapped around the silverware. I rub it between my fingers, pull it tight so that it makes a small cylinder, and then unwind it again, only to repeat this process. A glass of water slides in front of me and I gulp down half of it.

  Nash says, “We’re going to need a few minutes.”

  He’s just trying to help. All he’s done is try to help me. I take a deep breath and open my mouth, but then close it again. I try to think of what I want to say, but it’s harder than I imagined. “I haven’t talked about him to anyone in a while. I mean, I think about him. About our life. Most days it consumes me.”

  “Where did you meet?”

  A tiny smile starts to form until I remember Jeff usually tells this story. He loves to tell the story because he comes out looking like the hero. I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing the tears to stay away. I struggle to speak until I feel Nash’s hand grip mine. I clear my throat and say, “We met at law school. First semester torts class.” Nash’s thumb gently rubs across my hand once, then twice, and then he pulls away. I open my eyes.

  “We didn’t pay much attention to each other until the end of semester after we had to work on the same group and give a presentation together. Once the semester was done, we went out to celebrate with some other people in the class. But it didn’t take long for Jeff and me to end up by ourselves talking.” I start to laugh. I can’t believe I’m about to tell Nash this story. “My drink of choice at the time was lemon drop martinis. Let’s just say I was enjoying myself. I’d had one too many drinks and I knew it, but there was no way I was leaving. I remember his hand brushed up against my leg, and his voice grew quieter until I had to lean closer for him to talk into my ear in order to hear him. I couldn’t tell you what he said, but it didn’t matter. He had me, and he knew it.”

  “Sounds like a pretty cool night.”

  I start to laugh. “Well sort of. The beginning was.”

  “What happened after that?”

  “There’s a lot about that night I don’t remember. But I’ll never forget throwing up all over his legs.”

  Nash starts to cough and wipes away remnants of water dribbling down his chin. “What did he do?”

  I beam, thinking back and remembering the look on Jeff’s face. “We both sat there in shock. I had tears running down my face, and I thought about running to the bathroom to hide until Jeff started to laugh.”

  “He laughed?”

  “Yep. He used to tell his friends that he had been chasing me all semester and that he wasn’t going to let a little vomit get in his way.”

  Nash is still laughing but takes a break to ask, “Then what?”

  “The rest is history. After that he never called me Jensen again. It was always Lemondrop.”

  Nash’s eye contact is steady as large pupils stare back at me. “Lemondrop,” he says with a nod. “He was a lucky guy.”

  I shake my head. “No, I was the lucky one.”

  Nash leans over, grabs my hand again, and squeezes it so hard I almost pull away…almost. “No, like I said. He was a lucky guy.” We stare at each other until the waitress interrupts us.

  “You guys ready to order?”

  Nash slowly withdraws his hand, looks down at his menu, and says, “Ladies first.”

  Chapter 13

  At one point in my therapy, my doctor said new opportunities would present themselves. She told me it would happen sooner or later, and that when it did, I should focus on the present and not dwell in the past. So I do. I tell myself I haven’t been out to eat for months, and it used to be one of my favorite things to do. Nash is great company. There is an easiness about him and about us that I enjoy, and it’s a nice change of pace for me. I also tell myself it’s normal, even though it feels anything but.

  Once our meals arrive, I relax a little. We spend the rest of dinner talking about Nash’s bike and how he’s planning a long trip now that he has a reliable ride. We also talk about his job and some of the people he works with. The dinner goes quickly, and even though I’m surprised and don’t want to admit it to Nash or myself, I have a good time.

  He pulls into my driveway, kills the ignition, and we sit in silence. Finally, he says, “Let me walk you up.”

  As I walk to the door, I search for my keys and step up on the porch. I regret not wearing a jacket as the chill in the March air envelops me.

  “Thank you for your help today. You were a good negotiator.” Nash says.

  I smile as I’m still digging in my purse and then pull my keys out. “Not a problem. It was fun. I haven’t done that in a while.” I unlock the door, step in, and fumble for the switch. I glance down and see the wet rag on the floor from earlier.

  “Goodnight, Jensen.” Nash moves and takes a few steps down from the porch.

  “Wait!”

  Nash shifts back around with his hands in his pockets and then steps back up on the porch. “Yeah?”

  I glance down at the rag again and then back to Nash. “Well, I was wondering if you could…”

  He takes a step closer, “Yeah?”

  “Well…I hate to ask you, but…”

  One more step closer. “Jensen, what do you need?”

  “My faucet’s been leaking. I’ve been meaning to call a plumber, but Jeff usually took care of those things, so I don’t even know what to ask, or what a good price is, and then I was worried about being alone in the house with a stranger, so I’ve been using these rags that I bought on an infomercial that are supposed to soak up twice their mass, or is it three times their mass? I don’t know, and they work well. Or at least they did work, but it seems like the leak is gettin
g worse, so I…”

  “Jensen!”

  “Hmmm?”

  “I said I’ll look at it, but you have to stop rambling and let me in.”

  “Oh, right, of course.” I open the door wider and step aside so he can come in. He glances up and around while I close the door. He then looks at me with his hands in his pockets once again and rocks back on his heels. I look down and fiddle with my hands.

  “So…”

  I glance back up at him. “So…”

  “Is this leak in the bathroom?”

  Mentally, I slap my hand to my forehead. “Sorry. No, it’s in the kitchen. I’m sorry, it’s been a long time since I’ve had someone in the house. Well, besides my mother. But she doesn’t count. Plus, she usually just lets herself in anyway. Well, after knocking several times, but I’ve learned to ignore it…but that doesn’t help, because she has her own key and she uses it whenever she pleases.” I shut up and see he’s grinning at me because I rambled. I sigh. “It’s this way.”

  I walk past him, flipping on lights as we go through the dining room and into the kitchen. I flip on the last switch and take in the sight before me. I love this kitchen. Well, I loved it when Jeff and I bought the house. I loved to cook and bake and entertain. But I haven’t done any of those things since he’s been gone. Plus, food hasn’t been much of a priority for me, so this room is barely used anymore.

  Nash is still looking around. “This place is amazing.”

  “Oh, yeah…thanks.” I brush past him and open up the bottom cabinet doors. “The leak is over here.”

  Nash walks around the large marble island and over to the sink. He kneels and runs his hand along the base of the cabinet. "Yeah, there is definitely moisture here. Looks like your wood has warped a little."

  "That's not good."

  "No." He leans down and motions to underneath the sink. "May I?"

  "Yeah. If you want to hand me stuff, I'll get it out of your way."

  He starts to unload the items, handing them to me above his head. When everything is removed, he asks, "Got a flashlight?"

  "Um, I’m sure we do. Well, here…" I pull out my phone from my back pocket and bring up the flashlight app. I kneel and try to angle it so he can see. “Is that better?”

  "Yeah, thanks.” He pauses for a few moments. “It looks like your connection to the valve is leaking. Do you have a wrench?"

  "Probably.” Jeff was always asking for tools for Christmas, even though he wasn’t great at using them. But he was learning. “How big?"

  Nash scoots out until his face comes into view. “Probably on the smaller side. Do you want to bring me a few and I'll get an idea what I need?"

  "Yeah, they're in the garage. I'll be right back." I go directly to Jeff’s tool chest, and it takes me several minutes to finally locate the wrenches. I grab the smallest three and head back to the kitchen. I kneel back down next to Nash. "Will one of these work?"

  He tries one but tells me it’s too big. He tries another, same thing. He finally asks, "Do you have one that is a tad bit smaller than this one?"

  "Yep, it's the last one I brought." I hand it over to him and wait while he tries it.

  "That's it. Let me tighten this, and then we'll see if that makes a difference." Metal clanks against metal, and I start to feel flushed as Nash flexes his bicep, which makes a peak so beautiful I look away. He continues to grunt and groan. Maybe I waited too long? He grunts one more time and then asks, "Can you move the light a little to the right?"

  "Your legs are in the way.” I attempt to get out of his way. “Here, let me go this way." I hover over him with the light and then bend down and move my hand farther into the cabinet.

  "Stop. Right there.” He grunts again. “Damn, this thing isn't budging."

  Then all hell breaks loose. Water sprays Nash in the face and then all over my legs. I scream, "Oh my God!"

  "Shit!" Nash scurries out from underneath the sink, practically knocking me over in the process. "Where's your shutoff valve?"

  "What's a shutoff valve?"

  "Shit! Where's your basement?"

  "Right there, second door on the right."

  Nash takes off and throws open the door. He gallops down the stairs and frantically searches for something. I realize it’s the light switch.

  “On your right,” I yell.

  Once he finds it, he runs away, presumably looking for the shutoff valve. I can’t help him with that one.

  Several seconds later, the water that was gushing under the cabinet turns into a drizzle and stops altogether. Nash takes the stairs two at a time while he wipes his face with his shirt sleeve. He reaches the top of the stairs, and I move out of his way. As he runs across the kitchen, he starts to go down right as he heads to the island. There’s a squeal that reminds me of a teenage girl, and then it all happens so fast that I barely have a second to process that he may be hurt.

  Running toward him, I grab the counter before I fall myself. "Oh my gosh, are you okay?" He’s lying on his back with his arm across his face as his body shakes. "Nash, say something! Are you hurt?"

  He moves his arm and I look for blood, bruising, anything to get an idea of what injury he’s hiding. But he’s laughing, and he laughs even harder when he looks at me. I glare at him and then start to laugh myself, releasing all of the tension and worry that I was feeling just ten seconds earlier. He’s okay. I laugh so hard hot tears run down my face, and I grab my stomach because it hurts to laugh this hard. This goes on for what feels like hours. I let go of everything…the grief, the anger, sadness, frustration, sorrow. Pure joy feels good. Nash is still laughing, soaked from head to toe.

  "You look like a drowned rat," I say through fits of laughing.

  He takes a deep breath and finally stops laughing enough to talk. "I could say the same for you. Think we should have called a plumber."

  "Apparently."

  "Sorry."

  I cover my face and try to get my breathing to return to normal. But I think about it again and laugh some more. "I saw you going down, and it was in slow motion. And I’m sorry but…” I start to laugh again and can’t get it out.

  “What, Chuckles?”

  “That squeal you made.” I clutch my stomach and rock back and forth.

  "Thanks a lot."

  "I’m sorry, I just…” I have to stop again. “You sounded like a teenage girl. I haven't laughed like this in so long." When I look back to Nash, he’s no longer laughing, he’s staring with a wide grin on his face. As we look at one another, his breathing slows and the grin on his face relaxes into a calm smile. He stops blinking, and I begin to feel that he is no longer looking at me, but in me.

  I feel my face flush and my smile fall. My throat tightens, and I move my hands to cover my face. You would think I would be used to this onslaught of conflicting emotions. Since Jeff died, it’s the one constant I’m familiar with. I don’t control my emotions any more than I control the weather. I don’t want Nash to see me cry. My shoulders shake up and down, and I feel him scoot closer to me. I wish he wouldn’t. Lord, how I wish he wouldn’t.

  His arm wraps around my shoulder as he pulls me to his chest. "Jensen, it's okay to laugh."

  He says it as a whisper, and my cries morph into sobs. He makes no other movements and says nothing more. He lets me cry in his arms, the one place I shouldn’t be, but I make no attempt to move away. I cry for what could be minutes, or hours, I don’t know. But finally my breathing starts to calm, and I remove my hands from my face. Staring back into his eyes, the look of endearment that was once stretched across his face has been replaced with pity. I hate that look. Out of all the looks people give me, that is the one that bothers me the most because it’s a reflection of how weak and helpless I feel. That’s a reminder I simply don’t need.

  I shake my head at him and scoot away. "I think you need to go."

  His head jerks back as if he’s been hit. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes before staring into me again. "Jensen. Do
n’t…don’t shut me out."

  He doesn’t understand. I don’t do this anymore. I don’t lose it in front of people, because when I do, it makes them uncomfortable, it makes me uncomfortable, and it gives them an idea that I need to be fixed or I need to be helped. But I just want to be left alone. Except I don’t want him to leave me alone. I’m so confused. He shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have let him in. And I certainly shouldn’t have asked him to fix something Jeff was supposed to fix. I resent Nash for it, even though I put him in this situation.

  "Nash, you need to go." I stand up crossing the kitchen, hanging onto the counter as I go so I don’t slip. I grab a towel, wipe my arms down, and then hand it to Nash.

  He stands and starts to wipe stuff down. "At least let me help you clean up this mess."

  "I've got it. Just go."

  "Jensen, please. I’ll help you."

  I don’t mean for it to happen, but sometimes the anger has a mind of its own. "Just go!" I scream.

  "Jensen, I can't.” I can tell he’s trying not to scare me more than I already am. His voice is soft and slow. “I had to shut the water off. I need to fix the valve so that I can turn the water back on."

  My back is to him as my hands grip the edge of the counter. I hunch my shoulders and hang my head. "Don't worry about it. I'll call someone first thing tomorrow morning."

  "Tomorrow is Sunday. You'll never get someone out here to fix it, and I won't leave you without water."

  "Then I'll go to my parent's." I whirl around and try to conceal my anger. I asked for his help. This is my doing. "Please leave. I never should have asked you to help me."

  "Jensen..."

  “Nash, leave. Now!"

  He hesitates and sighs but finally says, “Okay."