Resurrecting Phoenix

by Isabel Lucero

  The smile on my face cannot be contained. “Yeah.”

  She makes a low, squeal-ish noise. “And?”

  “And everything was great.”

  Carol stops by and drops off our food. “I’ll be back in two.”

  “Anyway, the next day, my mom called to inquire about Evan. Her friend had seen us out at the market, and she was calling to be nosy.” I roll my eyes. “Later, I left and went to a couple appointments. I’ve started seeing a grief and addiction counselor.”

  “Really?” she asks, her eyebrows going up.

  I nod. “Yeah, and it’s not as bad as I thought it would be. My counselors are awesome, and I’ve met somebody else who’s going through the same thing I am.”

  “Well, that’s great. I’m so proud of you.”

  Carol comes and makes Marissa scoot over as she takes her place across from me as well.

  “Did I miss anything?”

  “I was just getting to the Evan stuff.”

  Marissa furrows her brows at me in confusion.

  “After my first day going to counseling, I’ll tell you about that later, Carol,” I make sure to add. “I went home and got ready for my date with Evan. This was going to be our first time going out and having dinner like a real couple, so I was excited.”

  They both sit there, hanging on my every word, knowing something serious is coming.

  “Anyway, we went to Santini’s, and everything was going really well. He invited me to go to some celebration he was having with some guys he’s met. We had a little joke about him being in culinary school, but I actually hadn’t asked what he was in school for. So, I asked him what the celebration was for.”

  “And?” Marissa prods, gesturing with her hand quickly, wanting me to hurry and spill.

  “Turns out he’s a cop.”

  Both Carol and Marissa sit back in shock with wide eyes and open mouths.

  “A cop? Here?” Marissa asks.

  “Yep. He had already been through training in California, and had to take some classes here. He’s in field training now.”

  “How . . . I mean, what do you think of that?” Carol asks.

  “I panicked,” I say with a shrug. “I felt like I couldn’t breathe. All I thought about was Gordon, and how history was going to repeat itself. I’m still worried. How can I get through each day worrying that when he goes to work he may not come back?”

  Marissa leans forward and grasps my hands. “You don’t worry about the how, you just do. We do this, Phoenix. We’ve been doing this. Breckshire is a nice town. You know we don’t have a lot of crime here. What happened that night was a random act of senseless violence. It doesn’t happen all the time. I understand your fear, but I also know you. You’re strong and brave.”

  “I haven’t felt strong or brave in a long time.” I can hear the sorrow in my own voice.

  “Of course you are.”

  “Honey,” Carol starts. “You have made some long strides to becoming yourself again. You’ve smiled a lot more, laughed, and gotten out of your house. You’ve let us,” she gestures between her and Marissa, “in and allowed us to be your friends again. And this counseling, this is for your . . .”

  “Drinking and grief.”

  “See. All those things show your strength and bravery. It may have taken a while, but that doesn’t matter. You’re doing it. You’re living again.”

  “Have you talked to him about how you’re feeling?” Marissa questions.

  “I told him that Gordon was a cop, and that he died on the job. He knows why I’m freaking out about it. He’s just so understanding and such a good guy. Sometimes I think he’s too good for me. I don’t know that I deserve him. I feel like I’ve just been a raincloud hovering over his sunny day.”

  “Some people like the rain,” Carol offers cheekily, pulling a laugh from me.

  “If he didn’t like you or your rain, he wouldn’t still be around,” Marissa adds. “You’re overthinking things, and I think you’re trying to talk yourself out of this thing with him.”

  “I really like him,” I admit softly, pushing my fry through my ketchup.

  “He’s a good kid,” Carol offers.

  Marissa nods. “I like him, too. I think you two are good together.”

  “Do you guys think it’s too soon? You know?”

  “It’s been over a year, Nix,” Marissa says. “Maybe that’s soon to some, but maybe others don’t think that. What does it matter what other people think, anyway? It’s none of their damn business. You’re happy, right? If he makes you happy and feel alive again, that can’t be a bad thing. He brought you back to us, and I love him for it.” She smiles, looking satisfied.

  “She’s right, Phoenix. It doesn’t matter what other people think. All that matters is how you two feel, and if what you feel is good, then so be it,” she says with a shrug.

  We end the conversation there as Carol has to get back to work. She gives me a warm hug before hurrying off to continue her shift. Marissa and I finish our meals while discussing work. She talks about her job while I tell her my plans of hopefully working back at the school soon. When we leave, she makes me promise to fill her in on what’s going on with me and Evan soon.

  Once I’m home, I pull out my phone, find the number I’m looking for and press send.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “Phoenix,” she says, the surprise evident in her tone. “Why are . . . I mean, how are you?”

  “I’m fine. How are you and Dad?”

  “Oh, we’re doing fine.”

  “Is Dad there?”

  “He is. He just came in from work. Did you want to talk to him?”

  “I wanted to talk to both of you, actually.”

  “Well, he’s in the shower now.”

  “It’s okay. I can wait. How’s work going?”

  “Really good. We’ve had quite a lot of sales recently. I can’t complain.”

  My parents are in real estate with my mom being trained in residential real estate, and my father in commercial. Their real estate brokerage company deals with both, as well as investment and development in the Breckshire and surrounding areas. They’ve always made good money, but it got better as they got older and were able to get fully established. After Gordon died, they paid off my house as a “gift” so to speak. That was their way of helping me.

  After listening to my mom talk about work for a little while, she informs me that my dad is coming downstairs.

  “Can you just have him pick up another phone so I can talk to you both?”

  “Sure, just a minute.”

  As I wait for my dad to get to another phone, I think over everything I want to say. I haven’t fully expressed to them just how much their lack of support has hurt me. I want to hash everything out between us and hopefully move on.

  “Hello?” My father’s rough voice comes over the phone.

  “Hey, Dad.”

  “How ya doin’, Phoenix?”

  “I’m fine, Dad. I hear work’s going well.”

  “Business is booming. Can’t complain,” he says, sounding similar to Mom.

  “What’s going on, Phoenix?” my mother asks gently, knowing I called for a reason.

  I tell myself to stay calm and levelheaded, and to try not to let my hurt and anger get the best of me. I really do want everything to be okay between us, but that depends on what they have to say.

  “Well, you know things between us have been,” I pause, looking for the right word, “strained lately. I want to talk to you both about everything and hopefully push past this.

  “Honey, you know we care about you,” my mother says.

  “I know, Mom, but do you realize that by picking up and moving, leaving me alone when I needed people the most, makes me feel like you don’t care at all?”

  “We didn’t move far,” my dad tries to justify.

  “That’s not the point,” I say through gritted teeth. “My husband was killed, as you know, but what
you don’t know is the pain that comes with a loss like that. Maybe I didn’t deal with the pain to your liking, but I dealt with it the only way I knew how. I mourned the loss of a man who made my life complete. I grieved for the happy life we had together, and for the future I would no longer get with him. My friends turned out to be judging me as well, so when you two left, I had nobody.”

  “Sweetie,” my mother says in a broken whisper.

  “Phoenix, we didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” my dad states, “we were going to move, anyway. It was always the plan.”

  “You both made it known that my breakdowns embarrassed you. Why do you care what your friends think of me? They know what happened. I’m sure people can understand.”

  “We just thought you were above that behavior. You’re right, we don’t know what it’s like to lose a spouse, and maybe I’d act the same way. I don’t know,” my mom says.

  “Above what behavior?” I ask, trying to stay calm.

  “Well, we heard about you going out and being publicly intoxicated and causing a scene.”

  “I was drunk once out in public, and that was at a bar. I’m sure I wasn’t the first and won’t be the last drunk person in a bar. The other incidents happened when I was sober. The first was after the funeral, you remember, you were there. I feel like that’s understandable, too. Another was at the store when I heard mine and Gordon’s wedding song come on.”

  “We heard different stories, Phoenix. We’re sorry,” my dad offers.

  “You could have known the truth if you would’ve just been around and asked me.”

  “We know we should have done things differently, and we know we can’t change the past, but your father’s right. We were always going to move, we just hadn’t told you yet, because we weren’t sure the deal would go through. Then Gordon died, and we just didn’t feel it was the right time to discuss it.”

  I’ll admit hearing that they didn’t leave strictly to get away from me is a bit of a relief. However, their lack of support has no excuse.

  “Well, I just wanted to let you know that it really hurt that you two stopped reaching out to me, and I know you’re gonna say I could’ve called you, but when you can barely get out of bed to shower and eat, you can imagine making a phone call isn’t on the top of your list of things to do. I needed you to at least pretend you cared.” My voice breaks. “I needed my parents.”

  “Phoenix,” my mom’s voice sounds broken as well.

  “Listen,” I start. “I was in a bad place for a long time. I was depressed and lonely, and even if I pushed you away, it’s your job as parents to force your way in and make sure your only child is okay. Because I wasn’t for a long time. You know when I started getting better? When I met Evan.”

  “Is that-” my mom begins.

  “Yes, that’s the guy I was telling you about. The one your friend saw me with. He came around and pulled me from the dark. He cared and wanted to help, and he did so without judging me. Not only did he get me out of my house and have me appreciating life again, but he did it while going through his own problems. His own grief. He’s selfless, compassionate, patient, and an overall good guy. I want you to know that I really like him. It’s because of him that I’m calling you. Not that he asked or told me to, but because I want to be a better person. I want you in my life, because eventually I’ll want you to meet him. He doesn’t have parents anymore, and regardless of our problems, I don’t want to lose either one of you while holding grudges.”

  Both of them are quiet for several seconds. In that time, I wonder what their response will be, but I already feel a lot lighter after getting everything off my chest. No matter what happens from here, at least I’ll know that I said what I needed to say.

  “Well, we’d love to meet him,” my mother says gently. “Of course we’d want to meet the man that cares for our daughter so much.”

  “Your mother’s right. And we’re sorry for everything, Phoenix. I know we may have a long road to getting back to the way we used to be, and we can’t apologize enough for being absent when you needed us. With us moving, and our business, we got caught up in things that aren’t as important as you are. We’d love to see you soon.”

  The tears fill my eyes, with one trickling down my cheek and dripping off of my chin.

  “I’d like that.”

  “Let us know when, okay?” my mom says.

  “I will. Talk to you both later.”

  “Okay, we love you,” Mom adds.

  “I love you guys, too.”

  As soon as I hit the end button on my phone, I take a deep breath and blow it out in a huff. Onto the next thing on my list.

  THE DAY AFTER I talked to my parents, I call Evan, but he doesn’t answer. I try not to panic, telling myself he’s probably working, but then I try not to panic when I think of him working. To burn off some energy, and to get out of the house and have some time to think, I put on my workout gear and go for a run.

  Exercise. Another thing I’m trying to get back into my schedule. I’m still not in the best of shape, and I still take frequent breaks, but it’s better than not trying. I have an eclectic mix of Eminem, Panic! At the disco, and Sean Paul playing in my ear as I force myself to go farther and farther.

  Tomorrow I’m going to talk to the principal at McMillian Valley elementary school and hope that I can get my job back. Depending on how that goes will determine if I quit the travel agency or not. Even if I don’t get the job back at the school, I’m pretty determined to find a better job, but the opportunities in this town are few and far between. People don’t quit their jobs that often, and the only ones that are always available, are the ones only teenagers would go for.

  My mind wanders to my lunch date with Stephanie two days from now, after our grief group meeting. We exchanged phone numbers at the last meeting, and have texted back and forth a few times. Stephanie is really nice and extremely easy to get along with. Her husband died about six months before mine did, in a car accident. They’d been married six years at the time, and she said that even though the pain isn’t as strong as it was when he first died, she thinks going to the counseling sessions can not only help her, but she can help others with her own story.

  When I finally snap out of my own thoughts, I realize that I’ve already jogged about a mile and a half away from my house. I stop at a street corner, stretching my legs while I check my watch. Five thirty-five.

  I turn back and head home, knowing I’ll have just enough time to put some dinner in the oven, grab a shower, eat, then head to bed.

  As I turn onto my road, my house in view, I hear a rumble behind me. A black truck starts to creep alongside the sidewalk I’m running on, and when I glance over, I see Evan’s smiling face watching me through the open window.

  I slow down as he comes to a full stop, so I walk over to the passenger window, fully aware of the sweaty mess I am.

  “Hey there,” he says with a lopsided grin.

  “Hey,” I repeat, trying to catch my breath.

  “I was going to return your call when I got home.”

  I nod. “I figured you might be working.”

  “Did you want to talk now?” he asks.

  I look down at myself. “I’m all sweaty and gross. I was just heading home to shower and eat. Can I call you later?”

  “You can call me whenever you like,” he answers sincerely.

  “It was nice seeing you,” I say, taking a good look at him. “You look good in uniform,” I reply with a smile.

  I hear him chuckle as I walk away in the direction of my house.

  My heart thumps hard in my chest, and I’m sure it’s because of a mixture of nerves and excitement. I wasn’t lying when I said he looks good in uniform. Good god, that man is beautiful. Even though he was sitting down, there’s no hiding the way the uniform top stretched across his torso like it was made for him and him alone. I’m sure he can look good in anything. I try to not think about the impending conversation, because my nerves are alr
eady trying to get the best of me, so I focus on putting together a quick dinner.

  I pull the defrosted chicken breasts from the fridge, season and smother them with cream of chicken and mushroom soup, and put it in the oven.

  After jogging up the stairs and stripping myself of my clothes, I turn on the shower and climb under the warm stream.

  Once I’ve washed the sweat from my body, I throw on the t-shirt Evan left over here, and a pair of pajama shorts. With my wet hair combed into a bun, I go back downstairs to start making some rice.

  While I wait for everything to finish, I grab my phone and sit on the couch, sending a text to Evan.

  Me: Are you busy?

  Evan: Nope. Just got out of the shower. Looking for some food. What’re you doing?

  I think about my response for a minute before deciding to go ahead and go for it.

  Me: Want to come over? We can eat and then talk. I have dinner in the oven.

  Evan: I’m wearing my pajamas. Be there soon.

  Me: Me too. Guess we’re having a jammy party, then.

  He doesn’t respond, but I didn’t expect him to. I’m sure he’s already about to leave his house, which only gives me a minute or so. Instead of changing, since he’s wearing pajamas, too, I go to the half bathroom and make sure to lotion my legs, and put on some lip gloss.

  I unlock the front door and head to the kitchen to take the chicken out of the oven. As I’m scooping rice onto the plates, Evan knocks on the door.

  “Come in!” I shout.

  “I think it’s about to rain,” he says as he enters.

  “At least I won’t be caught in it this time,” I reply, putting the chicken and cream sauce on top of the rice.

  “Something smells good,” he states, coming into the kitchen.

  He’s behind me, and I’ve yet to turn around to look at him, but I can feel him getting closer.

  “Hope you think it tastes good, too.”

  “It will be delicious,” he all but growls near my ear. I start to turn my head to look at him, and feel his lips quickly and softly brush against my cheek.

  He takes a quick step back and leans against the counter, so I look up at him and smile.

  “Can I help?”