by Rebecca Shea
“What are you looking at?” she smirks and takes another drink of water.
“I just noticed you have freckles.” I’m embarrassed that she caught me looking at her.
“They’re usually covered up under make-up, but they’re light… so most people never see them.” She presses the plastic bottle to her lips again and, this time, I look away. The trail is lined with large trees with full green leaves and the late summer air is moist and fragrant. For a brief moment, I feel at peace.
“Matt.” Her voice tears me away from my thoughts. “It’ll get easier. I know right now, it doesn’t seem like it, but I promise you it will. Every day will get easier and the memories won’t hurt nearly as bad, and then one day, you’ll finally be able to breathe again without feeling like you’re going to be sick.” She speaks as if she knows this from experience. I turn to look at her and find her green eyes are fixated on a large cloud in the sky. Her voice is quiet, yet knowing. “You’ll learn to live without her, Matt.”
“What if I don’t want to?”
“What if you don’t have a choice?”
I close the front door and press my forehead against the doorframe. I still expect to walk through the front door to find Lindsay spread out on the couch with her magazines and a diet Coke. That giant smile she’d give me every time I walked in the door made my day, no matter how bad the day had been. I still hear her voice say, “Hey, babe.” She always called me babe. No other woman will ever be able to call me that… that is Lindsay’s name for me.
My cell phone chimes in my pocket, but I ignore it, as usual. The clock on the wall tells me that the Braves game is about to start. Nothing sounds better at this moment than losing myself in a game of baseball and a few beers. Walking toward the kitchen, I kick off my tennis shoes along the way and toss my phone onto the couch as it chimes again.
Opening the fridge, I find a foil-covered glass dish with a sticky note on it. “Lasagna. Eat. Call us. Reagan.” I smile at the note and pull the dish out of the fridge and set it on top of the stove. Reagan continues to take it upon herself to treat me like an orphaned child. As much as I find it annoying at times, I also don’t know what I’d do without her. Reaching back into the fridge, I pull out a bottle of beer and pop off the top, tossing the cap into the kitchen sink. Pre-heating the oven, I place the dish inside, setting the timer for forty-five minutes. I can’t remember the last time I cooked for myself. Lindsay did all the cooking; even when she would work evenings, she’d have a huge meal waiting for me when I got home. I always felt guilty and offered to help her, but she insisted on cooking and I didn’t argue with her over it.
Throwing myself down onto the couch, I position a throw pillow under my arm and push the power button on the remote control. Changing the channels, I find the baseball game and prop my feet on the coffee table. Some semblance of normalcy creeps over me for the first time in weeks, except I realize this is my new normal—alone.
The screen on my phone lights up, pulling my attention away from the game. The screen flashes the two text messages I’ve missed, but it’s the background screen I fixate on, a picture of Lindsay sitting on my lap at Landon and Reagan’s engagement party. Her blue eyes shine against the royal blue dress she’s wearing, her long, blonde hair falling in waves over her bare shoulders. She’s petite, small in my lap. My long arms wrap around her waist, holding her close to me—an embrace that says I’d never let her go.
I swipe my finger over the screen lock, opening my phone. I tap the contacts icon and slide my finger over Lindsay’s name. A small photo of her blowing a kiss to me pops up on the screen and a smile tugs at my lips. I pause, looking at the screen, at her face, at her name staring at me and, without a second thought, I tap the phone number and wait—and wait—and wait. By the fourth ring, I know she’s not going to answer. Just as I pull the phone away from my ear, I hear her faint voice. “Matt?”
“Linds?” I ask, unsure if I’m imagining this.
“Hi,” she says quietly.
“Hi,” I say back, my heart beating rapidly as I scramble to sit up. “I didn’t expect you to answer,” I admit. She exhales loudly and pauses before she answers.
“I’m glad you called. I miss you.” And those three little words break me. I miss you.
“I miss you too.” It’s a silent plea, my final resolve breaking.
We sit in silence, letting the weight of those words sink in. Weeks of silence, stubbornness, and anger lifted by the admission of those three words I needed to hear so badly. There are so many questions I have for her. How is she doing? Does she like Arizona? So much I want to know—but I’ll take sitting in silence on the phone with her, listening to nothing else but her faint breath if that’s all she can offer me.
“Matt?”
“Hi. I’m here.”
“Talk to me. Tell me a something funny. Tell me anything.” The pitch in her voice rises before it breaks. She’s crying. I can hear her sniffles and envision her chin quivering. My girl is alone, across the country, and hurting. I search for anything to tell her. There is so much I want to say, but now is not the time.
“I don’t have anything funny to share,” I muster, clearing my throat and trying to contain my own emotions. “I saw your brother and Reagan. Their house is insane, Linds.” I pause, waiting for her to respond, but she doesn’t. “You should call them. They miss you and want to hear how you’re doing.”
“They have enough going on with their new house and planning their wedding.” She pauses for a moment. “I’ll call Landon this week. Just let him know I’m okay, will you?”
“Yeah, of course.” A now awkward silence settles between us.
“I should probably go now.” No. Don’t hang up. I need you, Lindsay. I need your smile, your laughter—I need you. “Thanks for calling.” Her voice is short and the line goes dead.
Numbly, I sit on the couch, the Braves game on mute playing in the background. My bottle of beer has warmed and I push it to the center of the coffee table. I sit for god only knows how long, trying to feel anything other than absolute devastation.
“How do you feel about Starbucks?” Mike asks as he leans into my cube with a grin on his face. His tan face looks tired, but in this business, you learn to “fake it till you make it.”
“I feel like that’s the best thing I’ve heard all morning.” I reach for my clutch and slide out of my office chair. “My treat,” I say, wiggling the clutch in front of him as I step out of my cubicle.
“Even better,” he smirks. We walk side by side down the long aisle lined with cubes that lead out to the front lobby. Mike holds the large glass door open as we step out into the sweltering Phoenix heat.
“It’s only nine in the morning. When does this heat end?” I complain and fan my face with my hand.
Mike chuckles and shakes his head, “Late November—so toughen up, buttercup. We have at least three more months of this.”
“I feel like this is the gateway to hell.”
“So dramatic, tsk tsk,” he scolds me with a laugh.
We walk quickly down the sidewalk, cutting through one of the downtown office buildings for a reprieve from the unbearable heat. My heels click along the travertine floors as we slow our pace, drinking in the cool air until we find the line for Starbucks that wraps around the outside of the store. Apparently, 112 degrees does not deter Phoenicians from drinking coffee.
“So your first week is almost done. How are you feeling?” Mike asks as we wait in line.
“Like I made the biggest mistake of my life,” I admit quietly.
“That bad, huh?”
“You could say that.”
“Has Amanda backed off yet? She usually has her claws out for a couple of days, but then backs down fairly quick.”
“Eh, I don’t give a shit about Amanda. I just feel like maybe I bit off more than I can chew by coming to Arizona.”
“Can I make an observation without you getting upset?” Mike asks.
“Of
course.”
“If there was anyone who has ever come from a small market and jumped right in and owned this job, it’s you. In the first week, you’ve impressed the hell out of everyone. Why do you think Amanda hasn’t backed down? She’s threatened. You are the real deal, the total package.”
“You’re adorable when you’re blowing smoke up my ass. You know that, right?” I laugh at him. However, his words are comforting. I’ve second-guessed every decision I’ve made in the last month—and honestly have been waiting to fail, my excuse to go running home with my tail between my legs.
“It’s the truth, Lindsay. The camera loves you, the viewers love you, and Rob loves you.” He wags his eyebrows and I can’t contain the eye roll that just happens so naturally.
“What’s his deal anyway?” I ask, referring to Rob’s overly friendly personality. He is always floating around the newsroom, popping into say hello, or wanting to chat it up.
“He likes blondes.”
“Shut up.” I smack him on the shoulder.
“No, he really does. You’re young… presumably single?” He backs away, posing it as a question.
I nod my head. “Yeah, recently single. Not looking; especially not looking at my boss.” I shake my head.
“Well, in my expert opinion, he’s looking at you. So just keep it professional, would be my advice.” I like Mike. I like that he’s looking out for me and concerned with appearances. “So, your recent break-up; tell me about it.”
I swallow tightly against my dry throat, thinking of Matt. I loved nothing more than seeing him off to work in the mornings. He’d wake up early and make coffee, then join me back in bed while it was brewing. I loved when he’d wrap himself around me, his warm skin pressed against mine. Mornings were our time together. With my crazy schedule, evenings were difficult to plan around. Matt made sure every morning that I was thoroughly taken care of in every possible way. A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth when I think of our morning routine.
I glance at the time on my phone and assume he’s at work. It’s noon in Wilmington and, if I was home, I might be meeting him for lunch right now. My stomach turns as I wonder who he meets for lunch now.
“Hello?” Mike says, snapping his fingers in front of my face to get my attention. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, sorry… just got lost in my thoughts for a moment.”
“I could see that. I didn’t mean to bring up any bad memories,” he says as we scoot forward in the seemingly never-ending line for Starbucks.
“No. No bad memories. Just remembering…” I trail off.
“Want to talk about it? I’m a great listener.”
“I left him to take this job,” I say quietly, trying to keep my emotions at bay. “I love him more than anything in the world, but I left him very selfishly to take this job.”
“Why do you say ‘selfishly’? Don’t you deserve to be happy, even if that comes in the form of a job opportunity across the country?” Mike questions me.
“I suppose, but I think I might have been happier if I had stayed in Wilmington, at the station there, and had Matt.”
“So then why’d you leave?”
I contemplate his question. It’s a question I have asked myself over and over—nonstop since I left, and I cannot find the answer. I’m not sure I have an answer. I shrug.
“I don’t know, Mike. I honestly don’t know.”
“You know, Lindsay, I’ve known you for all of what… five days now, but there is one thing I know about you. You have a great head on your shoulders. You’re smart. You’re driven. You may not have the answer today, but you’ll understand someday why you left and took this job. It might not be the answer you like, but you’ll figure it out.” He smiles at me as we approach the counter to place our order.
We wait at the end of the counter for our coffee in silence, as I get lost in memories again. Matt dragging me from our bed after our morning marathon lovemaking session and pulling me into a hot shower. He loved to take his time washing my body, then promptly pressing me against the shower wall for another quick round of lovemaking—it was his thing to do in the shower. God I miss him.
“Skinny vanilla latte?” the voice asks from behind the counter as I reach for the piping hot cup of coffee.
“Thanks.”
“You look sad,” Mike says as he casually wraps his arm around my shoulders, nudging me forward.
“I’ll be okay. It’s just really hard right now.”
“Every day will get easier.”
“You say this like you know this.”
“Sweetheart, who hasn’t had a broken heart before? Just stay positive. Oh, and don’t make plans for tonight. You’re coming out with me.”
“Out?”
“Me and a couple of friends are going to hit the town. You should come along. I promise we’re a good time,” he smirks.
“I don’t know.”
“Come on. I guarantee you every drag queen in Phoenix is going to want a piece of you.”
I can’t help but laugh.
“Maybe for just a little bit.”
“You’re not going to sit in that high-rise condo all alone, play Peter Gabriel songs, and mope.” He gives my shoulder a little squeeze. “And I’ve now declared it my job to make sure you love Phoenix.”
“I hate Peter Gabriel, so you don’t have to worry about that, but loving Phoenix… that’s not going to happen either,” I say bluntly.
“Well, I’m going to do my best to try,” he says.
Our walk back to the office is quiet, weighted by my somber mood.
With one swipe of bright red lipstick, I step away from the bathroom vanity and give myself a once over in the mirror. Black skinny leather pants and a silver sequined tank top with black patent-leather stilettos to complete the outfit. My long hair hangs in loose waves and my blue eyes pop with the extra dark eye shadow. My stomach flutters a little in anticipation of going out and meeting Mike and his friends.
I grab my small, black clutch and head for the front door. As I weave through the living room, I can’t help but notice how cold and lonely this condo feels, even though it has million-dollar views and would be the envy of most people my age. I miss my home. I miss my home with Matt.
Pressing the elevator button, I wait patiently and pick at my fingernail. A shrill whistle sounds behind me along with the sound of a shutting door.
“Well, well, well… where are you headed?” Jonah sidles up next to me. I haven’t seen him since Monday night when we had wine.
“Out,” I answer him curtly. There is something about him, an innocence that I’m drawn to, but something inside me tells me I need to keep my distance.
“Out, huh? On a date?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but no. It’s not a date. Speaking of, where are you headed dressed like that?” It’s the first time I’ve seen him in anything other than gym shorts or preppy schoolboy clothes. He actually looks nice in a white dress shirt with his sleeves rolled up and a pair of dark jeans. His face is freshly shaven and his hair is styled.
“Same as you. Out.”
I don’t inquire further, or care to carry on meaningless conversation, so we wait together quietly. The elevator arrives and we ride down in silence; neither of us have much to say, apparently. I press my body into the back corner while he stands up front near the doors. We arrive and the doors open. Always the gentleman, he stands back and holds the doors open while I exit first.
“Thank you,” I mumble as I step into the cool lobby.
“Do you have your phone?” he asks me as I begin walking away, catching me off guard.
“Yes.”
“Let me see it.”
“Why?”
“Just let me see it, Lindsay.”
I reach into my clutch, pull out the slim iPhone, and hand it to him. He swipes his finger, opening the screen, and begins tapping.
“First of all, put a passcode on this. Second, my number is in there. Call me i
f you need anything and be safe.” He hands me the phone and saunters away.
“I should be telling you to be safe,” I mutter.
He waves me off without ever turning back to look at me. That man is ballsy.
Pulling up to the nondescript building, I check the navigation system to be sure it has taken me to the right place. The parking lot is full and I can hear music, so this must be it. I check my lipstick and hair in the visor mirror one last time before stepping out into the torrid air. My leather pants are stuck to my legs and a light sheen of sweat instantly forms across my forehead and upper lip. I move quickly toward the large, wooden door, which has a flashing neon light hanging over it, screaming that the bar is open.
I pull open the heavy door and am greeted by a blast of cold air and the sounds of Justin Timberlake singing through the speakers. The bar is dimly lit and packed with bodies. Flashing lights from the dance floor make it hard to focus on finding anyone. I try to look for Mike over the sea of people and I squeeze in between sweaty bodies that are swaying to the music, excusing myself every few feet. I finally see Mike standing at a tall pub table that is surrounded by two other men.
“Lindsay!” Mike shouts as I approach. He leans in and presses a wet kiss to my cheek. “Look at you, gorgeous!” He lifts my hand above my head and twirls me around to look at me. “You look amazing in those pants.” I laugh at his fashion observation.
“Thanks, and look at you!” I raise my eyebrows at him. He’s wearing a skin-tight tank top and faded jeans. His arms are firm and muscular, but lean. He looks so different from how he dresses at the office in a shirt and tie. I notice a tattoo on his shoulder and make a mental note to ask him the meaning behind it.
“Nick, Javier, this is Lindsay. Lindsay, this is Nick and Javier.” Both men reach out to shake my hand. Nick is tall and slender with dark hair and trendy dark-rimmed glasses. His hair is styled back away from his face. His smile is slightly crooked, but he’s a good-looking man. Mike and Javier dance around the small table when the music changes and Lady Gaga starts piping through the speakers, leaving me with Nick.
