A Pinch of Salt

by Bethany Lopez

  I turned my face toward him and finally looked in his eyes. He was hurting for me. With me.

  “Then I blamed my mother. I was awful to her, just horrible, and she took it. She kept being there for me, holding me while I screamed and cried. Eventually, I became numb. I stopped waiting, stopped looking for him everywhere, and told everyone at school that he’d died. I guess in a way, to me, he was dead.”

  After a few moments of silence, Jackson finally spoke up and said, “I’m so sorry, Millie. How old were you?”

  I held his gaze as I replied, “Eight.”

  Jackson nodded, understanding my point.

  “I’m sorry that you went through that, and you were in so much pain, but did it have any bearing on what you felt for your mom when she started dating again?” he asked.

  I smiled sadly and shook my head.

  “She never did. My mom never went on a date, never brought a man over to meet us, heck, she never even kissed anyone else. He broke her completely. She gave us ninety nine percent of herself for the rest of her days on this earth, but that one percent was always reserved for him.”

  “Again, I’m sorry, and I understand your pain, your reservations, but this isn’t that,” Jackson argued as he moved just a little closer.

  “Yes, you’ve been separated for a year, but you kept your ring on and your home exactly the same as it had been when your wife was there. I bet all of her things still hang in the closet.” I paused, and when he didn’t protest, I knew I was right. “The divorce isn’t even completed yet, and you and I are hurtling pretty quickly toward a serious relationship. You may be ready for that, but Kayla isn’t. She was still hoping that her mom was going to come home, and she needs more time to come to terms with the fact that Julie isn’t, before she can open herself up to a new woman in your lives.”

  “Millie, look, everything your saying has merit,” Jackson said as he stood and began pacing, his tone frantic. “But Kayla will be okay. I’ll talk to her, and we can ease her into it slowly . . .”

  “There’s nothing you can say right now that will change my mind,” I said sadly, my eyes filling once again.

  Jackson stopped and crouched in front of me, his hands covering mine gently.

  “Not even that I’m in love with you?” he asked, causing my heart to shatter.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat and shook my head.

  “Not even that,” I managed, then turned my head and shut my eyes, not opening them again until I heard my door softly shut behind him.

  Jackson

  ZOMBIE.

  That was my new persona . . . A dead man walking.

  I had never, not when I was a teenager, not when my wife said she was leaving, felt the way I did when Millie said my love wasn’t enough.

  Suddenly the literature I taught, the poems I’d read, the songs I heard on the radio, all took on new meaning. Hurtful, heartbreaking, painful meaning.

  I’m not sure how I drove home, made it through the night, and then the rest of the week. I know I’d gone to work, because I had papers to grade, and I knew I’d taken care of Kayla. Helped her with her homework, made her meals . . . although I couldn’t eat. I didn’t have the appetite for it. And I knew I hadn’t slept.

  No, I’d spent the last four nights staring at my ceiling, fighting the urge to call her and beg her to change her mind, my time with Millie playing on a loop like some awful romantic comedy.

  The first time I saw her walk out of the kitchen, the day I went there to beg for a tea party.

  The way she’d transformed my dining room into a nine-year-old’s dream.

  Millie laughing at Rob and Ty in the teacher’s lounge.

  The way she’d looked after our first kiss, while laughing, when I moved inside of her.

  She was everywhere . . . In my house, in my truck, at my school. There was no escaping the curve of her lips, the soft length of her neck, the way she’d looked in that flapper dress.

  I was obsessed. Possessed. Unable to be present in any situation.

  “Daddy,” I heard Kayla call, and struggled to come back to the surface and see what she needed.

  I blinked, and looked down at my daughter. I noted that she’d eaten her breakfast, okay, so it’s morning, and that she had on her backpack, which means it’s a school day and I need to go to work.

  “Yes, baby?” I asked, pushing back from the counter I’d been leaning against and putting down the cup of coffee I’d held in my hand, but was still full.

  “Are you almost ready to go?” Kayla asked softly, her worry for me apparent.

  I tried for a smile, which was probably more of a grimace, and said, “Yeah, just give me a minute.”

  “Okay, Daddy.”

  Kayla had been on her best behavior over the last few days. At first, when I’d come home from Millie’s, she’d been worried about how much trouble she was going to be in, but even though I’d tried to put on a brave face, she’d seen I was upset for a different reason.

  Since then, she’d been attentive, helpful, and sweet.

  I knew I needed to get over this funk soon, and stop allowing my daughter to comfort me, but I wasn’t there yet. Although, I promised myself as I threw on some jeans and a T-shirt that I would be soon.

  “All ready,” I said, hoping I sounded chipper as I walked out of my room.

  “Can I go to Grandma’s tomorrow?” Kayla asked once we were in my truck.

  I glanced at my daughter and asked, “You want to?”

  “Yes, please,” she said softly, her head turned toward the window.

  “Of course you can,” I assured her, guilt hitting me.

  Shit, I’m being such a drama queen, my own daughter doesn’t want to be around me.

  I dropped her off, making a point to give her a hug, so she knows I love her, but not a kiss, so I don’t embarrass her, then watched her rush over to her friends and start talking happily, and smiled my first real smile in days.

  See, I’m going to be okay.

  Of course, then I got to the high school, which is like a real-live love fest. Kids kissing in the hall, against their lockers, out in the parking lot. And during lunch, not only did I imagine Millie dropping in with cake, but I had to see Rebecca and Ty making goo goo eyes at each other.

  Sure, I was happy for them, but right now it was more of a happy with finger quotes, than true happiness.

  Mostly I was just envious.

  Rob watched me nervously as he ate his turkey sandwich on wheat, as if worried I’d burst out crying at any moment.

  For the record, I hadn’t cried once, I’d just had something in my eye at one point.

  I trudged down the hall, ready for the day to be over, and tried not to glare at the lovesick teens as I passed. When I entered my room, I was surprised to see my desk covered with a myriad of Little Debbie’s snack cakes.

  I’m talking Cosmic Cupcakes, Banana Twins, Honey Buns, Strawberry Shortcake Rolls, and my favorite, Star Crunch.

  Once everyone was seated and class was about to begin, I turned to my students and asked, “What’s all this?”

  At first no one said anything, then one of the girls, Jeannie, spoke up.

  “We noticed you were upset and heard about you and your girlfriend, so we thought you needed a little food therapy. It worked when I broke up with Sergio last month, and with Vic and Tamara.”

  I was touched, even as embarrassment flooded me over being so transparent. I really had been sucking at life over the last few days.

  “What do you say we change things up today? Read from a different sort of classic,” I asked, picking up my tablet as I leaned back against my desk and tore open a Star Crunch with my teeth. “A little story called, The Shining.”

  Millie

  I WAS GOING THROUGH THE motions.

  I’d been working on autopilot since Jackson walked out of my apartment. Wake up, shower, shuffle downstairs, cook, bake, clean, sleep, repeat. Luckily, we were fully staffed and Claire had become my right
hand, so we hadn’t missed any deadlines, and when I’d made chicken and dumplings instead of chicken pot pie, Claire had fixed things in time for the event.

  Dru had come to me only seconds after Jackson left, saying her twin vibes had been tingling and she’d known that I needed her. Soon after, Tasha’d shown up, and the two of them had been my shadows ever since. Even going so far as to sleep in my apartment each night.

  I’d felt heartbreak when my dad left, but nothing like what I was feeling with the absence of Jackson in my life. Never pain so acute. And the worse part was that I knew I’d caused Jackson the same amount of pain. Even if I felt like I was doing it for the right reasons, I still hated the thought of him hurting.

  I’d never been so emotionally invested in someone other than my family, but Dru kept assuring me that things would get better, although the look on Tasha’s face when Dru said that had me thinking that Tasha still felt the pain of losing Jericho . . . and that had been years ago.

  I’m screwed. Left to stew in the misery of my own making.

  “I’m running to meet with a new prospective client,” Tasha said as she came up behind me and hugged my back.

  I kept whipping my meringue, but acknowledged her with a nod.

  “And I have that interview with the radio station in an hour, so I’m going to go get ready,” Dru added, before kissing my cheek.

  “Go, keep expanding our business,” I ordered, starting to feel suffocated by their hovering. “I’ll be fine here. I’ve got plenty to keep my busy all day, and well into the night.”

  “Okay, but call us if you need anything,” Tasha said.

  I rolled my eyes and bit back the, yes, mother, that was threatening to come out. Instead, I just nodded again, then held my breath until they left.

  Once they were gone, I could breathe again and proceeded to lose myself in my work, thankful for the menial task of whipping meringue. It didn’t take a genius to make the delicious topping that would adorn my lemon meringue pie, just a few simple ingredients, some patience, and a strong wrist.

  I opted to make the meringue by hand instead of with a mixer, for this very reason. So I could lose myself in the creation.

  “Hey, Millie.”

  It took me a moment to register my name being called and pull myself out of the numbness. After a few seconds, I turned my head toward the sound and blinked at Claire.

  “Yes?”

  “You have a woman out here asking for you.”

  Claire was manning the storefront this morning, as she had for the last five mornings, allowing me to hide in the back.

  I blinked again, then looked down at my meringue, still whisking, and said, “About two more minutes.”

  “I’ll let her know,” Claire replied, and I focused back on the task at hand.

  Once the meringue was finished, I put it aside with the intention of finishing the pie once I was done talking to whomever was waiting out front, washed my whisk, then finally my hands, before checking my apron for stains and heading out of the kitchen.

  I glanced at Claire, who tilted her head to her right. I started toward the older woman who was standing by the display case. She was well-dressed, with her hair and makeup done. She had a kind, open face, but I’d never seen her before.

  Thinking she was here to put in an order or see about booking a party, I tried my best to put my professional face on as I approached.

  “Yes, ma’am, how can I help you today?”

  Her gaze swung away from the pastries before her and locked on my face, assessing, before her lips parted and she said, “Hello, Millie, right?”

  “Yes, I’m Millie,” I stated, holding my hand out.

  She placed her well-manicured hand in mine and said, “Nice to meet you, I’m Rhonda Heeler.”

  Her last name slapped me in the face so hard that I flinched and started to pull my hand from her grasp, but for a small woman, she was strong, and tightened her grip.

  “My granddaughter asked me to bring her here today.” At the mention of Kayla, I started to survey the dining area, then noticed movement behind Mrs. Heeler and watched as Kayla stepped out from behind her. “Is there somewhere we could talk?”

  “Ah, yes, of course, please, follow me,” I managed, finally getting my hand back and turning to lead them through the kitchen and to the stairs up to my apartment. I didn’t look back to make sure they followed, rude of me, I know, but I needed the time to compose myself.

  To say I was shocked would be an understatement. Not only that Kayla had sought me out, but this was not the way I saw my first meeting with Jackson’s mother going. Being here with Kayla, she had to know what had happened between Jackson and me, at least the gist of it. What must she think of me?

  I motioned to my kitchen table. It was small, but probably the best setting for whatever this was.

  “Can I get you anything?” I asked automatically, my mother’s insistence on hospitality shining through. “Water, coffee, some cookies?”

  “No thank you,” Mrs. Heeler said, at the same time Kayla requested, “Cookies.”

  I couldn’t stop my small smile at Kayla. Even thought our last encounter had been disastrous, I really did empathize with her.

  I put the chocolate macadamia nut cookies on a small serving plate and placed it in the center of the round table, then with nothing left to do, I sat. My chair made a loud scraping sound as I tried to get comfortable, then I breathed a cleansing breath in through my nose, folded my hands on the table in front of me, and tried to look poised.

  From the smile on Mrs. Heeler’s face, she could see right through me, but was too polite to comment on it.

  I was looking to Mrs. Heeler to start the conversation, but it was Kayla who said, “I’m sorry, Millie.”

  I blinked back a rush of tears as my throat burned at the sadness in her voice.

  Turning my attention to Jackson’s daughter, I could see she had a lot weighing on her young mind, so I bit my tongue and waited for her to finish what she wanted to say.

  Kayla took a deep, exaggerated breath, and blew it out. She picked up a cookie and broke a piece off, but didn’t put it in her mouth. Finally, she tore her eyes from the table and looked at me.

  When she didn’t speak right away, Mrs. Heeler put her hand on her grandaughter’s shoulder, then looked at me and explained, “Kayla and I had a long talk about her feelings and the way she’s been behaving. It was her idea to come here to talk to you, so she could apologize.”

  With that said, she gave Kayla a nod of encouragement.

  “I was awful to you,” Kayla began, her eyes holding mine bravely. “Rude and mean, and running away that day was in-un-ah . . .” She looked to her grandmother for guidance.

  “Unforgivable,” Mrs. Heeler coached, her tone firm, but her eyes gentle.

  “Yeah, unforgivable. I never should have broken your flowers or yelled at you. It wasn’t really even you I was mad at.” Kayla looked to her grandmother once more, and when she nodded, finished with, “It was my mother. It is my mother . . . that I’m mad at, not you.”

  Needing to ease her burden, I reached my hand out and placed it on her forearm.

  “I understand, and I promise, I’m not mad at you, Kayla. I was really worried when I couldn’t find you,” I amended. “But, I’m not angry with you, and I do understand how you’re feeling. When I was little, my dad left us, and although it’s not exactly the same as what you’re going through, I do understand why you were upset.”

  “You’re not mad at me?” she asked softly, her eyes on my hand on her arm.

  “No.”

  “And, your dad left?”

  “Yes.”

  “But, you’re mad at my dad?”

  Her question made my heart skip a beat.

  “No, honey, I’m not mad at him.”

  Kayla lifted her head, bringing those eyes that were so much like Jackson’s to mine and holding.

  “Then why aren’t you talking to him? If you’re not mad at me,
and you’re not mad at him, what’s going on? He’s very sad, and he misses you. You should call him.”

  Unsure of how to react, and having the distinct feeling that I was being played, I looked to Jackson’s mother like she could be my lifeline. She wasn’t.

  “I’ve never seen him so upset,” Mrs. Heeler said pointedly, and I knew she was referring to Julie, but didn’t want to bring up the other woman in front of Kayla.

  I looked from grandmother to granddaughter, then back again, unsure of how to proceed. What to do. How to feel.

  “I don’t know if the timing is right . . .” I began, but Mrs. Heeler held and got right to the point.

  “Do you love him?”

  I gulped, unsure of how truthful I should be.

  “My daddy says, either you love someone or you don’t. I heard him in class one time, and he said the characters in his books spend so much time being ob-ob . . . What’s the word for dumb?” she asked.

  Mrs. Heeler and I both said, “Obtuse.”

  “Yeah, obtuse. The characters spend so much time being obtuse, that they miss out on all kinds of good times with the person they love. That if you’re in love, you should tell the person, and you’ll both be happier.”

  “Ah . . .” I croaked, unable to get words to come out of my mouth.

  “It’s okay,” Mrs. Heeler said as she rose, pausing to pat my hand gently. “We came here to say what we needed to say, what you do with it, is up to you.”

  They crossed the room to my front door, leaving me sitting at my table, gaping. Then, with one hand on the door handle, Mrs. Heeler looked over her shoulder at me and added, “You look like a smart woman, Millie. I hope my instincts about you are correct.”

  And with that, they swept out of my apartment, leaving me staring after them, wondering what the heck just happened, and what I’m going to do about it?

  Jackson

  ANOTHER MONDAY, ANOTHER WORKDAY, ANOTHER day where I was just passing through life. Not really living it, instead floating from minute to minute, waiting for the day to end.

  I’d been in such a funk that I was starting to get on my own nerves, and as I walked through my classroom, making sure my students were focused on their own quizzes and not peeking at anyone else’s, I vowed to sort my shit out that evening.