My eyes squeeze shut, and once again I give him my back. I fight the tears, wanting nothing more than to be left alone. His footsteps retreat down the hall, and then I hear him punch the lock on the handle before he closes it.
Chapter 14
Once the door latch clicks, my body sinks to the floor, where I clutch the towel to my chest and cry as loud as I can until my throat is too raw to make any more sounds. I lie on the cold, wet kitchen floor and run my fingers through the puddled water. I wish I could feel it. I wish I could feel anything besides guilt. The guilt of Jeff’s death, the guilt of our baby’s death, and now the guilt that I let another man into our home and then laughed with him like nothing in my life had changed. Like my whole world wasn’t spun upside down. Like the air hadn’t been sucked right out of me.
I have no idea how long I’ve lain on the floor, but I calm down, pick up all of the towels I threw down earlier, and take them to the laundry room. At the front door, I see that Nash must have locked it as he left. I flip the deadbolt and take my clothes off as I walk up the stairs. Since my clothes are soaked I throw them on the bathroom floor before crawling into bed.
My skin is cold, my mind is racing, and I can feel my heart beating. It takes several hours before sleep finds me.
My cell phone rings, and I swear there is a freight train running through my head. I reach for it, yank on it so that it comes unplugged, and answer it without bothering to see who it is.
“Hey, Parker. How the hell are ya, kid?”
“Lovely.”
“You hung over?”
“What? No.”
“That’s your hung-over voice.”
“I am not hung over. Just didn’t sleep much.”
“Me either. I’m calling you from the on-call room because I can’t sleep. You okay?”
“Mmm hmm,” I mumble into my pillow.
“Well, you should get the award for the person fullest of shit.”
“What else is new?” I throw my arm over my eyes, knowing she’s right.
Unfortunately, she’s one of those people that is always right and she knows it, so she’s never been afraid to throw it in my face. She’s also one of those people who has always had her life together. Ever since we met, she told me she would be a doctor. She is. She told me she would move back to the East Coast the first chance she got. She did. And she swore she would never settle down, and she hasn’t. We’re different, especially in that area. She could always be single, not have a date on Valentine’s Day or New Year’s, and be totally okay with it. Of course, that just made guys want her even more. I’ve always envied that about her. I wish more than anything I could be okay without someone, especially now.
“That doesn’t sound like my best friend. One of the things I love about you is that you’re rarely full of shit.”
“These days I’m not quite myself.” Just talking to her makes me feel even more pathetic about my life. I dig a little deeper and somehow find the energy to walk to the bathroom and at least try to do something with myself.
“Okay, spill. What’s going on?”
I grab the handle of the faucet, but, I have no water. I rub my temples and go back to bed. I throw my body down and stare up into the ceiling. “Rough night, rough week, rough year. I don’t know.”
“What makes today different then?”
“Well, let’s see…for starters, I invited a man into our house last night.”
“That a girl! And Parker, I mean this in the kindest way possible kid, but there should be no our in that sentence.”
“What did you just say?”
“You said into our house. It’s your house.”
“Not that. The first thing you said. Did you just encourage the fact that I brought a man into our house?”
“Yep. And you just did it again. There is no our anymore, Parker.”
I cover my head with the pillow. “I know.”
“What? Your voice is all muffled.”
I pull my head up and out of the pillow. “I said I know.”
“I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be hurtful, but I do want you to start to face reality, kid.”
“I know that too.”
“So let me guess, support group man?”
I sigh. “Yeah.”
“Have you gotten his story yet?”
“No, and I’m not going to push.”
“Can you at least tell me what he looks like?”
“My God. Are we back in high school? Is that all you still care about?”
“Honey, the important things never change. We’ll be having this conversation when we’re eighty, except at that point I’ll also ask if it still works.”
I laugh a little and then realize she thinks that I’ll be alone at eighty. “Wait, eighty?”
“Not you, kiddo, me.”
“Oh. Why you and not me? I’m the widow here.”
“Exactly.”
“I’m confused.” I roll to my stomach and try to ignore the picture of Jeff and me on the nightstand.
“Parker, you’re meant to be with someone. You always have been.”
“Then I lost it.”
“You’ll find it again.”
I squeeze my eyes shut as tears start to form. “Liv, don’t.”
“What?”
“Please don’t talk like that. It’s disrespectful.”
“To who, Jeff?”
I sit straight up, wanting to reach through the phone and wring her neck. “Yes, Jeff!”
“Come on. Do you think Jeff would want you to be alone for the rest of your life?”
I have thought about this so many times. But it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to move on, not after what I did. So I lie. “Yes.”
“There you go again, full of shit.”
“Why did you call again?”
“I called to say hi, to shoot the breeze, to check in. But now I want to talk about the man you confessed to bringing into your home. The same man you’ve been spending time with and who seems to be making you happy even though your life has been total hell this past year. That sounds like a way better conversation than what I had planned.”
“Olivia…my husband died.” It comes out in a whisper.
“Yeah…almost a year ago.”
“Ten months.” And eighteen days. “Do you really think that’s an acceptable amount of time to get over it?”
“Parker…you know that you’ll never get over it. How could you? You guys were in love. You shared a life together, a child. No one expects you to get over it.”
Silence stretches between us. I hesitate before asking my next question. “What do you expect, then?”
“To move forward, to live, to try to find something in this world that makes you happy. So it’s been ten months. Is it okay if it’s ten years? Please, fill me in on the rules here.”
I don’t respond. I can’t imagine truly being happy again. I’m sure there will be moments when I’ll briefly laugh or days I might get through with no tears. But happy? Happy is a sustained feeling that you have when things in your life are good.
“Parker?”
“Yeah?”
“Do something for me, will ya? I want you to find something, just one thing, every day that makes you happy.”
I inhale and exhale. “I’m sorry Liv, I can’t promise you that. I see the world differently now, and it’s a lot harder to find things, even simple things that make me happy.”
“Okay, then give me one thing a week. Come on, you can do that.”
I’m not one to make promises I don’t intend to keep. One thing a week, can I do that? A month ago, I would have said probably not. But that was before Nash. Before I was finally rid of my job. Before I started venturing out of the house to run errands. I want to, I do. I just don’t know if I’m capable. “I’ll try.”
“Atta girl.”
After hanging up with Olivia, I pick up my wet clothes from the floor and go downstairs to start laundry, but I have no water. I spend the
next few hours tracking down a plumber. By that evening it’s fixed, so I start to clean up the kitchen. Cleaning the kitchen leads to cleaning the dining room, which leads to cleaning the family room, and so on and so on. Cleaning has always calmed me. I spray some cleaner on a towel and dust the coffee table when a smile stretches across my face. I think back to my first date with Jeff. I wasn’t sure I was going to hear from him again after he spent the night in my apartment. I tried not to overthink it, but the night before our first date, I was so nervous that I got up at 2 a.m. and started cleaning.
Shortly after the bar incident, Jeff had asked if he could take me out for a real date. I of course said yes, and he told me he wanted to take me to this Italian restaurant downtown. He showed up at my door with a bouquet of flowers. I smiled and said thank you, but he noticed something was off.
“What’s wrong? Do you not like roses? I thought it was carnations women hated?”
I laughed. “They’re very pretty, and they’re a wonderful gesture. But I don’t like flowers.”
He stepped into my apartment with a confused look on his face. “You don’t like flowers?”
“No. But it was very sweet of you. Here, let me take those.”
He pulled them back and smiled at me. “What’s not to like about flowers?”
I shifted my weight and crossed my arms. “Several things, actually. For one, I would rather spend money on something that’s going to last instead of something that’s going to be dead in a week. And as they’re dying, they make a mess with their leaves and flowers falling all over the place.”
He smirked at me. “Yes, but you get to enjoy them for a couple of days before those things happen.”
“Yeah, but that’s when their smell is at their highest, and I hate that smell.”
He shook his head before smiling again. “You hate the smell of fresh flowers?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because they remind me of funerals.” Jeff stared at me, and his expression turned from confusion to longing.
“You’re one of those.”
“One of what?” I asked.
“One of those women most men have only heard about but have not actually experienced.”
“What do you mean?”
“A woman who is full of surprises, challenging, but so refreshing and adorable you can’t help but want to be near her.”
My whole body began to tingle as he leaned in and gently kissed me. When he pulled away, I already saw the love in his eyes, and I felt the same thing. I went to grab the flowers again, but he leaned back out of my reach. “I have a better idea. Come on, we’re going to be late for our reservation.”
I tilted my head and gave him a questioning look, and then grabbed my purse. He held the door open for me. “I don’t understand, what are you going to do with those?”
“Give them to someone who will appreciate them.”
I slapped him on the arm. “Hey!”
“Well…?”
“I just wanted to be honest with you.”
He walked closer and slid his arm to my lower back. “I appreciate that, and it was cute. I never thought about it like that. And I promise for the rest of my life, I’ll never buy you flowers again.”
Blushing, I asked, “The rest of your life, huh? You seem pretty sure of yourself.”
He hesitated and then said, “Yes, I am.” I smiled and we walked out of my apartment building. As we did, we passed a little boy who was probably seven or eight dribbling a basketball, and his mom was nearby reading a book.
“Hang on just a sec, okay?” Jeff said.
Jeff walked up to the little boy and talked to him for a few minutes. The mom sat up taller and paid a little more attention to her son. She glared at me, but I smiled, trying to reassure her. We both turned back to the little boy and Jeff. The boy yelled, “Okay.” and Jeff handed him the flowers. The little boy, now bursting with excitement, ran over to his mom and gave her the flowers. She laughed and hugged her son.
With a huge grin on his face, Jeff walked back over and took my hand. “Ready?”
I squeezed his hand. We never talked about it again, but Jeff kept his promise. In the several years we were together, he never gave me flowers again. He sent me balloons on birthdays or cards on special occasions. For our first anniversary, he actually sent me a singing quartet to work, but that was just to embarrass me. Jeff always kept his promises, except the one where he promised to grow old with me. I hate him for breaking that promise.
I sit the bottle of cleaner as well as the towel down on the coffee table. I’m haunted by the silence of our house as well as my own beating heart, because that means I’m still here and they’re not. I make my way back upstairs, climb back into bed, and throw the cover over me, hoping that sleep comes.
Chapter 15
I’m not even sure why I came back to McFadden’s. We mentioned in passing our first night here that we could make this a weekly occurrence as opposed to going to support group. But that was before I had yet another breakdown in front of him. I don’t even know if Nash will show up after I kicked him out of our—my home. I grab my coffee and stand up to leave when I see him walking through the door. He gives me a tight smile, and I sit back down.
“Didn't know if you’d be here,” he says.
My eyes stay glued to the table. “I wasn’t sure I would come myself.”
“You okay?”
“Can we just forget it?" I ask.
"Jensen."
"Nash, please."
He nods but doesn’t say anything. He then jumps out of his seat and walks to the counter. I get up myself and walk to the magazine rack. I pick up several, not knowing how long we’ll be here or even if I’ll be able to focus. I used to love to read, and watch TV and movies. I noticed after Jeff died that most stories revolve around love, couples, happily-ever-afters. Doesn’t matter if it’s a cop show, sci-fi, or even the news. People live for their love stories, and I can’t stand those reminders. At least in magazines I can look at pictures. Pictures of clothes that I no longer care about, gadgets I no longer want to buy, and health concerns I no longer worry about treating. Why bother worrying about taking care of yourself when you have no one to take care of?
Nash slides back into our booth with our coffees. "Did you get your water turned back on?"
"Yeah. I found a plumber that came out on Sunday. He told me that the valve was pretty corroded, so it could have happened to anyone."
"I really am sorry." He rubs the back of his neck.
I swallow hard and try to ignore his fidgeting. "I never should have asked you. It's my fault."
His head slightly flinches. “Why is it anyone’s fault?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Not really.”
“I shouldn’t have asked a strange man into my home.”
“Strange man?”
“I didn’t mean it like that…”
“Why can’t you see our relationship for what it is? We’re friends."
I pick up my coffee and blow on it before taking a sip. I gently sit it down and rotate it in circles, back and forth, back and forth.
“That’s not how you see us?” he asks.
I force my eyes and hands away from my cup and give him my attention even though I don’t want to have this conversation. He deserves at least that from me. “That’s what scares me, Nash. I don’t know how I see us. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a guy friend that wasn’t connected to my husband or wasn’t one of my girlfriends’ significant others. It feels…wrong.” I can’t look at him anymore, so my eyes dart everywhere but toward him. It doesn’t matter though, I can still feel his eyes raking over me.
Several beats pass before he says, “Like you’re cheating?”
I don’t say anything for several moments. I finally give him a curt nod and feel a tear run down my face. It only makes it half way down my cheek before his thumb brushes it away. I pull back and my eyes fall to hi
s. I’m not sure why he looks so wounded. Shouldn’t I be the one wounded in this scenario?
“Jensen, I just want to be here for you, in whatever way you’ll have me. I’m trying to be a friend and help you through this.” He pauses, I assume to make sure I hear him over the doubts in my own head. Can I do that?
He continues, “Let me give you what I didn’t have when I was going through something similar.”
Something similar? “We never talk about you.”
“It’s not important right now…one day, but not today.” Not the answer I wanted, but I said I wouldn’t push. I flip a couple of pages of my magazine. I wish he would share something with me. It might make this easier, the grief, the getting to know each other, becoming friends. “We all have a past, Jensen.”
He has no idea. I’m sure if he knew how I played a role in my husband’s and child’s deaths, he wouldn’t be sitting here with me. “Some more tragic than others.” It leaves my lips before my brain can even process it. I move my hand in front of my mouth as his eyes meet mine.
His head tilts to the side, and then sorrow wraps around him. A few seconds pass before he says, “Yeah, something like that. So…maybe friends isn’t a bad idea after all?”
“I’m sorry about how I acted last Saturday. I’m sure that was uncomfortable for you.”
“Want to talk about it?”
I run my hand along the table, wiping away remnants of the sweetener I placed in my coffee earlier. No, but I should. I owe him that. After all, I’m the one that invited him in. “I guess I owe you an explanation.”
“No.”
My head shoots up. “What?”
“Grief is not explainable.”
I sigh. “It was the first time I really laughed since Jeff died. I mean, stomach hurting, eyes watering, something-is-truly-funny laughing.”
“And you felt guilty?”
“Yes. I felt horrible. How could I laugh after everything that has happened?”
“How could you not?”
I shake my head. “You don’t get it.”
“I guarantee I get it better than you think. This shit’s hard. But you’re still here. You lost your husband, but you can’t lose yourself too.”
The Loss Between Us Page 7
