Where We Meet Again

by Wilson, A. M.

  “And when you see her tomorrow, you have a couple options. One, you can confront her. That is your right to let her know she hurt you, and that she wasn’t being a very good friend. Or, number two, you can smile when she walks passed you, and not let her know that she made you sad. Many people think standing up for yourself means using your words. I don’t think that’s true. Sometimes, we can stand up to our enemies by showing them they didn’t hurt us like they’d hoped. Anyone can speak the truth, but it takes a lot of strength to use our actions to show people we are okay.”

  Evelyn pulls her hands away and scrubs at her eye. “I know you’re right, but I really want to make her feel bad like she made me feel bad.”

  “I’m sure you do. However, two wrongs-ˮ

  “Don’t make a right. Yeah, I know.”

  Needing to reassure her, I gather her into my arms and kiss the hair at the top of her head. “You’re going to be just fine, sweetheart. I wish I could tell you this would never happen again, but it will. And it doesn’t get easier. You get stronger.”

  “Someday, I’ll be as strong as you.”

  My throat suddenly goes dry. I swallow hard and rest my cheek against her head.

  “You’ll be stronger,” I murmur.

  * * *

  Two things I learned from hobbling around on crutches for a week. One: it’s impossible to drive.

  Nathan wrangled one of our coworkers to help him drop my car off. Even though I’m on paid leave and stuck at home, Evelyn needed to go to sports and school. Having my car back tempted me to rely on my independence. The very next morning after my accident, I maneuvered myself so my left foot could do all the pedal work, which only squished my right foot painfully up against the center console. I made it as far as the stop sign at the end of the street before I turned the car back around.

  As soon as I limped back inside, I called my friend Lori, the mom of Evelyn’s friend Maggie, and arranged for her to pick up and drop off Evelyn until I was back on both feet. That woman has been a lifesaver. Ever since our girls first started school, and I struggled to get childcare for Evelyn with my strange work hours, Lori stepped up to cover where Kiersten couldn’t and has been doing so ever since.

  I made a mental note to add another gift card to her Christmas basket I put together every year.

  The second thing I learned is that I cannot stand being cooped up in the house with nothing to do. Not only that, but when there is something that needs to be done and I can’t do it, I feel straight up crazy.

  Evelyn is a great help taking care of the laundry and dishes. Those have been her chores for a couple years now, so I haven’t had to put up with any extra attitude.

  No, what drives me insane is that the day I took my jog, and subsequent fall, down by the river, I hadn’t finished all the winter prep I needed to do outside. Snow still hasn’t fallen, which means there’s still time, even if that time is running exceptionally slim. I need to clean my gutters and change out my window screens, but I can’t climb a ladder with one foot. I also need to winterize my lawn mower and weed whipper, and swap the summer supplies out for my shovel and snow blower. I only hope the snow holds off until I’m healed and can get it done.

  Wednesday following my accident means the date-that-isn’t-a-date with Nathan has arrived.

  I’m a wreck.

  I don’t go on dates. Or rather, I don’t go on dates often. My last date the night before Law showed up in Arrow Creek was a sorry attempt, the first in well over a year. If I have anything going for me, it’s that I’m not teaching my daughter about parading men in and out of the house. Give me a check in the win column for that one.

  I remind myself that this is Nathan, my friend and partner, but can’t figure out if that’s a good or a bad thing. It makes this easier, because we already know so much about each other. I’m comfortable with him. We don’t have to go through any awkward stages.

  The flip side to the positive is that I feel little for him as far as attraction. Besides the one kiss, I don’t get stomach flips over seeing him. I don’t feel much of anything if I’m being honest. And that kiss seems like a fluke because it’s been nearly half my life since I’ve kissed anyone else, besides Law just a few days before. I mean, of course my body would react like that… right?

  The water in my shower cools. I’ve lived in my home for eleven years and not once have I run the water heater dry. I depress the lever into the wall, and the steady stream above my head stops.

  Cool air pricks at my skin as I stick an arm out in search of my towel. I find one hanging on the rack, pull it inside the shower, and close the glass door to prevent as much heat from escaping. It may finally be time to turn the furnace on. The temps now dip below freezing at night, and the house is cold. I credit my frugal upbringing to my success in keeping a roof over our heads as a single mom.

  I dry the droplets from my skin, wrap the towel around my body, and hop out onto the thick, memory foam mat outside the shower stall. The toes on my good foot wiggle and squish the material while I lean against the shower door and contemplate what to do next.

  Lotion in here, robe for warmth, then search for clothes.

  However, when I step out to find something to wear, I don’t spot a single bra in my room. Crap. Evelyn must have left them to dry when she did the laundry.

  I tighten the belt to my robe, a sweet, mint-green silk with an edge of cream lace (who said a single mom can’t have sexy things), and grab one crutch for support as I make my way to the laundry closet.

  “Hey, Evelyn? Did you wash my bras? I can’t find them.”

  “Sorry, yeah. They’re hanging up.” Her muffled voice comes from behind her bedroom door as I limp down the hall. I enter the kitchen when her bedroom door swings open. “Wait, have you not been wearing a bra all week?”

  I swivel on one crutch to face her, just in time to see her cute nose wrinkle. “Yes,” I snap, though not in a mean tone.

  Her eyes widen in surprise of my confession. “But, mom!” she hisses, as though someone’s around to hear our conversation. “What if someone sees your…” She leans closer and quiets her voice. “…nipples?”

  An unladylike snort bursts out before I can censor it. A full riot of laughter barks out after. “Oh, honey,” I wheeze, trying to catch my breath. “For one, nobody’s seen me. I’ve been at home all week. Second, my body is mine to do with as I please, and stuffing myself into a bra when I’m not leaving the house is not something I’m about to do.”

  “Does that mean I don’t have to wear one?”

  “No.” The automatic answer dries up the laughter.

  Evelyn raises her eyebrows at me in challenge.

  “Sorry, sweets, but you have to wear one for now. The reasons suck, and it’s a lame part about being a woman in this society, but until you’re an adult, that’s the rule.”

  “Why though? If my body is mine, I should be able to do as I please, too.”

  I sigh. “If you ran around naked down the street, they could arrest you for that choice. It’s not that simple, and I wish it were. You won’t be arrested for not wearing a bra. But, just as your body is yours to do with as you want, it’s also yours to protect with your life.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  “It means that there are predators out there who will try to look at and touch what isn’t theirs. And it hurts me to have to tell you this, because nothing you do could ever warrant someone touching you when you don’t want them to, but some sick people think if they can see certain parts of your body, it’s an invitation. It’s not.” I look directly into her eyes as I speak for emphasis, willing her with my mind and my heart to truly hear me. “You could wear a miniskirt, a low-cut tank top with your belly hanging out, and that still wouldn’t be an invitation for anyone to touch you if you didn’t want them to. Being able to see your breasts through your shirt isn’t, either. But you’re my baby, and until you’re an adult, it’s my sole mission to protect you. Even if it means requiri
ng you to do something that’s uncomfortable and unfair.”

  The conversation sours my stomach, and guilt eats at me. This isn’t what I want to tell her. I want to be a cool modern parent who encourages her to do what feels best. To be herself and make choices not based on conformity. I can’t do it, and maybe that makes me cowardly. The need to protect her is too strong. I only have a few years left to impart as much wisdom as I can.

  “Okay, mom. You don’t have to worry because I like wearing my new bras, anyway. I’m going to finish getting ready for school. Lori will be here in a few minutes.”

  Crap!

  “I better get dressed, then.”

  She walks down the hall, and I meander to the laundry closet to find my bras neatly hanging from the drying rack. I snag a fire engine red one and close the door behind me.

  A loud noise rattles the window above the sink. My heart jumps into my throat, and I spin in that direction, sending my crutch crashing to the ground. Without the support, my balance wavers, and I reach for the closet door handle. After steadying myself, I shout, “What the crap!”

  Law looks up from where he swaps out my screen for the storm window, his eyes catching mine. Even though the early morning light is dim, I his eyes appear dark. The gray overpowers the green, making them a parallel of the stormy weather outside.

  His jaw tightens, the muscle standing out in his cheek, and his gaze sweeps down my body.

  I drop mine too, getting a frightening glance of my inappropriate attire. Half-naked in a sexy, satin robe that hits mid thigh and clutching a bold red bra.

  Clenching my jaw shut, I scream. In an epic fuck my life moment, I squat down in my barely there robe, retrieved my crutch, and limp away as quickly as I can, giving him the perfect view of my barely covered ass.

  He’s going to get a piece of my damn mind.

  What does he think he’s doing here? I haven’t heard a word since his text the night I hurt my foot; I didn’t even know he came back to town. Then, without asking me for permission, hell, even if I’d mind, he shows up at my house just after sunrise to replace my windows?

  He’s insane.

  I dress in record time. Evelyn pops out of her room as I storm down the hall just as a horn sounds from the driveway.

  Crap, now she’s running late, and therefore, making other people late.

  “Hug, kiss, get a move on,” I admonish gently as we rush to the front door.

  We hug, and Evelyn moves to kiss me on the cheek while I swing the interior door open. My eyes move in that direction to read Lori’s mood and to apologize for the delay. Law stands on my doorstep with his fist raised, ready to knock, completely blocking my view. His jaw is solid and his eyes are unreadable as he takes the two of us in. If I were honest, I’d say he’s a heck of a sight better than Lori this early in the morning.

  Evelyn gives me a kiss and pulls away, taking my attention with her. “See you later, mom. Love you.”

  “Love you too, honey.” I run my fingers affectionately through her hair.

  Law steps back and opens the storm door, which I notice also has the window installed instead of the screen.

  She steps through it and tilts her head up to look at Law. “Oh.” She turns back toward me, as if she remembered something. “Am I staying late at Lori’s tonight?”

  “Um…” I run through the reasons she would be, and I come up blank.

  “Because you have that date. You said I’d be staying late at Lori’s?”

  The anger pours off Law. His stare feels like a 50-pound weight wrapped around my neck. I clutch the knob of the interior door. “Yes.” The word strangles me. Clearing my throat, I speak louder. “Yes, you’ll be at Lori’s until I can come get you.”

  At this exact moment, I’d trade falling down a hill ten times the size of the one by the Swinging Bridge than having to deal with a pissed off Law. Again.

  “Cool. Later mom.”

  “Bye.”

  I wave to Lori, hoping she isn’t upset with us for running late, while also praying she doesn’t run her mouth to anyone about the strange man on my doorstep at eight in the morning.

  A measured breath clears my head to address Law, but he beats me to it. He does it by being concise and pissed in a way I can tell he doesn’t want to discuss it.

  “I have two windows left, then I’m done with those. I’ll clean the gutters and get your lawn mower to the shed. The window by your kitchen sink had a small hole in the seal, so I caulked it.”

  “When did you… how did you know…?” I splutter, trying to understand what the hell is happening.

  “The day you hurt your foot, your daughter told me you were doing outside work, then left to go for a jog. I looked around while I waited for you to get back.”

  “You spoke to Evelyn?”

  “Yep. Nice kid. Polite. You should tell her not to answer the door when you aren’t home. It’s not safe.”

  So many things flash through my mind at once. “You went through my garage?”

  He looks me steadily in the eye. “I was waiting a long time.”

  I ignore his implication. “How d’you know I didn’t get to all that while you were gone?”

  “Didn’t.”

  “So, you’re into B & E now?”

  “Hardly breaking in when you don’t lock the garage.”

  “You are unbelievable,” I snap.

  “I could say the same.”

  Done with the conversation, Law jogs down my steps.

  I feel like a crazy person leaning out my front door yelling after him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He doesn’t answer.

  I huff in frustration and go back inside, shutting the door behind me. Closed, but not locked. And I don’t know what that says about me.

  I’d find out what it says a couple hours later.

  13

  When I’m angry, I clean. I can take frustrations out on some soap scum like no other. Give me a scratch pad, sponge, and a bucket of soapy water, and I won’t stop until I purge my emotions and the house is spotless.

  I tested this tactic earlier but didn’t find much to clean. The issue isn’t a lack of chores. The problem is I’ve never been this angry before.

  Normally, I angry cleaned because I didn’t want to yell at Evelyn and luckily, those emotions would fade fast. Ten minutes into my scrub fest, the adrenaline would slow, and I could rationalize how to deal with whatever she did.

  Once when she was five, she took a sharpie to my brand-new microfiber couch. I worked six months of overtime to save up enough money to buy us a living room set, and the first week it was in our home, she used it as her new canvas. I was furious, something I hated myself for because she was so young. All my hard work felt for nothing. I sent her to her room so I could hand scrub the kitchen floor, and before I was halfway done, I’d calmed down enough to remember the protection plan. I called the number on the receipt, and they talked me through cleaning it with rubbing alcohol and a white sponge. I was skeptical at first, but as it revived my new couch, I turned into a believer.

  That was one of her worst transgressions and I got over it quick, which means I must be crazy pissed at Law or he’s made me angrier than any other. The latter sounds right, because a few minutes into scrubbing the inside of my freezer, I realize I can keep it up for hours and the feelings won’t fade.

  The inside of the freezer, fridge, and stove have been emptied, scrubbed, rid of any expiring or dried on food, and reorganized. I’d keep going, but my leg tires from all the standing. Giving up, I decide to refresh my pedicure instead. Evelyn and I are due for a mani-pedi date, and since my toes are more exposed than usual, I notice the imperfections. This will tide me over until we can find time to make an appointment.

  My foot is healing but isn’t a hundred percent. The bruises are more green than purple. Hopefully, when I visit our family doctor on Friday, I can graduate from the crutches to a walking boot, or better yet, some fancy taping. It’ll be nice to drive
again.

  An episode of Grey’s Anatomy plays quietly on Netflix. I select a pretty, dark purple that doesn’t clash too heavily with my bruises, and set to stripping off my old polish.

  The entire process takes nearly an hour, because I keep getting caught up in the drama on the TV. I must have watched the entire series at least seven times since Netflix added it to their queue, and each time I’m struck by the changes in Dr. McDreamy.

  In the earlier seasons, he carried this distinct look in his eye whenever he looked at Meredith. It was soft and warm; something I’ve read about frequently in romance novels, but haven’t seen with any clarity in real life until I watched Derek Shepherd look at Meredith that way. Somewhere around season four or five, the look fades into a chilly disappointment. There're moments where the old McDreamy shines through, but the original look is gone forever.

  I wipe a tear from my eye with the back of my hand as I watch Meredith grip Derek’s hand in a supply closet while having a breakdown. He remains solid as a rock for her. And another tear drips from my eye when he smiles and reassures her she’s okay.

  Life is full of broken things we can never get back. Unlike my old brand-new couch, a little rubbing alcohol and scrubbing won’t fix everything. Things get tarnished and wrecked, and sometimes it’s better to throw them out than try to salvage them in their broken condition.

  Much like my relationship with Law.

  14

  Through my quiet sniffling, the front door scrapes open and then closes with a gentle thud. A boot hits the floor. Then another. Soft footfalls sound down the hall to the kitchen. A cabinet creaks open and close. Rushing water fills the silence briefly from the faucet, then turns off.