He chuckles before turning around and walking towards his room. I close the door behind me and make my way to his couch.
When Evan re-emerges, he’s wearing dark gray lounge pants and a white t-shirt. Maybe I’ll be able to produce complete sentences now.
“Sorry about that. How are you feeling? Your friend said you had a tough day.”
He sits on the couch, and I scoot back, allowing myself to get a little more comfortable.
“Yeah, I’m okay. She brought over . . . well, my husband, I mean Gordon . . . he left a letter.” I stutter through the sentence while fiddling with my fingers.
“Phoenix it’s okay to talk to me about him. I’m not gonna get mad, so don’t feel awkward about bringing him up. Okay?” I nod. “I imagine that letter was tough to read.”
“Yeah. It wasn’t bad. It was needed, and I’m glad I read it, but it was just bittersweet, you know?”
Evan nods. “You want to talk about it?”
I shake my head. “It’s okay. Gordon sent me a message when I needed it most. I’m grateful for that.”
He smiles. “Your friend Marissa seems nice.”
I smile. “She is. I feel bad for being so awful to her for so long.”
“I’m sure she understands.”
Nodding is my only response. I don’t feel like talking about any heavy stuff right now, so I change the subject.
“It’s starting to look nice in here,” I say, looking around the room.
He has his espresso colored entertainment center set up directly across from the couch with a flat screen TV posed in the middle. A few pictures line the shelves, and movies take up the rest of the spots. His coffee table is the same color wood, but has glass in the middle with a few magazines thrown on top.
His end tables have small lamps—the only lights that are on in here—giving the room a soft glow.
“Yeah, I think it’s the bold wall.”
I playfully roll my eyes. “Yeah, whoever came up with that idea must be a genius.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” he says, glancing at the wall and then back at me.
“Oh, shut up,” I say with a laugh.
He gives me a grin and then stands up. “I don’t have any food ready, but I can order something. You hungry?”
“Do you like Chinese? Lee’s Garden has really good food.”
“Lee’s Garden it is.” He pulls his phone from his pocket and starts looking up the number. “What do you want?”
“The green pepper steak and chicken fried rice.”
Evan calls them up and inquires about their menu before choosing to get teriyaki chicken and fried dumplings.
“I feel like all we do is eat,” he says, putting the phone on the table.
I laugh. “Yeah, we have done a lot of eating. Before long we’ll need to do a lot of exercising. Actually, looks like you’re doing a lot of that, too.”
He raises his eyebrows with an amused grin touching his lips. “Were you checking me out, Phoenix?”
“I uhh . . . no. I mean, it was just in my face. Kind of hard not to notice all that,” I say, using my hand to gesture at his body.
“All that?” he says through a laugh. “You’re good for my ego.”
I scoff. “Anyway.” I let the word hang there, unsure of what else to say, but positive I don’t want to continue talking about his perfect abs right now.
“Anyway,” he mimics. “Tell me more about yourself, Phoenix Nightingale.”
I fidget. Most of my stories include Gordon. We met when I was nineteen and he was twenty-one. We dated for two years before he proposed, and we were married when I was twenty-three. Our married life was only three years long, but I spent seven years of my life loving him more than anything in the world. Everything revolves around him.
“Um. Well, I’m twenty seven. How old are you?”
“Twenty eight.”
“When’s your birthday?” I ask.
“September fifth. Yours?”
“November fifteenth.”
After a brief pause, he lets out a small chuckle. “Okay, fine. I can tell you’re no good at this getting to know someone stuff. I’ll just pull information from you when I can.” He gives me a wink and stands up. “Want a drink?”
The first thing that comes to mind is vodka. I know that’s terrible, but it’s what I’m used to, plus it helps with nerves. He’s seen me drunk, he’s seen me buy liquor in the middle of the day, and he’s seen me at the bar. God, why is he even interested? Isn’t it obvious to him that I have issues? Not that I want him to come to his senses.
“What do you have?” I ask.
He goes to the kitchen and opens the fridge. “Soda, apple juice, water, milk, and Gatorade. Actually, the milk might be questionable, so I wouldn’t choose that.”
“Uhh.” I don’t know how to ask if he has liquor. Plus, I’m surprised he didn’t say beer. Don’t most guys have beer in their fridge?
He looks at me through the doorway, waiting for my answer. Something in my body language or facial expression must tell him something. Maybe he realizes that he always sees me drinking, so he knows what I must be wanting.
“I don’t have alcohol or anything. Sorry,” he says, looking a little uncomfortable.
“That’s fine,” I lie. “I’ll just take water.”
When he returns with two bottles of water, he sits on the couch and faces me once again.
“So, do your parents live in town?” he asks, unscrewing the lid.
“They used to. They moved about thirty minutes outside of town not too long ago,” I reply, remembering them making a big deal about my “episodes.” Assholes.
“Why only thirty minutes away? Seems like a waste of a move.”
I make a scoffing noise while I look down at the water bottle in my hands. “I embarrassed them.”
“You embarrassed them?” he asks, disbelief evident in his voice. “How so?”
I let out a long sigh. “If I go into too many details, it may make me sound like a crazy person, so I’ll give you the short version. I didn’t cope well with Gordon’s death. I showed my emotions in public a few times, let’s just say that. The town is small and word gets around, and my parents found out through friends and colleagues about some of my public meltdowns. Their friends are pretty snooty and started looking down on them for not keeping me in line. My parents have some money, and prestige and respect is important to them.”
Evan’s quiet for a few seconds before he comes closer and puts his hand on my knee.
“Look at me, Phoenix. You are not a crazy person. You’re a regular human being, and human beings have emotions. You’re going through something nobody wants to go through. I think you’re doing pretty good.”
I give him a small smile. “I appreciate that, Evan. I do. But, I’m not doing that good. I told you I’m struggling. Not just with my emotions, but . . .” I don’t finish the sentence. I’m too embarrassed to admit my drinking problem. “I probably did embarrass myself, but I don’t care. These people in this town can be so judgmental. Not all of them, but a lot of them. I just don’t care, because until they go through it, they’ll never know what it feels like. They’re just ignorant to the emotion of despair, and that’s not their fault. They’re just lucky.”
His lips drop into a frown. “Your parents don’t sound like the best people. You deserve better. You deserve support, and I’m sorry you didn’t get it from the people who should’ve been the first in line to help.”
“You can say it, Evan. They’re assholes,” I say with a short laugh. “Thank you, though. I didn’t want to be around people, anyway. I’m just now learning that it might not be so bad.”
He gives me a smile that reaches his eyes. “Good.”
“So, enough about me. Where did you move here from?”
“California.”
My eyes widen. “Wow, big change. What made you come here?”
He hesitates, and it’s the first time he seems unsure of somet
hing. “I needed a change.”
I nod. “Did you live in a big city there?”
“L.A.”
“So, huge change,” I say with a laugh. “Think you’ll miss the city life?”
“I won’t miss it as much as I’ll enjoy being away from it.”
“Hmm. Cryptic. There’s much more to you than meets the eye, isn’t there, Evan Tyler?”
He grins. “Perhaps.”
Just then the doorbell rings, alerting us of our food delivery. When he returns, he places the bags on the coffee table and begins opening them up.
“Figure we can eat here and watch some TV,” he says. “Do you mind grabbing some forks from the kitchen? I hate using these plastic ones.”
“Sure.”
As I open a few drawers, looking for the silverware, I notice an open cookbook on the counter. It strikes me as a little odd, only because I didn’t think men had cookbooks. Maybe he really is in culinary school. Wait, is there even a culinary school nearby? Oh well, maybe he just wants to learn how to cook. Can’t hate him for that.
I return to the living room with the forks, and Evan already has everything set out and the TV on. He puts on a movie I’ve never seen before, and I instantly realize it’s a cop movie. Now, I’m not against cop movies, but obviously, they bring up memories.
We eat, we watch the movie, and we talk between it all.
“Have you seen this movie before?” he asks. I shake my head because my mouth is full. “It’s really good. It’s almost over, though. You should watch it from the beginning.”
I nod and swallow down my food. “Okay,” I say with a small smile.
Right as I’m finishing my food, one of the cops gets shot. I gasp loudly, causing Evan to look over at me. I don’t face him, because my gaze is fixated on the TV. The cop’s partner comes over to help him, but he ends up getting shot multiple times in the back. My hand flies to my mouth as my eyes begin to fill with tears. There’s no way he survived.
As soon as the first tear drops from my eye and runs down my cheek, I rush to get up and say I need to use the bathroom.
Snatching up some toilet paper, I dab at my eyes and will myself to not have a complete meltdown in this man’s bathroom. I can play it off as just my womanly emotions getting the better of me. I’ve cried during movies before. No big deal. But this one. This one is different. It makes me think of Anthony and Gordon on that dreadful night. Makes me wonder what exactly they went through and what happened.
After a few minutes, I think I’m okay to go back out there. My eyes are a bit red, but there’s nothing I can do about that. Hopefully the movie is over already, because I can’t deal with any funeral scenes or anything like that.
When I return to the living room, Evan looks up from his food. “You okay?”
I try to smile. “I’m okay. Sorry. I’m just a sap.”
He grins. “My sister’s the same way. Don’t worry. I changed it. We’re now watching The Forty Year Old Virgin.”
“That I can handle,” I say as I take my seat.
“You know, I knew a twenty-four year old virgin once,” Evan says between bites.
“Was it you? Did you lose your virginity when you were twenty-four?” I joke.
He faces me with a serious look on his face. Dropping his head, he looks at the floor for a few seconds before finally looking back up at me. “I’m still a virgin, Phoenix.”
My jaw drops. Literally. My mouth is open and my eyes are huge. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I mean, not that you are, but that I made a joke about it. Oh my gosh, Evan. I feel so terrible.”
He looks away, and I’m worried he’s embarrassed now. When he looks my way again, he’s grinning from ear to ear.
“I’m just messing with you, Phoenix,” he says before breaking into a fit of laughter.
I slap him on the shoulder. “You asshole! I can’t believe you!”
He laughs even harder, falling onto his side on the couch. “You should’ve seen your face!”
I lean over and pinch his side playfully, trying to hold back my laughter and keep up the angry ruse. “That’s messed up. I thought you were a virgin for real.”
“That’ll teach you to try to make jokes about me.”
I sit up and fold my arms across my chest, turning my back to him. “Well, now I just won’t talk to you at all.”
“Aww, come on, Phoenix,” he coos, putting his hands on my shoulders, but still laughing. “You gotta admit it’s pretty funny.”
“No.”
He leans over my shoulder, attempting to get a look at my face. “You’re not that cute when you’re pretending to be angry.”
I gasp and snap my head to look at him. I didn’t realize he was so close until I turned my head. Evan grins again. “Just kidding. You’re always cute.” He gives me a quick peck on my lips. “But I got you to look at me.”
My mouth twists up at him, then I succumb to laughter. “You’re something else, you know that?”
“I know,” he says with a shrug.
I just shake my head and start cleaning up the mess on the table. A glance at the clock tells me it’s nine-thirty.
“Well, I guess I’m gonna head out. Thanks for having me over.”
“You’re always welcome,” he replies. “Leave that stuff there. I’ll clean up.”
“Please just let me do it. I’d feel bad if I left a mess.”
“Fine,” he huffs, but starts helping me collect everything.
Once everything is thrown away and we’re walking towards the door, I pull out some money and try to hand him a twenty.
“What’s this for?” he questions. “My fee is much more than twenty dollars.”
“Your fee? For what? Your company?” I ask with a laugh. “No. This is for the food.”
“Phoenix,” he says, shaking his head. “It was my treat.”
“Will you please just take it?”
“No.”
“Do it.”
“I will not,” he says, crossing his arms.
I shove the bill down his shirt. “There.”
“I’m not a stripper,” he says, pulling the shirt away from his body until the bill floats to the floor.
I start running out of the house before he can give it back to me. “Bye, Evan!”
“Phoenix!” he yells, stepping outside with the bill in his hand. “Take your money!”
“No!” I yell through a giggle.
I hear him growl. “Goodnight, Phoenix!”
“Night, Evan!” I call out, waving my hand in the air.
THE NEXT MORNING, I’m awoken by the sound of my phone going off.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Nix,” Max’s voice greets me. “Did I wake you?”
“Hey.” I look over at the clock to see that it’s nine o’clock. “Yeah, but that’s okay. I need to get up.”
“Well, I just wanted to check on you and see how you were doing. I would’ve called sooner, but I came down with some damn flu.”
I rub the sleep from eyes and try to stifle a yawn. “Oh? You feelin’ any better?”
“I’m fine, but how are you?”
“I’m doing okay, Max,” I answer honestly.
“That’s good to hear. You know I worry about you.”
“I appreciate that, Max, but don’t you have anything better to do than worry about me?” I joke.
He grunts. “Unfortunately, no. I’m just an old man, Nix.”
“Aww¸ come on. You aren’t that old.” He grunts again. “Hey, you want to have lunch with me soon?”
“You want to go have lunch?” he questions suspiciously. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
I laugh. “I’m fine. You gotta eat, right? Come out to lunch with me tomorrow.”
“Well, okay,” he concedes.
“Okay. I’ll call you tomorrow morning.”
“All right.”
When we hang up, I smile to myself. I have a new mission. Mission: Hook Up Carol and Max. They’re both sin
gle, both good-looking, and near the same age. They’d be perfect together. I’m gonna go by the diner today to make sure she’s working tomorrow.
After I get out of the shower, I throw on a long, floral skirt, and a yellow tank top to match. I decide to let my hair air dry while I continue to get ready. After putting on some light makeup, I go downstairs to start the coffee and pop some bread into the toaster.
The sun shines brightly through the windows, the beautiful and warm day beckoning me to come out. For once, I accept the invitation. I won’t just go outside to go to the liquor store or drive to work. Since I’m off, I decide I’ll spend majority of the day outside. I’ll walk to the diner and maybe even walk to the park to feed the ducks. Both places put me around people without needing to interact unless I want to.
After I eat my toast and have my coffee, I grab my purse and drop my phone and keys inside, and step out into the world. Something on the door catches my eye. I pull off a piece of paper that’s taped to the middle of the wood.
Phoenix,
I didn’t want to wake you, so I’m leaving a note. I think I need your phone number, so I don’t feel like a psycho coming over to your house every time I want to ask you something. Texting seems less psycho to me. So, can I have your number?
-Evan
Evan’s note makes me laugh. I go back inside and scribble down a note to leave at his place. I walk down three houses and cross the street, sticking my response on his door.
Evan,
If texting is less psycho, does that mean you’re still slightly psycho? If so, I’m not sure I want a psycho to have my number. Plus, I like the feel of a good old fashioned note. Maybe I’ll start collecting them in a shoebox.
-Phoenix
I smile to myself as I walk back down the street and towards the diner. The sun beats down on my skin as the wind blows my hair behind me. A few feet from the diner, my phone chimes alerting me of a text message. Marissa’s name and part of her message shows on the screen.
Marissa: Talk to Neighbor Evan yet?
I grin at my phone as I walk into the restaurant, and take a seat in my favorite booth in the front.
Me: His first name isn’t neighbor, you know? Anyway, yes, I talked to him . . .
Resurrecting Phoenix Page 9
