I dash out the door before she can decide to ask me anything else.
Ryder has already texted me his address, so I put it into my navigation system and listen to the monotone British lady try to guide me to his house—she keeps telling me to turn around since I’m going to the coffee shop first. I’ve always wondered why the voices on navigation systems are British when we live in America. Is it some kind of conspiracy or something? Is it someone’s way of trying to tell us the British are coming? I frown when a memory prickles at my mind.
“Ben, I’m telling you, someone’s trying to warn us. A modern day Paul Revere. But instead of just saying, ‘The British are coming,’ they’ve used a British person for our navigation systems. Someone’s trying to communicate something to us. I know it.” He laughed at me. “Don’t laugh.” I glared at him.
He only laughed harder. “What?” he asked innocently. “Telling me not to laugh is only going to make me laugh harder. I think it’s pretty adorable that you’ve given this so much thought."
I crossed my arms over my chest and looked out the window. “It’ll be really adorable when I shove my foot up your ass,” I mumbled under my breath.
“What’s that?” he asked, grinning from ear to ear. I knew he heard me, so I didn’t repeat myself. “I know you’re trying to be menacing right now, but you look too cute for me to be afraid of.”
I frowned. With my puffy coat and pom-pom beanie, he was probably right. There was nothing frightening about me. “I’m not cute,” I said anyway.
“Beautiful?” he supplied. “Magnificent. Breathtaking. I can keep going.” I cracked a smile. “Ah, there it is.”
“What?”
“Your smile. Anytime you lose it, it’s my job to find it.”
The memory fades, and I fight against the tears that want to fall.
I miss him. So much I ache inside. There’s this vast emptiness that now lives inside my chest without Ben. He was my sun—and what am I supposed to do now that my world has fallen into complete darkness? Ben once called me his flower, but a flower cannot live without sun.
My hands tighten around the steering wheel as I turn into the lot of the coffee shop I saw Ryder at earlier in the week. It doesn’t have a drive-thru, so I park and head inside. I order him their regular coffee, since he didn’t specify, and also get him the sandwich he was eating the other day. Since I’m already here, I get myself a hot tea and a muffin. I ponder the menu a little longer and end up getting another muffin for his son. It doesn’t seem right to come in with food and not bring anything for his kid.
I take a seat on the velvet couch and wait for my name to be called. I have to wait a little longer than normal because of the sandwich. When my name’s finally called, I grab the bag with the sandwich and muffins, plus the cardboard drink carrier. Someone’s nice enough to hold the door open as I head out. I set everything on the floor of my car and I’m pretty sure my navigation system breathes a sigh of relief when I finally listen to her.
Ryder’s house turns out to be only a few neighborhoods over from mine.
It’s a small two-story bungalow. Three steps lead up the front door and a small porch with two white rocking chairs. There’s a large window on the second floor with a balcony. It’s cute and homey, definitely still boasting small touches left behind from Ryder’s wife—like the navy and white striped pillows on the rocking chairs.
I open my car door before reaching over to grab the bag and cup holder. I balance everything carefully so I can get out of the car without spilling coffee all over the inside of my car.
I walk up to the front door, and since my hands are full, I bump my shoulder against the doorbell. It’s only after it rings loudly that I realize I shouldn’t have done that in case his son is still sleeping.
The door swings open and Ryder stands there in a pair of sweatpants and a waffle-knit Henley. Behind him, a little boy runs across the hall, yelling, “Weeeee,” as he goes. The boy is completely naked and Ryder looks exhausted.
“Sorry about that,” Ryder says, pushing his glasses up his nose before ushering me inside.
The little boy comes running back by. “Weeeee,” he cries again.
“Don’t have kids,” Ryder jokes.
“Bit late for that.” I laugh.
He chuckles and closes the door. “Right. Here, let me take that.” He reaches for the items in my hand.
I start to hand them over, but then his son comes running back to us and crashes into Ryder’s legs, making him stumble. I quickly move so that the drinks don’t spill.
“Cole,” he admonishes, “where’s your diaper? And your clothes?” To me, he says, “The kid won’t leave his clothes on. I’m going to start duct taping them on.” He picks up Cole, and the little boy smiles bashfully before ducking his head against his dad’s shoulder. He looks a lot like Ryder with a mop of dark hair and dark eyes framed by thick black lashes. He points to my right. “Kitchen is that way. You can’t miss it. I’m going to get this one dressed … again.” He sighs and starts up the steps.
I head in the direction he indicated and through a dining room into the kitchen. It’s bright and cheery with white cabinets, gray countertops, and yellow walls. I set the drinks and paper bag on the oak wood table and pull out one of the chairs, taking a seat while I wait.
I hear the steps creak a few minutes later and Ryder steps around the corner into the kitchen with a fully-dressed Cole.
“He’ll be naked in twenty minutes, tops.” Ryder shakes his head as he puts Cole in his highchair.
“I got you breakfast,” I tell Ryder. “And I got Cole a muffin; it’s blueberry, so hopefully he likes that.”
Ryder grins. “Thank you, you didn’t have to do that. Cole loves blueberry muffins, but only because he thinks it’s dessert.” He shrugs.
I smile and open the bag, handing Ryder his sandwich and Cole’s muffin.
“I’m starving,” he says, staring at the Saran-wrapped sandwich with longing. “When it’s just Cole and me it’s hard to find time to feed myself. He’s at a stage where I can’t let him out of my sight.” He picks up the muffin and goes to get a plate. He cuts it into small bite-size pieces for Cole and puts it on an animal-shaped plate. It looks like a tiger.
Ryder puts the plate on Cole’s highchair and the little boy’s face lights up.
I take my own muffin and peel the wrapper off.
“So, what did you want to talk about?” Ryder asks, already on his second bite of sandwich.
I shrug and sip at my tea to stall for time. I have no idea what to say.
“Blaire,” Ryder says in a stern tone, “you can talk to me.”
“I know, otherwise I wouldn’t be here. Talking to you makes me feel better.”
He grins. “Good. I take it our talk the other day helped?” He raises a single dark brow and waits for my answer.
“It did.” I wrap my hands around my cup. “Yesterday, I was good … not great, but more normal than I have been since I lost … since I lost Ben.” I swallow around the lump in my throat. I hate saying his name out loud now, and I, in turn, hate myself for hating it. Ben was the love of my life and it feels like an injustice to his memory to not be able to say his name, which is why I’m forcing myself to use it. “But today,” I pause, searching for the best way to explain, “… today I woke up and as soon as I opened my eyes I knew it wasn’t going to be a good day. All I wanted to do was lie in bed and not do anything.”
Ryder is quiet and he seems to be mulling over what I said. “But you did get out of bed,” he comments, peering at me over the top of his glasses, “and you called me. Look, Blaire, you even went by the coffee shop and got drinks and food.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” I ask, my nose crinkling with my confusion.
“Everything.” He gives me a look like he can’t understand why I don’t see what he’s saying. “You didn’t let your grief conquer you, you conquered it. You saw where your day was going and you stopped it. You should be proud of
that, Blaire.”
“How can I be proud when all I want to do is scream?” I confess.
Ryder’s lips twitch. “Then scream if that’s what you want to do. Stand on the chair, lean your head back, and scream, Blaire.”
I pale. “Are you serious?”
“Yes.” He stands up and scoots his chair back before standing on it. “Come on, Blaire,” he coaxes, “you want to scream? You scream. You want to cry? Then cry. And guess what? If you want to laugh, or smile, or be happy, you can do that too. Don’t hold yourself back from feeling whatever it is you need to feel.” He speaks with so much emotion, like he’s giving a speech to a room full of people and not me and a toddler. “Up,” he says, pointing at me. “I’ll stand here all day if I have to.” He sticks his hands on his hips and tips his head down at me.
After one more second of hesitation, I push my chair back and stand on it.
“Hey, Cole?” Ryder says, and the little boy angles his head up to his dad. “Wanna scream with us?”
“Yes!” The little boy smacks his fist against the highchair tray. “Scream!”
Ryder looks at me. “We’re ready when you are.”
“This is silly,” I say, still nervous.
“No, it’s not.” He shakes his head. “It’ll make you feel better and there’s nothing silly about that.”
I nod. He’s right. It will make me feel better.
I close my eyes, tilt my head back, and scream.
And it’s the greatest feeling in the world, like I’m emptying all the sadness and anger out of me. I scream and scream and scream. I’m aware of Ryder and Cole screaming with me, but it suddenly doesn’t matter. I no longer feel silly for screaming. It’s what I needed to do. When I finally stop, I lower my head and I smile—no, I grin—at Ryder. He smiles back.
Since we’ve stopped screaming, Cole does too, and he looks disgruntled, like he wants to keep going.
“Feel better?” Ryder asks me.
I smile and bite my lip. “Much better.” I step down off the chair and so does he. We both take a seat once more and it’s like the previous moments never happened. Ryder resumes eating his sandwich, I take a sip of my tea, and Cole throws a piece of muffin at Ryder. The chunk of muffin lands in Ryder’s hair.
Ryder’s dark eyes flit to me and with a straight face he says, “I want to laugh so bad right now, but if I do it’ll only encourage the demon.”
“Demon?” I laugh.
He shrugs with a grin. “I mean that with the utmost of fondness.” He reaches over and ruffles Cole’s dark hair.
“How long did it take you?” I ask him suddenly. “To … move on?”
He winces and presses his lips together so they’re nothing but a thin straight line. “I don’t know that I’ve ever truly moved on. I still miss Angela every day, but there’s not this aching, gaping wound in my chest anymore. I think I’ll always miss her and think about her, but maybe it’ll get to the point that it’s not every day and only occasionally—but I hope that’s not the case. I’m good now, great most days, but I don’t want to ever forget her.”
“How … never mind.” I shake my head and look away.
“How’d she die?” he asks for me. He flicks a dark piece of hair away from his eyes, waiting for me to answer.
“You don’t have to tell me.” My words are no more than a whisper.
“That question doesn’t bother me, not anymore, at least.” He shrugs and takes a sip of coffee before clearing his throat. “It was breast cancer,” he answers. “She was young to get such an aggressive form and she didn’t find out until she was four months pregnant.” He looks to Cole with a forlorn smile. “Her doctors wanted her to get an abortion, but she refused. She wouldn’t have given up this little guy for anything.” His smile grows and he reaches over, poking Cole’s cheek lightly. The little boy giggles in response and then looks at me shyly.
“And what about you?” I ask. “Did you … agree with her decision?”
“Honestly? No, not at first. It’s different for guys. We don’t have a child growing inside us, so we don’t feel that immediate bond. We argued a lot about it. We both knew she was giving up her life for our child’s by not undergoing treatment, and I constantly reminded her that she could get better and we’d have other children.” He sighs. “But Angela was stubborn, and she refused to do it. She wanted him no matter what. Watching her grow weaker and weaker through her pregnancy was hard. It was even harder watching her prepare the nursery and knowing she wasn’t going to be here to use it.” His eyes fill with unshed tears. “And then Cole was born and they placed him in my arms and I got it. I finally got it. I never questioned her decision after that. She died two weeks later, and even though she was so tired and weak, I think those were the happiest two weeks of her life.”
Ryder’s story crushes my already aching heart. He surprises me by not asking about how I lost Ben, but I’m even more surprised by the fact that I want to tell him. He understands the kind of heartache I feel and it’s nice to be able to talk to someone who gets it. I’m sick of being looked at with pity and being told, “I’m so sorry,” or “It’ll be okay.” Neither are things I want to hear right now.
“It was a car crash,” I say, looking down at the worn table and then up at Ryder. “Ben was a doctor, and he was on his way to start a late shift and …” I feel the tears come and slide down my cheeks, and I look away hastily so he can’t see me cry.
I startle a moment later when warm fingers grip my chin and turn me back. Ryder looks at me intensely, like he sees me—not the physical me, but the pain and suffering and heartache I feel underneath.
“Don’t hide from me,” he whispers, his own tears still threatening to fall from his eyes. “Don’t ever be ashamed of what you feel. You’re allowed to cry, Blaire, and no one will judge you for it. Definitely not me.”
“Why does this kind of stuff happen?” I ask him. “It’s not fair.”
He lets go of my chin and sits back. “No, it’s not fair,” he agrees, “but it’s life and life is rarely fair. I used to stay up every night and ask myself what I did wrong in my life to deserve losing Angela, and then on one of those nights I realized there wasn’t anything I did or didn’t do. These things just happen. It’s not a personal attack on you or me. It was a freak thing, and that’s it.”
“I’ve been doing that,” I admit. “Asking myself what I did to deserve this,” I confess, wiping my tears on the sleeve of my sweatshirt.
“It’s normal,” he tells me, glancing toward Cole. “I think we all go through that when we lose someone tragically.”
“Getting that call …” I begin. “I’ve never felt so panicked and helpless before.”
He winces. “Death is never easy, but at least I had some preparation with Angela.”
I think over his words. “I think in some ways that would be worse. Every moment you’d wonder if it was your last.”
“True,” he agrees. “It just sucks all the way around.”
I nod. “We were engaged,” I tell him.
His eyes flit to my finger. “And you’re still wearing the ring.”
“I am. You’re not.” I nod at his fist resting on the table.
He opens his hand and lays his palm flat on the table. “I used to. I only took it off recently. I think you know when it’s time.”
“Two months ago I thought I had my whole life ahead of me, and now I see nothing.”
He shakes his head rapidly. “No, no, that’s completely wrong. You have a life, you have everything. Especially now.” He waves his hands toward my stomach. “Not everyone gets to hold onto their love that way.” His eyes flit to Cole. “But it’s really special when you do.”
“Right now I’m still too sad and scared to see that. What if I never do?” I worry my bottom lip between my teeth.
He reaches across the table and wraps his hand around mine, giving it a small squeeze. “You will, I promise.”
“Thank you,” I tell him. “
For letting me come over and talking. I ... I feel a lot better.”
He smiles widely. “Good, I’m glad I could help. I’m here for you anytime you need it.”
I stand and pick up my tea and muffin wrapper. “Well I better get going.”
“Yeah, of course.” He stands and picks up Cole before leading me to the door.
“Bye,” I say, and wave at him over my shoulder.
“Bye.” He smiles and waves back.
“Bye-bye.” Cole grins and buries his face in the crook of Ryder’s neck.
I smile at the little boy before the door closes. Cole doesn’t know it, but he just gave me even more hope, because suddenly I see what I’ll have with my baby.
I drive around for a while after I leave Ryder’s. I don’t feel like going home or shopping, so that leaves driving. I turn the radio up and let my thoughts leave me. I feel better, a lot better, since talking to Ryder; there’s something about him that’s like a balm to a wound. Maybe because our experiences are somewhat similar I feel more connected to him. I trust him, without really knowing him. There are not many people I’ve ever had that kind of connection with. Only Ben and him.
After a while of driving around, it’s finally time to meet the girls at the café. I still don’t feel like going, but I no longer dread it like I did this morning.
I park my car and head inside. I’m the first one there, so I order a hot chocolate and take a seat in my usual spot.
Chloe arrives first and waves before heading over to the register to place her order. She grabs her own drink and sits down, unwinding her plum-colored scarf from around her neck. Her nose is pink from the cold and her cheeks are flushed. “Hi,” she says.
“Hey,” I say back.
“How are you?” she asks, wrapping her hands around her mug of coffee.
I shrug. “Same old, same old.”
Her lips twist together and she looks away. She doesn’t know what to say and neither do I, so I pick at an invisible stain on the sleeve of my sweatshirt.
Hannah and Casey arrive at the same time, saying a quick hello before placing their orders and coming to sit down. They both got a sandwich while Chloe and I stick to our drinks.
Bring Me Back Page 14
