“We work good together,” Evan declares, looking at the finished product.
“Yeah, it’s not too shabby,” I reply.
Evan stretches his arms over his head and bends to the side at the waist, clearly feeling the same aches I am. I watch as his dark gray shirt rises and exposes tanned and hardened skin underneath. A small happy trail disappears into the black sweat pants along with my gaze.
I clear my throat and look away before he can catch me looking at him. Pulling the rubber band from my hair, the brown locks fall around my face. I run my fingers through it and put it back into a bun on top of my head, making sure there are no strays getting loose this time. When I’m done, I catch Evan watching me.
I smile shyly at him before speaking. “Well, I guess I should go. I . . . had a good time, and thank you for dinner.”
“No problem. Thank you for helping me.”
He walks me to the front door, and I turn around once I’m outside and give him another tentative smile. “See ya later.”
“Hopefully sooner,” he answers with a grin.
My smile widens before I walk away.
WHEN I WAKE up, I’m greeted with a voicemail from Marissa letting me know she can’t meet with me today after all because she has a family thing out of town. She said she’d let me know when she was back.
I try to think about what to do today since I don’t have work, and once again, Carol’s words come to mind. Maybe I’ll go to a movie or just walk around the mall.
Today, I try to put a little more effort into my look. I wash and blow dry my hair, finishing it with some loose curls. I do more than mascara and lip gloss today, deciding to wear foundation and eye shadow as well. With a colorful maxi dress on and some sandals, I make my way to the jeep and start driving.
I end up at the mall ten minutes later.
I browse through a couple clothing stores and one shoe store without buying anything. Other people’s conversations float around me, and I find that it’s nice to hear what other people are going through. One woman is complaining to her husband about the people at the post office. He’s acting like he cares. A teenaged girl is fighting with her mom about a dress she wants, but the mom thinks it’s too inappropriate. A couple teenaged boys are talking about “scoring” with girls, while one guy stays silent, obviously not being able to “score” at all. A few women my age are huddle around a clearance rack while one of them talks about her boyfriend and how she’s sure he’s cheating on her. One of the friends tries to make her feel better by threatening to kick his ass. An older lady is on the phone complaining to someone about how she can’t afford the college her son wants to go to.
I guess we all have our problems. Some are bigger than others, but we all have something going on in our lives.
Deciding to grab a quick bite to eat, I head to the food court and order some Chinese food. While I’m eating, I overhear a couple of voices from my past.
Courtney and Jessika are sitting down at a table diagonally from me. My heart picks up speed as I remember the last time I spoke to them. It was a few months after Gordon died, and I was out at the grocery store because I desperately needed food and alcohol in my house.
As I was walking down an aisle, mine and Gordon’s wedding song came on over the speakers. Nothing could have prevented me from breaking down, and that’s exactly what I did. I literally fell to the ground on my knees and bawled like a baby. I wailed and begged him to come back to me. Some people walked past me while looking at me like I belonged in a mental institution. Maybe I did. Others tried to ask if I was okay, but I couldn’t explain to them what was wrong with me. I just cried and cried as I remembered our first dance as husband and wife.
Jessika and Courtney came up to me and asked what was wrong. The only thing I could say was Gordon’s name. They knew what happened, everyone did, but just like everyone else, they didn’t know what to do with me. They tried to convince me to get up, but I didn’t want to. I wanted to curl up in the cereal aisle and mourn the death of my husband.
They left me a couple minutes later, perhaps realizing there was nothing they could do, or maybe just wanting to get away from the emotional wreck of a woman who was embarrassing herself in front of everybody in the store.
I pulled myself up off the floor, abandoned my cart in the aisle, and walked out of the store. I could feel people’s eyes burning holes into me as they watched me leave. I didn’t give a shit, though. It wasn’t until I was outside that I heard Courtney and Jessika talking about me.
They were laughing at me. Making fun of the young widow who couldn’t wait until she got home to cry. Both of them questioned my sanity and said my parents should have me evaluated. They said they were embarrassed for me. They talked about the meltdown I had after my husband’s funeral. And they just kept laughing, like death was a joke to them.
When they finally turned around and saw me there, they didn’t have the decency to apologize. They just threw their cigarettes to the ground and made their way to the car. Word travels fast through a small town, and soon everybody was aware of the meltdowns I had. One at my own home directly following my husband’s burial. The one at the grocery store, and one at a bar after I had gotten completely wasted. I tried to stay indoors after those. No need to keep them talking.
I catch Courtney’s gaze, and she does a double take before whispering something to Jessika. I keep watching them as they both turn to look at me. Jessika gives me a cautious and tight smile that I don’t return. I only take a bite of my rice and lift a brow. Their whispers continue for a few more moments, and then they’re both up and walking in my direction.
Putting my fork down, I wipe my mouth and straighten my back, readying myself for whatever they have to say.
“Hey, Nix,” Jessika starts. “It’s good seeing you out.”
“Yeah. You look so much better,” Courtney adds.
I give them a forced smile. “Better than when I was at the grocery store, you mean?”
They exchange a quick glance, looking nervous. “Oh, well, yeah. I mean, I like your makeup and you just look . . .” Courtney rambles, unsure of what to say.
“Better?” I fill in for her. “I’m glad you think I look better, but I’m gonna go. I’d hate to have an unfortunate meltdown right here in the mall and embarrass you both.”
I pick up my food and carry it to the trash can.
“Nix, we didn’t mean it like that,” Jessika starts.
I spin around and pin them with a glare. “Oh, I’m sorry. I suppose I got it all wrong. Have you lost a husband on your wedding anniversary? Was your husband shot and left to die outside? Maybe I should ask you for advice on how to deal with my feelings when it comes to something like that. Can you offer any advice to a widow in her twenties? Can you tell me what to do when my wedding song comes on and I’m instantly taken back to my wedding day with the knowledge that I’ll never see the love of my life again?”
I put my hand on my hip and tilt my head, waiting for their response.
“You . . . you’re right. We don’t know what you’ve been through. I’m sorry,” Jessika says, looking a little teary eyed.
I shake my head. “I hope you never have to know. Good-bye, girls.”
Walking off, I take note of the few people around. I’m glad there weren’t many people to overhear our conversation. I’m also happy that I didn’t have a complete meltdown. Maybe I am getting better.
Forbidding myself to be forced out of the mall due to my encounter with Jessika and Courtney, I look through a couple more boutiques, and even buy myself a new summer dress and shoes. I can’t remember the last time I bought new clothes, but I remember how much I used to enjoy the whole shopping experience.
With bags in hand, I exit the mall and into the warm, sunny day with a little smile on my face. Taking advantage of my good mood, I decide it’s definitely time to do some grocery shopping, and to test myself even more, I go to the same grocery store that I had my infamous meltdown at.
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br /> I’m not sure why I thought that as soon as I walked in, lights would flash, and music would sound, alerting everybody of the overly emotional woman who cried on the floor before. In my mind, I assumed all the same employees and customers would be there, staring at me, whispering about me, and waiting for me to fall to the ground all over again.
Instead, nobody pays me any mind. I get through the store fairly quickly and without any problems. It isn’t until I get home and begin putting away the groceries that I realize I bought stuff to make a pot roast.
Pot roast.
Evan’s favorite food.
Why did I do that? I try not overthink it. I like pot roast, too. However, I know that it’ll probably last me a week if I make it only for myself, so it only makes sense to share it with someone.
When all the food is put away, I notice one more bag sitting on the counter. Inside the bag is a bottle of vodka.
With a long sigh, I pull it out and place it in my cabinet. I’d like to think that there will be a day when I won’t feel the need to have a drink or two. While today was a good day, I won’t be naïve enough to think I’ll never have a bad day again. It still takes me a long time to fall asleep in the same bed Gordon and I spent lots of time in. There are days that memories flood my mind and I just want to forget them for a little bit.
The clock reads five-thirty, and since I have nothing else to do, and am trying to keep myself busy, I start cooking dinner. An actual dinner and not frozen pizza or TV dinners, either. About an hour later, I’m sitting down with my plate of spaghetti and French bread. I never said it was going to be a gourmet meal, but it’s better than nothing.
A few bites in and the silence around me is painfully obvious. The TV is on low in the other room, but from the dining room I can’t hear too much of it. I end up getting up and pouring a glass of white wine. I figure white wine is better than vodka, and I tell myself it will be my only glass.
Sitting still and in silence, my mind quickly reminds me how alone I truly am. Being out today was nice, and even though I didn’t have any shopping partners, I didn’t feel alone with all the people I saw around me. Carol was right about that. In this house, though, I am alone. Nobody to talk to, nothing to keep my mind from my painful reality. I suppose having friends would be a good and helpful thing to have.
My doorbell rings and stops me from throwing a pity party for myself. I open the door to Evan. Evan who stands there in dark blue jeans, and some sort of vintage, red, graphic t-shirt. His hair is styled in a way that makes it look like he just ran his hands through it and tugged on it a bit, but it’s all perfectly in place at the same time.
With his hands in his back pockets like they usually are, he looks at me and his eyes widen just slightly. I’m still in makeup and my dress, and I realize this is probably the most done up he’s seen me.
“Hey,” he says. “Sorry to just drop by, but uhh . . . I was just wondering if you had plans for tomorrow.” He runs his hands through his hair in a nervous gesture.
“Nope. No plans. Have some more house stuff to do?” I ask, resting my hand on the doorknob.
“Well, no,” he answers, looking at the ground for a second. “Actually, yes, I do have more house stuff to do, but that’s not why I’m here.” He gives me a smile. “I’m not trying to put you to work all the time.”
I shrug one shoulder. “It gives me something to do. I don’t mind.”
“Well, if you want, you can come cut my grass,” he says, jerking his thumb in the direction of his house.
My eyes narrow at him, but he only laughs.
“Wanna come in?” I ask. “My food’s getting cold. Are you hungry?”
He looks surprised, but masks it quickly. “Sure. Is it anything that was frozen? Because I’m allergic to frozen things.”
“Shut up,” I say with a laugh. “I’m not saying I’m a chef or anything, it’s only spaghetti, but none of it is frozen.”
He follows me to the kitchen. “Smells good.”
After I make his plate, I take it to the table and place it at the spot opposite mine.
“Drink?” I ask.
He glances at my wine glass. “Just water. I’m driving home,” he says with a wink.
I roll my eyes, but go get him a bottle of water.
“Were you on your way home or something? Why do you have your car?”
“Yeah, I haven’t been home yet. Figured I’d stop by here first, and was lucky enough to get free food out of that decision.”
“It’s only fair, I suppose. You’ve fed me a couple times already.”
He shrugs it off and starts eating. “So, do you normally eat at the table alone? I’d be on the couch or something.”
“I don’t normally eat meals like this. I was just trying something new,” I answer honestly.
While I twirl some spaghetti around my fork, I notice his head lifts up, but he doesn’t say anything. I meet his gaze and he just smiles.
“New is good.”
“Maybe,” I reply with a lift of my shoulders.
After a couple minutes of silence, he begins talking. “So, what are some good restaurants out here?”
“Any kind in particular?”
“Not really,” he answers, shaking his head. “Just something good.”
“Well, there’s Santini’s, which is Italian, and if you’re looking for a good steak house, I’d go with Cuts Bar & Grill. Oh, and for seafood, you can’t go wrong with The Seafood Bar.”
“Okay, great. Thanks. Wanna go with me to one of them? I want to try out some of the local food, but I don’t really like to eat alone.”
He says it so casually, but all I can think about is, is he asking me out on a date? I swallow down my food and take a sip of wine. He’s shoveling more food in his mouth and seems unaware of my silence or my awkward staring in his direction.
“I mean, I can eat alone, but who wants to do that? Especially in a restaurant. So, you’d really just be doing me a favor,” he continues, and then finally looks at me.
“Oh. Well, I don’t know,” I say, beginning to play with my napkin. “All of them are good. I think you could order them to go if you want.”
I feel terrible when his face falls a bit, but he doesn’t let on that his feelings are hurt. He only nods his head slowly.
“Oh, that’s good,” he responds.
It’s not that I don’t want to share a meal with him. I mean, I’ve done it three times now, but it’s always been in his house and now mine. If I go out with him to a restaurant, even as friends, people may see us and assume I’m dating. I don’t want people to judge me. I’m not sure what an appropriate time frame is to start dating after the death of your spouse. I shouldn’t even be thinking about it at this point.
“Well, I bought some stuff for pot roast today,” I say. “I was thinking of making it and sharing it with you. I would never eat all of it. What do you think?” I ask with a hopeful smile, hoping it makes up for the restaurant thing.
I’m rewarded with a wide grin. “I think that sounds like a good plan.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. “Great. Tomorrow? Or another day?”
“Tomorrow is good, but then the next time we eat, it’ll be my turn again.”
“How many dishes can you even make?”
He sits back in mock disbelief. “You doubt my cooking abilities? I’m just a regular Chef Boyardee. I can cook anything!”
Throwing my head back, I laugh loudly. “Of course you can.”
“Don’t patronize me, lady. I could be in culinary school for all you know.”
“Are you?” I ask, trying to hide my smile.
“That’s not even the point,” he says, taking a drink of water.
I laugh again. “Fine. I’m sure whatever you make will be delicious.”
“Thank you,” he replies, bowing his head slightly.
I shake my head with a smile on my face. “Is seven okay for tomorrow?”
“Perfect.”
Aft
er we finish our food, I take the dishes to the kitchen to rinse off and put in the dishwasher. When I turn around, Evan is leaning against the counter, looking around the kitchen.
“I like your little owls,” he says, noticing my knick-knacks.
“Thanks. Gordon always thought they were creepy,” I say with a short laugh.
As soon as the words are out, I regret it. I feel like Evan probably doesn’t want to hear about Gordon, and I also feel bad, like I’m talking negatively of Gordon.
“Sorry, I . . .”
“Well, some owls can be creepy,” he says, cutting me off. “But these ones are cute.”
“I think so, too.”
He points to a picture with an owl on it that says Night Owl. “You’re a night owl, too?”
“Yep. It’s hard for me to fall asleep. I’ve always been a night owl, but it’s gotten worse recently.”
He nods like he understands what I mean. “Well, thank you for dinner,” he says, turning to face me. “You’re a pretty good cook. You should stick with it.”
“It was only spaghetti.”
“Best spaghetti I’ve ever had,” he responds. “The diced tomatoes were a nice touch.” He smiles wide.
“I can never tell if you’re being sarcastic or not,” I say, putting one hand on my hip.
He laughs a deep laugh. “I’m being serious.”
“Well, thanks. Maybe one day I’ll be as good as you.”
“I don’t know about that,” he says dryly as he turns and walks to the door. “You might get close, but never as good as me.”
He turns around and winks at me. “Sarcasm.” I roll my eyes. “Hey, before I leave,” he says, pulling the door open. “What’s your favorite flower?”
“Dahlias.”
“Dahlias, huh? Hmm.” He rubs the facial hair on his chin. “Interesting.”
“Why?”
“Oh nothing. Okay, see ya later, Phoenix.”
“Bye.”
I stand at the door and watch him get into his truck and drive the short distance to his house. When I close the door, I lean against it with a smile on my face and find that I’m very much looking forward to tomorrow.
Resurrecting Phoenix Page 6
