Silver

by A E Gamrat

  I had a whole life put together for her, and I'm thinking reality veered off what I had painted. Tears me up inside; that’s why I hit the bag so hard tonight, to think someone mistreated her or gave her a bad life. You can’t change the past, I know, but I am determined to show her what life can be.

  The figuring out how to see her again and again and again. How to explain my life and apologize for not fighting for her all those years ago.

  The sound of something muffled going off pulls me from my questions and reminiscing. I charge into the gym so fast, having no idea where the damn phone is. Looking around the room, my clothes are everywhere, like I ripped them off in a fit of passion. My shirt is barely hanging on to the treadmill arm, and my pants are under the coffee table in the corner.

  The damn thing really drives me nuts, and if I could part ways with the phone, I so would. Abby loves to tell all her friends how anti-technology I am and shocks everyone with, “He doesn’t have any Alexa devices in his house.” They look at me like I’m from another planet. I remember a time when there was only one TV in the living room. We did get color early, so that was mind-blowing, but I’ve embraced all the change very, very slowly. Call me whatever you like, but I know how I want to live, and it’s not surrounded by technology.

  Finally, I spy the damn thing under the treadmill covered by a dress sock. I manage a bank during the day, so I own a lot of dress socks. “My baby,” I say to my phone when I see the text. Daddy’s girl is highlighted on my home screen with “call me” next to it.

  I'll tell you a secret between you and me, Abby hates that contact name, and I told her months ago that I changed it. She's always been a daddy’s girl but when college came, she was too cool for that. I should feel lucky she even wants me to call her.

  I hit the phone icon to call back and what happens? It goes right to voicemail. She literally texted minutes ago, and when I call it goes straight to voicemail. She will be the death of me, and the man who scoops her up better be ready. The voicemail beeps and I say, “Call me,” and then hang up. I'm not even going to text her that I tried calling; there is no point.

  The longer I look at her contact name on my phone the decision to not tell her about Gin is confirmed. All our lives are a little complicated, and I'm not sure how Gin or Abby will handle each other. Over time I believe it would all work out, but now might cause some problems.

  Every guy I know thinks I have secret women no one knows about. They can’t fathom how I can go so long without a woman’s touch, helping me get off even casually. I was brought up around unconditional love between my parents. Dad had “the talk” with me and said there’s nothing wrong with playing the field. I always wanted to play for one team and one team only. Once I commit, I commit—look at this boxing thing. It started out a way to expel sadness and anger. Now it’s a part of my life, and I built a gym in my home to have access whenever I like.

  As I fall asleep tonight, my young princess and the version she turned into frolics across the field in my dreams, waving at me to come closer to her. I can't hear what she is saying, but both versions want me to move closer. I try to move closer to her, but something is holding my feet still.

  I wake up in a cold sweat, yelling out her name. My heart is racing, and every memory of her is on a loop. She wanted me to grab her hand, but I couldn’t. The day she left for college all I wanted to do was beg her not to forget about me.

  Even my dreams are making me pay for my poor decisions so many, many years ago.

  Chapter Five

  “Why is my outfit such a big deal? We’ve done this before, and you never cared.”

  “Mooommm,”

  “Don’t moooommm me. I happen to think I look nice all the time, thank you very much.”

  “I know you do…I just thought…”

  “Thought what?”

  “Well.” She sighs into the phone. This is new banter for us, and I’m starting to wonder what she is cooking up.

  Ever since seeing Silver the other night, my nerves have been all over the place. One minute I'm cool as a cucumber, going about my day as usual. Then, bam, I’m grumpy, or anxious, and I seem to be getting better at taking it out on other people.

  I’ve been daydreaming a lot more, too. Yesterday, when Anne asked me with a wink if I was thinking of him, I huffed out of the room and told her it was none of her business. Fifteen minutes later, after realizing what I said to her, I apologized over and over and over again. She brushed it off, but because I'm neurotic, I stayed up most of the night baking for her. I bake when I’m happy, sad, stressed, tired, and, well, any mood can bring on baking. It’s a family trait passed down from mother to daughter, dating back to at least my great-great-great grandmother.

  “You might want to try that sweater I bought you last year. I thought my hints were doing the job, but wear the sweater. It’s perfect weather for it.”

  Do I call her out on her bold-face lie? This daughter of mine is hiding something, but I think for now I'm going to go with the flow. No worries and hopefully she’ll lay off. “Oh, yeah? It's going to be cool enough for that weekend?”

  “It’s going to be the perfect weather for that sweater. OH…and your knee-high brown boots. YES…with those dark-wash skinny jeans.”

  She finally takes a breath. “Anything else, sweetie? I have some running around I need to do.”

  “Nope, all good. Wanted to make sure you had something to wear. You'll love my new roomie too; she’s great. Love you.”

  “Love you more.”

  Being the mom, I know she is hiding something. I really hope it’s not a guy. The longer I’m single, the more need everyone has to set me up. Blind dating is not for me. Add Silver to the mix now, and I’ll refuse every date.

  I told Anne about Silver the morning after, afraid Claire would get to her before me. Anne wouldn’t have yelled at me, but I know she hates being the last to know. I wanted to tell her what really happened, and not in Claire’s fantasy world either. If Claire got to Anne first, they would be planning my second wedding, the day after our reunion of sorts. Every time I’m near Claire I can feel the excitement radiating off her.

  I might never see this man again. Well, knowing Claire, that won’t happen, but what does it all really mean? Lots of people every day run into each other years later down the road. We barely knew each other back then. What kind of real chance do we have now?

  Today has definitely been more “woe is me” and “I never had a chance to begin with” kind of day. Living alone does not help with my negative attitude and usually fuels the fire.

  Packing up the three different cookies I made Anne last night, I give myself a little pat on the back and head out. Anne’s place is about a twenty-minute walk. I'm leaving the car at home and hoofing all twenty minutes. It’s a tad bit chilly out, with a hint of a breeze, but carrying these cookies will help me work up a sweat.

  Walking through the neighborhood always brings up past memories. Some of them are happy memories; some are bad memories, and others are “why did you stay so long?” memories. Our house was built on a ton of land but was gated in. From the front door to the gate almost took fifteen minutes. No one could see in, and we couldn’t see out.

  Now I know we sound like royalty or something, but we were not. He said it was for our protection, but in reality, he loved talking about the property and how we were gated in. The kids loved it and told all of their friends it kept the bad guys and monsters out. Their friends said playing hide ‘n seek was an epic adventure.

  I fell in love with this neighborhood because, even though the houses are far apart, we can see in, and they can see out. I wave to everyone and anyone. Now everyone waves back, but at the beginning people tended to act like they didn’t see me or thought I was strange. Strange has always been my sidekick. I try my hardest to own it now.

  “Hey, sweetheart,” Mrs. Pat yells out from her front porch. Speak of the devil, she was the worst one and even asked if I was “okay” one time. Her
tone and look was neither sweet nor inviting. Now she waves and yells out greetings no matter what. Probably doesn’t hurt that I helped get her cat from underneath the porch.

  “Hi, Mrs. Pat.” I lift one hand up in an awkward wave. The bags of cookies are jostling back and forth hard. Maybe walking with two big bags of baked goods isn’t the brightest idea I’ve had this week.

  “Do you need any help, sweetheart?”

  “No, no I'm fine. Heading over to Anne’s, no worries.” See what I mean? Between my harassing waves and saving a cat, now this grouchy old woman greets me and asks if I need help. I wanted the full hometown feeling this time around, come hell or high water.

  If I can walk to my destination, then I'm walking. I've been asked a time or two if I was having car problems. Makes me chuckle every time I think of Mr. Carlson asking me and having a plan of action put together before I could even say hello to him. His generosity and kindness solidified that I'm exactly where I want to be. His bewildered look after my explanation was icing on the cake. Mr. Carlson and his wife are walking daily now. The sight makes my heart full and my steps light.

  To get to Anne’s place I have to walk through the part of town where the bookstore is located. Her house is a few streets back behind the strip mall. Another reason why we are all good friends: we can get to one another in minutes.

  I can already feel my mood lifting and brightening up. Holding three dozen cookies between two bags adds some resistance to my breezy walk. A thin sheen of sweat is forming above my eyebrow. For whatever reason the tacky feeling on my forehead is motivating me to pump my legs a little faster. Me speed-walking with bags of cookies is the reason why neighbors ask if I’m feeling alright. Who in their right mind does this at any age, but definitely not in their forties?

  What if I meet someone? My body is no spring chicken, and I have to try to keep what is barely hanging on tight so it doesn’t get any worse. On this journey of finding myself, I discovered I love Pilates. In my basement I have a Pilates corner and found all kinds of videos on YouTube. It's a hell of a workout, and I feel stronger everyday.

  In the world I grew up in, appearances were everything. Women hardly exercised because there was barely any food being consumed. My mom likes to eat and has been an avid walker her whole life. When I walk, I feel more connected to her.

  My life growing up was very strange in the sense of we all acted a certain way because of status, but my parents don’t really fit in either. When I got married, it became clearer to me how lucky I was having them as parents, also how I barely fit into that world too.

  My parents really should have been ashamed of me getting a divorce and then living on my own in the suburbs. Any normal socialite would’ve turned a blind eye to their spouses cheating, started cheating too, and then lived happily ever after.

  Not for me. Not for one measly second.

  I get so caught up in my head, I barely register that I need to make a left at this intersection. Standing, waiting for the sign to switch to “walk” I think I hear my name being shouted—or someone wants gin really bad.

  Slowly I start to turn my head toward the noise when a car honks its horn, startling me, and who do I see across the street? Silver slightly jogging across the street toward me, almost getting bumped by a car. Guess that’s the car that honked.

  Is it possible for us to run into each other twice in almost a week? When before this we hadn’t laid eyes on each other in almost thirty years?

  Silver is still waving his hand in the air, trying to get my attention. We are the only two people on this block, so he’s not hard to miss. If I was lightly perspiring before, now I can feel the sweat forming everywhere. It’s ridiculous how the mere sight of Silver wakes up my body. No one, and I mean no one, has ever made me tingly all over by the mere sight of them. Every nerve ending is on fire with the need to touch him. Happiness and anxiety churn in my belly. I have to grip my bags tighter when they start to slip from my sweaty hands.

  I can’t take my eyes off of him but don’t want to miss my chance to cross the street. His lips are moving, but I can’t make out a word he is saying with all the traffic. The white noise crackling between my ears at the sight of him is not helping either. I have a death grip on the bags now, and I’m so very thankful my feet didn’t take off running the opposite way. Teen angst is consuming me the closer and closer Silver walks toward me. On my wedding day my nerves weren’t this out of control.

  I want to pinch myself to make one hundred percent sure I'm awake. This isn’t some lonely, deceiving dream, which will have me aching once my eyes open up.

  “Hey…Gin.” He says between light gasps of breath.

  No way is this stunning man out of breath jogging across the street. He probably works out multiple times a day or at least he does in my “life of Silver” dreams. Running at a marathoner's pace, sleeveless shirt, arms pumping, sweat pouring off of him, wetting his t-shirt.

  “Gin? You alright?”

  Shit, I need to pull myself together. My brain is malfunctioning, and my lips won’t move. I am officially a walking mess and have no idea how to handle these foreign feelings. Thank goodness for these bags because I wouldn’t know what to do with my hands.

  “Uh, yeah?”

  He gives me the biggest smile I've ever seen. He knows I'm completely flustered and is eating every morsel up. I'm sure the women he’s used to are confident and know how to handle a man of his caliber. Maybe if I pray nicely, this meeting won’t be a complete disaster.

  I keep glancing toward the road with that stupid orange hand mocking me. It feels like we’ve been standing here for minutes, but until that hand changes to the person walking, I know it’s been seconds. Do I really want it to change, forcing me to make a decision of walking away or staying? This is our second chance meeting; it has to mean something, right?

  “Where you headed?” His eyes haven’t moved from my body, nor does he call me out on my unease. Silver’s stance is relaxed with his hands in his pockets. Any sudden movements might scare me away, and he’s fully aware. I'm the wild, unpredictable horse and Silver is the calm, confident trainer. This thought finally breaks my fog, and my lips finally twitch, trying to form a small smile. “There you are. I’m sorry if I startled you.”

  “Sorry,” I sheepishly say, feeling my cheeks heating up. “It’s shocking to you see again.”

  “Oh…well.”

  “No,” I try to raise my hand to stop his words, forgetting they are occupied, “I mean, it's shocking it’s happening again so soon.” As soon as the last word leaves my mouth, the lights change.

  Before I can even comprehend what is happening, Silver’s right hand leaves his pocket very slowly and comes to rest right above my left elbow. My knees want to buckle on the spot, and my eyes won’t leave where we are now connected. His fingers wrap around my arm in a firm but soft hold, and I instantly want more. The thought of finding out how his strong arms would feel wrapped around my body has my skin buzzing with excitement. Ripping my eyes away from my arm, our gazes clash, and I know he feels it too. I could swear I hear a low growl rumble from his chest.

  “Let me walk you across the street?”

  I have no control over my body, but it senses his movements, and my feet start moving. There aren’t too many gentlemen out there anymore, and my thoughts fly back to why this one is not taken and guarded by his queen.

  Again, he asks, “Where you headed, Gin?” and this time around he sounds a little on edge. Maybe he thinks I'm headed to see a guy, since I haven’t said a word yet. Could I possibly make him nervous with another guy in the picture?

  “To Anne’s house,” I rush out, practically yelling in his face. Soon he’s going to say how nice it was running into me, then turn around and run for the hills.

  Even my mother would be ashamed of my atrocious behavior. “A woman always knows how to handle a man,” she would say. My mother, who is nearing eighty, could command an army if needed and win the damn war. She would not
be a babbling, nervous tick kind of woman in front of any man.

  “A friend, I take it?” The question is simple, one I can answer, but his hand on my arm brought the fog right back up over my eyes.

  “Yes, one of my best friends.”

  A strange emotion coats his face, and now he can’t make eye contact. I can feel a question coming on…piquing my interest. The tide is changing with Silver now seeming nervous, and I'm confident while hearing his unease.

  “Can I walk…you the…rest of the way?” When his eyes finally meet mine again, all I can see is vulnerability. Guess the strong even have a few dents in their armor.

  The energy between us is at an all-time high. Asking if he can walk with me to my destination has me flying high in the sky. Who does this, and who is this man? If he could, he’d probably ask my dad for permission to walk with me—swoon-worthy moment that is so being written down. Journaling might need to become a new hobby of mine.

  “If you want, she’s down this way and off to the right. Were you at the store with Claire?” Damn I don’t know why I asked that or used the tone it came out in. Claire is one of my tribe; she wouldn’t lie to me about their relationship. “I mean. Sorry…that was…”

  His hand brushes my lower back as we begin to move. He stands tall behind me and to the right. His stance is proud; his legs are long, but he’s keeping pace with me. “No worries. He leans his head down. “You can relax with me,” he whispers lower into my ear. His fingertips wrap slightly around my hip bone, claiming me in the most primal of acts. I want to be claimed so hard.

  I haven’t heard a car drive by or even a bird chirping since his arrival. Life is rushing by us, and I could be none the wiser. Pretty sure I've even smiled a few times to people passing us by, but that can be neither confirmed nor denied. He lets me lead, and somehow, we make it to Anne’s cute two-story home.

  Boy, are we in for it. The hope was for her to be inside, and I would be able to shoo him away, keeping all this a secret. I still don’t even know why he was on our side of town. Anne isn’t the warmest person when it comes to meeting new men.