Me: So, this phone, is this mine to keep?
I watch immediately as the three dots appear at the bottom of the screen. Seconds later, a new message appears.
Drew: Will you keep texting me on it if you do?
I roll my eyes.
Me: Maybe. Maybe not.
Drew: Tease.
Me: Well, I’m texting you back now, so that clues you in. Kind of stupid, I know, since you’re a stranger and all. I mean, I don’t even know your last name. You could be a serial killer for all I know.
Drew: I should be offended, but life’s too short for that shit, so I’m going to let that slide. And my last name is Greyson.
Me: Life is definitely too short.
And it can end in the blink of an eye.
Drew: Sounds like you’ve experienced loss.
Yes, and in a way he couldn’t even begin to comprehend. I usually close myself up at the mention of my loss, but my thumbs easily type the words against the touch screen.
Me: Loss isn’t even the accurate term for what I’ve experienced.
I don’t think there is even a word in the English dictionary that could describe what I’ve experienced. It’s a wordless emotion—an endless dark pit of pure agonizing fire, obliterating everything in its path with its earth-shattering flames.
With my work now completely forgotten about, I stand from my seat and head toward the kitchen for a much-needed glass of wine. It’s a school night, but screw it, I need a drink. As I’m pouring myself a generous amount of chardonnay, the phone alerts me to another text message.
Drew: I’d say I’m sorry, but I’d guess you hear that all the time.
Me: Endlessly, and thank you.
Drew: Why are you thanking me?
I smile, as he’s probably the only person who hasn’t said sorry to me. The moment Christopher died and still to this day, people have been saying it. It’s an automatic phrase. It comes out without thought, without realizing how unhelpful those words actually are. It’s meaningless, as it doesn’t bring them back.
It will never bring him back.
Me: For not giving me a bullshit apology. You’re the first person who hasn’t done that, and I’m grateful. So, thank you.
And, with that last message sent, I chug down the wine, enjoying the way it burns a little as it slides easily down my throat. I head off to bed, feeling somewhat lighter after opening up a little with my neighbor, whom I’m developing a strange friendship with.
During the next two weeks, the text messages continue, and I hate to admit, it’s a part of the day that I find myself enthralled with and even a little excited about. It’s odd that I’ve yet to have a real conversation with Drew, but I’m opening up to him in a way I haven’t done with anyone since my life with Christopher.
I used to tell Christopher everything—and I mean, everything—and suddenly having that ripped from me is something I’ve been struggling to adapt to. Every single day for a whole year, I would go to his grave and just tell him about my day. Mostly, I’d tell him about what new thing Junior had learned the previous day, but it was a place I could go and let the tears run freely without people suffocating me with their unbearable sorrow. I knew they meant well, but I had to be with Christopher even though I wasn’t physically with him. He had been my go-to person, and it continued even after his death. I just hated how it was impossible for him to answer me, to say the right thing at the right time.
Of course, a few text messages with my new hot neighbor don’t replace the connection I had with Christopher, but it makes my day a little bit brighter.
Saturday arrives, and I’m having my weekly conversation with my best friend via FaceTime when the phone—Drew’s phone—vibrates on the counter beside my iPhone. Kaelyn’s voice fades into the background since all my attention is on the text message.
Drew: How’s my favorite bitchy neighbor this morning?
I laugh as I type out my message to him.
Me: Currently drinking coffee out of my mug with a good heavy dose of sugar, so I’m less bitchy this morning.
Kaelyn can be heard chattering away with herself, but my attention stays focused on the phone as I wait for Drew’s reply.
Drew: Is it bad that I kinda like the bitchy side to you?
Me: No, not at all, but that’s because you’re a bitch, too.
Drew: A bitch? No. I need something with more of a bad-boy vibe to it.
Me: Man-bitch? Asshole? Dickhead? Douche bag?
Drew: No. I was thinking more along the lines of prick, but nice to know how you feel about me.
“Um, hello? Have you been listening to a word I’ve said?”
At the sound of Kaelyn trying to catch my attention, I shoot my eyes up to the iPad screen, and I give her a sheepish smile. “Sorry, I was preoccupied. What were you saying?” I say, still only halfheartedly in the conversation, as I text Drew back.
Me: Don’t be a pussy.
Drew: Did you just say pussy?
Me: I did. And?
Drew: And…well, that’s hot!
“Oh my God,” I say out loud with a chuckle. Men.
“Earth to Jo! What the hell? You’re staring at your phone as if you have a picture of Chris Hemsworth’s dick as your screen saver. What gives?”
“Chris Hemsworth’s dick? You wish,” I say with more laughter. “No, I’m sorry,” I add more seriously. “Drew’s texting me.”
She gives me a confused frown. “Who’s Drew?”
“You know…my neighbor.” I give her a pointed look, and her eyes grow wide before they narrow with scrutiny.
Here we go.
“Hold the fucking phone! You’re texting your hot neighbor who has bad taste in music? When in the hell did that start, and why are you only just telling me?”
“I’m telling you now.”
“Holy shit. So, are you guys dating?”
“What? No!” I exclaim, as if it’s the worst possible idea in the world. “We’re just friends.”
“Just friends,” she mocks with laughter.
My hackles immediately rise.
“You hated him three weeks ago, and now, you’re friends. Sorry if I find that a little weird.”
“He’s not the asshole I wrote him off as. He actually seems like a decent guy.” I continue to tell her how our little friendship of love and hate began with the daily gifts he left outside my door and finish off with the text messages we’ve been sending to and fro for the past couple of weeks.
“This guy is totally into you.”
I begin to shake my head in disagreement, but a part of me questions it. Is he into me?
“Just because a guy gets me an apologetic gift for being an asshole, you think he likes me?” I’ve been out of the dating game for a long time, and I have no idea how to read if a guy is into me or not.
Hell, what the hell am I talking about? I was never in the dating game to begin with since Christopher was the be-all and end-all of everything. He’s the only person I’ve ever been with.
“Correction, he’s sent you more than one apologetic gift. Yes, the first one might have been an apologetic gift, but the rest is because he likes you. It’s obvious. Plus, he’s pretty much seen you in your underwear, so of course, he’s going to be head over heels for you. You are one foxy mama!” she says with pride.
I frown. Me, a foxy mama? I don’t think so.
“Blondie, don’t give me that look. You’re so damn pretty that you don’t even see it. God, I would do anything to have your long legs and those hourglass curves.” She sighs with a frustration that has me smiling. She turns serious as she stares me down through the screen. “I wish you could see your beauty in the way everybody else does. When Christopher told you that you were beautiful, did you believe him?”
My bottom lip wobbles at the mention of him, but I answer her honestly, “Yeah, I did.”
When Christopher used to tell me how beautiful I was, it would make me feel like a princess—a sexy, desired princess. It�
�s been a long time since I’ve felt sexy and desired.
“So, why can’t you believe that now? Nothing has changed, except that you’ve gotten a little older, and age, my friend, has definitely been kind to you.”
I roll my eyes, still unable to latch on to her compliment. “I guess you’re right.”
She begins with determination, “I am right. And please believe me when I say this Drew guy is into you. There is no doubt about it.”
“It doesn’t matter. He has a girlfriend. A pretty blonde young thing.”
“How young?” Kaelyn asks with intrigue.
“About twenty,” I say with a shrug.
“Ha! I highly doubt she’s his girlfriend; she’s probably just a good lay. Plus, if it were serious, he wouldn’t be texting you.”
And, as if on cue, another text message sounds, and I’m unable to resist looking down at the phone.
Drew: A new package is waiting outside your door.
“What? What is it?” Kaelyn asks, almost on the edge of her seat.
I glance up at her with a smile on my face. “It’s Drew; he said a new package is waiting outside my door.”
I can see the excitement almost combusting from her. “Well, go and see what it is then. I’ll wait here!”
“One sec,” I tell Kaelyn before making my way toward my front door.
Ten seconds later, I’m returning with a medium-sized box in my hands. The moment I step foot into Kaelyn’s vision, she pounces on me—figuratively speaking.
“What is it?” She’s practically whimpering with as much enthusiasm as a hyperactive kid on Christmas morning.
“Well, if you’d let me open it, we could find out,” I retort with a playful snap to my voice.
“Wow, you are such a bitch.”
I give her the evil eye before placing the box on the countertop where I commence to open it up. Inside the box sits hundreds—no, possibly thousands of sugar sticks. I pick up a handful of the sugar sticks and let them fall between my fingers, shaking my head in amusement.
“What is it?” Kaelyn asks for the millionth time, bouncing up and down in her seat.
“Sugar sticks.”
“Aw, I love you, too, honey bunch.”
I roll my eyes. “No, Drew got me sugar sticks.”
“Sugar sticks?” She frowns, sorely disappointed.
“Yes, sugar sticks.”
“Hmm…well, I guess you can never have enough sugar sticks,” she says with confusion etched along her face.
“It’s an inside joke,” I explain as I look down at the box. I read the little Post-it note attached to the inside.
It’s not a cup of sugar, but surely, you can accept a boxful of sugar from a stranger.
I grab Drew’s phone and respond.
Me: Well, I won’t be running out of sugar anytime soon.
Drew: And they should help with those mood swings, right?
Me: You’re such a twat.
Twat isn’t usually a word I would use, but after hearing a British client of mine say it at work yesterday, it’s been at the forefront of my mind.
Drew: Wow, all this vagina talk is turning me on. ;) Keep talking dirty to me.
Me: Fuck you. Is that dirty enough?
I’m grinning from ear to ear when I text this.
Kaelyn’s excitement returns. “What’s with that smile?”
I’m just about to answer her when another text message comes through, one that leaves me a little stunned.
Drew: You’re just lucky you didn’t say, “Fuck me,” or I’d be outside your door right now.
Holy shit.
“Did he really just say that?” I don’t realize I said this out loud until Kaelyn is almost coming out through the screen with pure anticipation.
“What? Tell me, tell me, tell me.”
Jesus, she’s worse than a child.
I’m not much better though when I give her a running commentary of the recent messages, like we’re back in high school, giving a second-by-second play of every single detail.
Then, I say, “He finished off with, You’re just lucky you didn’t say, ‘Fuck me,’ or I’d be outside your door right now.”
Her eyes almost bolt out of their sockets.
“Oh my God,” she screeches elatedly, clapping her hands together with glee. “See? I told you that he was into you. That’s so hot.” She sighs with a dreamy eye flutter, almost as if she’s about to climax with a porn-star orgasm.
“Who’s so hot, Mama?”
I jump out of my skin at the sound of Junior’s voice as he comes shuffling in from his room, yawning, still a little sleepy from getting out of bed.
God, this kid doesn’t miss a beat.
“Oh, it’s nothing, baby. Aunt Kaelyn just burned her mouth on her coffee.”
Kaelyn lifts her now empty cup of coffee that she finished twenty minutes ago, so it’s in shot of the camera. “Yep, I drank it too soon.”
Her theatrics would be a lot more believable if she wasn’t swaying the cup from side to side, an impossible thing to do if her cup were full to the brim, but Junior seems to be oblivious as his eyes fall on my new gift from Drew.
He’s eager for a moment before disappointment clouds over his face. “Ah, man, I thought we got more cupcakes.”
Much like I did earlier, he grabs a handful of the sugar sticks before letting them drop with a look of utter distaste.
“Sorry, bud. Just a thousand sugar sticks.”
“Well, that’s boring. What are you supposed to do with a thousand sugar sticks?”
“You tell me, kid,” I say with a chuckle as I run my hand through his messy hair. “How about I make it up to you by making you some pancakes?”
“With ice cream?” He mischievously waggles his eyebrows.
Junior would have ice cream with fries if I let him. He has some disgusting habits.
“Why not? It’s the weekend after all.”
He begins to run off into the living room, but he suddenly halts in his steps. “Can I have chocolate sauce and strawberries, too?”
“Sure thing, little man.”
He continues into the living room and all but jumps on the couch before he reaches for his Kindle Fire. I look back at Kaelyn on my iPad.
“The boy has spoken, so I need to feed him before his soccer practice. Same time next week?”
“Yes, and you’d better have some gossip for me, woman—all with that hunky tattooed guy from across the hall, who clearly wants you,” she whispers the last bit with a seductive tone.
I shake my head with humor. She’s relentless.
“I’m going!” Then, I find myself backtracking. “Hey, how did you know he had tattoos? I never told you that.”
The incredible tattoos that he showcased on every inch of his upper body were one trait about him that I forgot to mention to Kaelyn.
“I just guessed, but it figures since you have a thing for guys with tattoos. Adam Levine, Tom Hardy, David Beckham…and Justin Bieber,” she adds jokingly.
I glare at her. “The fact that you put David Beckham on par with Justin Bieber is so wrong. And I don’t have a thing for Drew. We’re just friends.”
“You just keep telling yourself that, sugar sticks.”
“I’m going!” I repeat with a lighthearted smile.
Seconds later, I receive a text message, but as I look down at Drew’s phone, I’m confused when I don’t see one. Then, I notice it was sent to my phone instead. It’s from Kaelyn.
Kaelyn: That smile looks awesome on you, by the way. My guess is that Drew has something to do with it.
I text her back.
Me: Whatever.
But I’m left smiling when I realize I have in fact been smiling more, and it hasn’t even registered that I’ve been less sad. Drew’s definitely bringing the good out of me.
I don’t know if I should be happy or hurt that someone other than Christopher can make me feel like…well, me again.
And I don’t know if I
should be happy or hurt that I know, deep down, I’m developing feelings for someone other than Christopher.
I’m sitting with a take-out coffee in my hand, basking in the sunshine, as I watch my boy play soccer. I’m smiling as only a proud parent can smile.
They spent the first twenty minutes of soccer practice learning new skills of running, jumping, and kicking coordination. Then, the coach divided the team into two groups of three, giving them an opportunity to practice the game.
The moment Junior set foot on the field, he’s been running circles around the other kids, and he managed to score two goals within the first five minutes. His skill set blows my mind. He seems to be good at everything. He’s only been on the team for exactly a week, and the coach is already impressed with him.
Junior loves anything sports-related—soccer, football, basketball, and so on—thanks to his uncle Tyler. Tyler took him under his wing and taught him everything there was to know about sports—soccer in particular. Every spare moment Tyler had, he spent it with Junior, either throwing a football or taking him to games.
Even though Junior has grown up without a father, he has definitely had enough male influence with Tyler and his grandpa to make up for it. It doesn’t replace Christopher, but it has certainly helped raise him into the sweet little boy he is today.
Junior has his uncle Ashton, too, Christopher and Tyler’s older brother. Ashton lives in Seattle though, so we don’t get to see him as much, but he still has a big impact on Junior’s life with their regular FaceTime chats.
I fly out of my seat when my boy scores yet another goal, and I find myself hooting and hollering. “Go, Junior! Go!”
Some of the other parents scowl at me, no doubt because I’m being so loud. Who cares? We’re at a soccer game, and hooting and hollering is required.
Uptight assholes.
I resume my seat back on the bench, and when I just happen to glance to the left of me, I audibly gasp.
Sitting two rows down from me is Drew with an amused grin on his face, staring at me with a heat that makes my thighs quiver. I didn’t even think that was a thing, but my thighs are physically trembling right now.
He rises from his seat and makes his way over to me, stepping over the rows of seats. His warmth engulfs me the moment he takes a seat beside me, and he affectionately nudges his leg with mine. The single move feels strangely familiar, as if we’ve been friends for a lifetime, not for a couple of weeks. An eruption of goose bumps grazes along my skin from the single contact, and immediately, my breath catches at the back of my throat.
Our Forever Page 5
