by Scott, Shae
I’m starting over.
Again.
I can't even begin to imagine what my life will be like come tomorrow. I only know it's going to be completely different.
Everything is different now.
Especially me.
My body jerks awake with a nightmare. Sweat covers my body, leaving my hair wet and stuck to my neck. I try and remember the details, but they are already fading. Only the racing of my heart remains. I feel chilled, even in the sticky humid air around me.
It's still early, the sun just beginning to peek over the horizon, casting a soft glow through the large picture window. I crawl out of my makeshift bed and shuffle to the kitchen to find the coffee pot, thankful that Dad thought to stock me up with the essentials.
Once I have a cup poured, I make my way out to the back deck and sit in one of the rocking chairs. The yard is big and filled with forgotten flowerbeds and an old garden that looks like it might have been quite impressive once upon a time.
It makes me think of my Nana. Being back home is a sharp reminder that she’s no longer here. It was easier to pretend otherwise when I was gone. Now the truth is unforgiving.
Nana and I used to garden together. We grew every vegetable imaginable. It was one of my favorite things to do as a little girl. I can almost hear her voice as she explained the importance of taking the time to pull the weeds. You have to take the time to get rid of the bad pieces if you want it to flourish. The bad stuff will suffocate the good if you let it. We can't let it. She loved to sneak in life lessons when I didn't expect them. That one feels especially important now. Maybe I'll have to find a way to bring that old garden back to life.
The quiet morning has me feeling hopeful. It's a small glimmer, but the sun pushing up from the horizon turns it a little brighter. It's a new day. I'm in a new place. It's time I get to know the new me.
I bite back a sarcastic chuckle at my thoughts. Like sunrises and gardens can change anything.
THE HOUSE NEEDS A little bit of work, but I like that it’s not perfect. It feels perfect for me. It feels like a place I can settle into. Settle into or hide out in, whichever the case might be. At least for now I have an excuse for staying put. There are boxes stacked high, waiting to be sorted and put away.
With each box, I begin to realize that none of my stuff fits this space. Everything I unpack screams Gabe. It all feels too refined and too stuffy for this place and I end up repacking most of it and putting it back into boxes to deal with later. Maybe I'll have a big garage sale once I've gone through everything.
Or a bonfire.
It doesn’t feel like me. It's all just another reminder of the life I left behind and how much of myself I lost living it. The thought brings a surge of guilt with it. I should want to hold on to that life. My husband has only been gone for a month. I should be clinging to everything that reminds me of him. Instead, I only want to pack him away and forget. Sometimes I think if I could just forget the last six years of my life I'd be better off. If I could just erase it all away, starting over would be easy.
But that’s just a fantasy and a selfish one at that.
After unpacking a box of photo albums I can't decide what to do with, I decide it might be better to move to something less sentimental. Like the dishes. I could use a cup of coffee to motivate me to keep going anyway. I set the coffee pot and open a box marked plates and mugs and set to work.
I actually really like the kitchen. It's painted a soft buttery yellow with bright white cabinets and it just makes me feel cheerful. I might just stay in here indefinitely.
I hear the soft knock on the door and look up from the stack of dishes in my hand. I crane my head to try and scope out my visitor, but all I can see is a tall shadow at my screen door. I really don't feel like talking to anyone, so I sit still in the hopes that they'll just go away.
The knock comes again, this time followed by a deep voice calling out my name. My body tenses and my ears prick at the familiar drawl. I know that voice. He’s been locked away, shoved into a box with all of my other precious memories. That voice belongs to the best part of my past. The one person I’ve been too afraid to think about since coming home.
I can't help the smile that tugs at my lips, as I get up and walk towards the front door. My stomach is churning, a mess of anxious butterflies at what waits for me behind the door. Sure enough, as I open the screen I see the first boy I ever loved standing there looking all grown up in low slung jeans and a baseball cap.
My heart jumps in my chest. It recognizes him instantly.
"There she is," he says with a relaxed smile.
"Cole," His name feels foreign on my tongue. I almost want to say it again. Instead, I stand there speechless and staring. It’s Cole. I knew I’d see him eventually, but honestly, the idea scared me to death. But now that he’s here, I realize there was nothing to worry about. He puts me at ease instantly.
"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes? Come here and give me a hug," he says and his arms open in invitation. I step into him as I've done so many times before. I do it without thinking, without any concern for the years that have separated us or the potential awkwardness of seeing your ex after so long.
I can't help but notice how grown up he is now. Gone is the boy I'd known. In his place stands a tall, handsome man with an embrace that overtakes my whole body.
"What are you doing here?" I ask.
"Your dad sent me over. He said you might need some help with a few things,” he offers.
I step back and study him a little closer. I haven't seen him in years, but he still looks the same. Older, more defined maybe, but he's still the same Cole. His sandy hair is a little longer these days, but his dark brown eyes are still full of mischief and still the kindest I've ever seen. He's tall, he always has been, but now that he's filled out with the muscles earned with hard labor, his stature is almost intimidating.
He’s sexy as hell. I blush a little at my silent admission. Even in my current state I can appreciate it.
"You didn't have to do that," I smile.
He shrugs, "I wanted to see you anyway. When your dad said you were back in town I needed an excuse to stop by."
"You never need an excuse. I'm glad you're here,” I say, surprising myself. I haven’t wanted to see anyone. “Come on in. I've been unpacking. I just made some coffee if you want some," I offer.
Cole follows me into the kitchen and takes a seat among the boxes and scattered newspaper. "You have quite the collection going on here," he laughs, folding a stack of newspaper on the counter.
"I may never finish. I think I should have just sold everything or left it all behind." It comes out teasing, but I realize it's the most honest thing I've said to another person for as long as I can remember.
"I can help if you want. I may not know where you want stuff, but I can sure take things out of boxes and get rid of this mountain of cardboard if you'd like." He sits down on the barstool at the counter and opens one of the boxes there, proving his point.
He’s so relaxed, like we haven’t lived through six years and a lifetime of change since we last spoke. How does he do it? Doesn’t he hate me for never returning his calls? For never coming back? I watch as he removes serving bowls from the sea of newspaper and stacks them on the counter, like he’s been over here a hundred times before.
"Don’t worry with that. I'm ready for a break. We can catch up," I suggest. I pull out two mugs and fill them with coffee. He's still working on the box when I bring them over. He gives me a wink as I set them down and move to get cream and sugar. "I told you not to help."
"Just making room,” he says. I join him back at the counter and take a seat across the bar from him. I push the mug towards him and he relents letting the box go for now. He gives me a warm smile and I can't help but return it, suddenly struck by how nice it feels to have Cole Bennett sitting in my kitchen. A piece from my past that I thought was gone forever. I haven't seen him in years and yet it already feels like I'm sitt
ing with a friend.
Then again Cole was my best friend. My first love. My first everything. He is so much a part of my history that I guess he could never really be a stranger.
"So, give me the scoop," I urge again, sipping my coffee as I study him further over my cup, trying to take in all of his details, all of the ways that he’s changed since I last saw him.
"What do you want to know? I'm sure Henry has kept you updated all these years," he smirks.
My smile fades instantly at the familiar tug of guilt and regret. "Not really," I admit without telling him I've barely spoken to my father since I left town. It saddens me to know that he has kept my bad behavior a secret. Probably making up excuses and stories to protect me.
Cole raises a questioning eyebrow, like he doesn't believe me, but I don't elaborate. "Well, I'm still working for your dad. He's been teaching me everything he knows. He even has me heading up quite a few projects. It keeps me pretty busy, but I love the work.”
Cole started working for my dad back in high school. I'm surprised to hear that he still does, but I don’t admit that to him. Obviously I would know this if I had any kind of real relationship with my father. I push down the sadness and work up another smile. "Careful or he'll having you running the place one day," I tease.
"That's the plan," he smiles easily. Dad always loved Cole. He was a part of our family from the start. He wasn't one of those boys that parents worried about sending their daughters out with. He wasn't loud or destructive. He wasn't mean or too wild. He just had a good head on his shoulders. He was raised in a good family and was a genuine good guy. People gravitated to him instantly. He had charisma and a spark that drew in everyone. He was that guy.
On paper that might make him sound boring, but he was anything but. He was dynamic and charming and whenever I was with him I felt like I was experiencing every moment of my life. Later, as I got older and things had felt less fulfilling, I'd always chalked that feeling up to being young. The carefree spirit of someone who didn't know anything about the real world yet. But sitting here with Cole, just for a few minutes I can already sense it in him again. I can already feel the pull of him and I am starting to realize that maybe it was more than young innocence.
"I thought maybe you would have gotten married and moved off to the city by now," I say. I had glanced at his left hand earlier and there was no ring, no line where one had rested, but as the words leave my mouth, I remember that dad rarely wore his. He said it wasn’t a good idea to wear it at the construction site. Maybe Cole feels the same way. I hold my breath hoping my assumptions are correct.
He shrugs, laughing, "Too busy for all that. Besides, we're practically next door to the city these days with the way things are growing. Most of our work is in OKC now. So it's the best of both worlds. I like the quiet here. I like having a little bit of small town in my life," he admits.
"It feels strange being back here. It's different, but so much the same," I say thoughtfully.
"I doubt it will ever change all that much."
"Probably not," I agree.
"Man, I can't believe I'm sitting in Emery James' kitchen again," he says, his smile warm and genuine as if the moment has finally caught up with him.
I feel my breath catch at the name. "It's Forrester now, actually," I say quietly. His smile falls instantly and I see the shadow drift over his eyes, that look of pity that I hate so much.
"Right, sorry. I'm really sorry to hear about your husband," he says evenly.
I nod, taking in the sentiment and letting it comfort me. "Thanks," I say simply. I hate the awkwardness that hangs between us, so I quickly change the subject.
"So, what did Dad have to bribe you with to get you to come over and help me?' I ask.
Cole laughs, a sound that makes my stomach flip. "Not necessary. I told you, I would have found an excuse to come and see you."
"Well, I appreciate the help. And the company," I admit.
He gives me a warm smile, "You're more than welcome. What do you say we tackle a few more boxes?"
I nod as he reaches for the box he'd abandoned earlier. It feels good to have him here, something that surprises me a little. And so I let him help.
Cole
SEEING EMERY JAMES AGAIN was like finding your favorite sweatshirt after thinking it was lost forever. The one that you'd worn so long that it was practically molded to you, a second skin, an extension of your identity. The lucky one. The one you could slip on and feel instant comfort. Like home.
Emery had always been that kind of presence in my life. Up until the day she'd left for college anyway. Back then the separation had felt temporary. I never imagined that she would fade out of my life completely.
Or so suddenly.
She was my first love. We were easy together. Looking back on it now, I can see how unique we were. We didn’t have the typical young love story. It wasn’t filled with unnecessary drama. We didn’t break up just so we could make up. We didn’t scream or test each other the way some of our friends did. We were happy to be happy. We understood each other in a way that most teenagers just can’t. At least that’s how it felt to me back then. We were solid. We didn’t need big declarations or dramatic promises about a future that felt too big or too foreign to grasp.
We simply enjoyed each other. She was the person I was closest to and I told her everything without hesitation. We had fun together. We were partners in crime, exploring every corner of our tiny town, making up rules as we went along. And we loved. Shit, we loved in that way you only can once. The first time. Where everything is new, an exploration of every sensation, daring to cross every line that you find yourself up against.
But at the time, it never felt epic. Not like it does when you watch those cheesy teen TV shows or movies. Not that I watch them, but I endured enough of my sister watching them to know that they didn't mirror my real life. We were so much more than that. We didn’t need loud, not when we had real.
I've always thought real was better than epic any day.
I knew how different that was, even then.
So when it was time for us to head off to college we did the logical thing. We broke up. I don't think either of us wanted to end things, but we both knew that living in different states would put a stress on us that we wouldn't likely handle. So, when she had suggested ending it for the sake of keeping things good between us, I'd agreed.
Even though it hurt like hell.
Turns out, first loves create the biggest heartbreak.
I had this fantasy that we would spend college getting to know ourselves as adults and be stronger for it. That we'd come back together like no time had passed. It felt inevitable. I held onto it. It was the only way I could watch her walk away without putting up the fight I’d wanted to.
So I let her go. I told her to go see the world.
Even when my calls went unanswered, I still believed we’d find each other again.
Until her dad told me she had gotten married.
Just like that.
Married. To someone else.
That had been a wakeup call.
But that's young love right? It burns bright, but fast, and then you only have it as a memory. Emery James has always been my favorite memory.
Now she's back. Back in Darling with no husband and it would feel like a second chance if she didn't look so sad. So lost. She's a shadow of who she used to be and it throws me for a loop. I search her eyes for the spark I remember, but all I see is the brave face she's putting on, and the vacancy there in her eyes is enough to rip my heart out.
I have to keep reminding myself that she just lost her husband. Of course she's going to be devastated and lost. Just because I didn't know him, or any part of the life she had with him, didn't make it any less real to her.
As selfish as it sounds, I'm glad she's back. I've missed her. I've missed seeing her face. Just spending a little bit of time with her that I have reminds me of the piece of me that has been empty since she left.<
br />
I don’t know the polite thing to do in this situation, but I know that I want to see her. I know she’s going through hell right now, but the idea of staying away from her feels impossible. When it comes to Emery there has always been a pull, one that I've never really been able to walk away from. Besides, she could probably use a friend and while a part of me wants to remember the times when we were so much more than that, I'm happy to take on that role now if she needs it.
I know I'll be back there tomorrow. I also know that I'll keep coming back until I have everything in that house tended to. Not because it all needs fixing, but because now that Emery's back I realize that every part of me wants to be where she is.
Emery
AFTER A WEEK OF being back home I'm starting to settle in a little. The sense of limbo is fading.
Between Dad and Cole, I’ve had company every day. They help me fill the quiet.
Dad even helped me pack out new furniture online when I realized that the stuff I brought with me didn’t feel right. When I say he helped, I mean he sat on the couch beside me, watching TV while I showed him options on my iPad. But the fact that we did it together is a milestone compared to where we've been for the past six years.
I know that one day I'll have to talk to him about everything that happened. But I'm happy that day doesn't have to be today.
And then there’s Cole. When he'd left that first day saying he'd be back to fix up a few things for me I hadn't really expected him to. Honestly, I'd thought he had shown up out of some sort of morbid curiosity. Now that he'd seen what had become of me there was no reason to drag it out.
I was wrong.
He showed up the very next evening, his tools in hand and the best smile I'd ever seen on his face. Sometimes Dad is here and helps him out, other times he just floats around the house and the yard sprucing up the place, attending to things I didn’t even know needed tending.
