by Kat T. Masen
“I know you loved Charlie. It’s impossible not to. But I love my brother, and they are soul mates. Always were and will be. Redemption, Julian. You saved her.”
“I did love her, Adriana, but she was a Band-Aid. And being in Hazel’s group is teaching me that.”
“Just like anyone who comes into my life will be a Band-Aid for Elijah,” she mumbles.
I place my arm around her. “He was your husband, Andy’s father. No one can replace him. All one can do is love you and Andy the way you deserve to be loved. In time, just don’t push it away when you feel it.”
“And what about you? Don’t you think you deserve happiness?”
“Honestly? No. What am I, Adriana? I can’t love without hurting those I love.”
“You didn’t hurt Chelsea.”
“But if I had put my foot down, she’d still be here.”
“Yeah, and if I weren’t so caught up in my pregnancy, maybe I might have noticed Elijah was sick and could’ve helped him,” she answers back.
We both stay quiet, the enormity of our admissions deserving a moment of silence. There’s a gentle breeze engulfing us, and the smell of lavender fills the air creating a calm between us.
“I’m scared of being alone, not now, but forever,” I admit.
“You’ve got Blaze… and me. As long as we’re friends, you’re not alone,” she says with ease.
“Does that mean you’ll cook me pot roast when I’m suffering from male PMS?” I joke.
“Yeah, but I draw the line at picking up a pack of tampons for you.”
“Great. Nice visual,” I mock.
“Hey, you said it… man rags!”
“Too much. Eric… he’s like the gay plague.”
“Oh my, I’ll tell him you said that.”
“Don’t you dare,” I warn her.
She laughs, her gaze wandering toward the farm. All of her features soften, implying a calmness to her I’ve grown to love watching when she allows herself to be still and focus on her blessings.
“This place is so tranquil. The kind of place you could see yourself growing old in, don’t you think?”
Fixated on the serenity, there’s something to be said about the tranquility of being in a place, or presence, where the world stops revolving around you, and faith begins to restore. I never expected in my wildest of imagination to be sitting here, of all places, with Adriana Evans, clean and without cocaine running through my veins.
And while our words remain to ourselves, the silence between us is exactly what I need, and perhaps we both need. Our intent is to revive ourselves from our weakest of moments, lay the foundation to rebuild eternal happiness, just not in the way we have always envisioned and not with the people we assumed would be by our side for life.
“Yes, Adriana.” I smile hopelessly at her, allowing the calm to wash over my sins and grant me the peace I deserve. “Exactly the place I see myself growing old in.”
Living with Hazel is turning out to be very therapeutic.
It gives me a hell of a lot of time to think, spending countless hours in her garden with her animals, which Blaze seems to enjoy as well. I still apartment hunt, but everything I find says no pets, and there’s no chance in hell I’m abandoning Blaze. Hazel scolds me as she rumbles through the discarded newspapers, quick to notice the red circles highlighting the vacancies. We had a long discussion one day, and I was very forthcoming with my intention to find my own way and not burden her. She explained that the process of finding oneself isn’t something that happens overnight, plus she really enjoys my company. Something about the way I eat my cereal reminds her of her late son, George.
During the week, Adrianna brought Ash over to play with Blaze. It was quite the reunion, both dogs running around in the backyard like two of the happiest creatures I have seen. Blaze is healing well, according to Amy, and the fact that she can run is a huge improvement. I never felt so relieved when Amy informs me of Blaze’s progress. Perhaps I don’t hurt everyone around me.
It’s a lazy Thursday afternoon spent sitting on the porch with my laptop, job hunting. I haven’t heard about my manuscript which dampens my spirits.
I know the drill—countless resumes being sent in hopes of a bite and emails sent to a number of contacts, mainly interstate. I resist applying for any positions in New York, not yet, anyway. I may be on the road to recovery, but I’m not ready to head back to the place which started this whole clusterfuck.
My mind is occupied with a job listing for a newspaper located in a small town in Arizona when my cell beeps, startling my concentration.
Adriana: My turn!
A smile spreads across my face, welcoming the distraction. We exchanged numbers that day on the field trip, the whole ‘if you need me, cry for help or give me a buzz’ thing.
Me: You’re not taking me to a pedicure place or something? Girls and happy places = pampering and shopping.
Adriana: Oh damn, you ruined it! Henrietta my beautician would have been in heaven manicuring your man toes. I’ll be at Hazel’s to pick you up in an hour. See you soon. xx
The one thing I have learned about Adriana is that she’s punctual. If she tells you an hour, she means an hour.
Exactly an hour later, she’s tooting her horn and yelling for me to hurry up.
Inside her car, I sit on the passenger side not recognizing the road we’re on or have any sense of direction as to where we are going.
“Okay. Are you going to tell me where we are going now?” I beg, all whiney and very unmanly.
I really am not a surprise type of person. When I was thirteen, my mom and sister decided to throw me a surprise birthday party. I still remember the moment when I walked into the house, and everyone jumped out and yelled, “Surprise.” I literally shit my pants. Embarrassing would be an understatement, mortifying would be more appropriate. No one knew it happened. I just ran up to the bathroom and locked the door shut until everyone left.
“You’re terrible. Not much longer, okay? Don’t worry, I’m not taking you to a secluded part of the woods so I can murder you with an ax.” She rolls her eyes at me in amusement.
“Huh… so explain the ax in the trunk?”
“You never know when you may need to chop wood… for a fire,” she adds with a devilish grin.
“We live in California. It’s like a hundred degrees out here. Should I dial 9-1-1 now or give you a head start?”
“Okay, we’re here,” she cheers.
I look out the window and see a sign which says ‘Farmer Joe’s Apple Picking Farm’ in bright colors. We get out of the car, and in a closer view, I see rows and rows of apple trees without an end in sight. It almost looks like a maze.
“This here is my happy place. Was our happy place,” she quickly corrects herself. “Before Elijah passed, we discovered this place on the way to the beach. It was supposed to be a pit stop to pick up a few apples, but we got lost in here for hours. Picking out apples and talking about anything and everything.”
Her face radiates as she talks openly about her husband, and I listen eagerly, enjoying this side of Adriana she rarely shows.
“There are so many things I didn’t know about him, the smallest things from his childhood.”
“It’s beautiful, Adriana, and I happen to have a thing for apples.”
She hands me a basket. “Well, then, what are we waiting for?”
In my entire life, I never thought apple picking would be this satisfying, searching apple after apple for the perfect one. Some are small, some are large, some are bruised, and some are oddly shaped. Is there a perfect apple? Who knows. All I know is that I’m looking for the perfect one, a delicious, perfectly shaped ruby red apple that will make my mouth water.
We talk a lot about life, mainly Andy. Adriana is happily chatting, and I’m eagerly listening. When the subject changes, we start talking about my childhood, and I find myself opening up about Chelsea.
“I hated the way Chelsea would always talk about kiss
ing. I must have been in sixth grade, and all she’d talk about was kissing. I may have thought it was the grossest thing in the world. She even told me how she practiced on her pillow.” I cringe, recalling the memory like it was yesterday.
“Oh, we all did that. It’s like a rite of passage into puberty. I’d kiss my pillow and actually hold it like a face.” She blushes, quick to cover it with a laugh.
“You didn’t…” I tease.
“Sure did. Occasionally, I’d grope the pillow’s butt, but hey, let’s not go there.” She giggles.
I shake my head at her confession. “Who would you picture kissing?”
“Let’s see… around that time was my Saved by the Bell phase, and I had a huge crush on Slater,” she admits.
“As in Mario Lopez?”
Her eyebrow perks before she blurts out unexpectedly, “Should I be worried you knew that?”
“No… I had a huge crush on Jessie,” I admit.
“Please… I bet you it was only because of that stripper movie. God, my brother would practically watch that movie every night on mute.”
“My turn to be disturbed. Sure… it was a great movie. Really educational,” I lie pathetically.
“Educational, my butt. Oh, look at this apple… it kinda looks like a butt!” She laughs really hard, and I can’t help but mimic her actions. It could’ve been a clone of J.Lo’s butt, it’s that exact.
The laughter dies down as the conversation switches to a more serious topic.
“If Chelsea were here today, do you think you would’ve stayed together?” she asks.
The question catches me off guard. It’s something I’ve never thought about until now.
“Knowing Chelsea, she’d have married a jock. She was too into being popular.”
“That’s normal at that age.”
“Maybe…”
“Charlie mentioned you the other day,” she blurts out.
I shift my head down. Am I supposed to answer that? My silence isn’t helping, but I haven’t thought about Charlie in a while.
“I don’t know how to respond to that,” I say, lowering my voice.
“Well, what’s the first reaction you had in your head?”
“To ignore you. That I shouldn’t talk about her. I don’t want to talk about her. That I hadn’t thought about her for a while.”
Adriana purses her lips. “She’s incredibly grateful for what you did. After all, if it weren’t for you, she wouldn’t be living and breathing… neither would her daughter, Ava.”
I remain quiet, unsure about how to respond.
“And she hopes you’re recovering.”
“Did you—”
“No,” Adriana interrupts. “My therapy, Hazel, and our group, I keep to myself. I like to keep things private and away from everyone who knew Elijah.”
I nod, understanding her need to keep things to herself given her family and friends are known to be intrusive.
“If Charlie could reach out to you, I know she would. But my brother is—”
“I’m not here to cause a rift between them, okay?” I run my hands through my hair, trying to make sense of my thoughts. “It’s just…”
“You’re scared?”
“Not scared. It’s just that, for once I feel like I’m moving forward with life. I’m breaking down all my walls. I’ve actually got a date with someone tonight.”
“A date?” The pitch of her tone is high, and I see her attempt to pull an apple from its stem impatiently. Her body language changes as her shoulders tense.
Quick to brush it off, I reply, “Someone I used to work with. It’s just dinner.”
“Dinner leads to sex, Julian. You’re a male, after all,” she says plainly.
“That’s a very stereotypical comment,” I tell her, slightly offended. “It’s not all about sex.”
Despite what people think, it really isn’t. I’m at a point in my life when I know the difference. Sometimes I need a good fuck, and other times I crave companionship. They don’t always mix together, and it’s for that exact reason why I have to set boundaries and not fall for the obvious.
She lets out a huff, scrambling her apples around. “It always is. Why would a single man your age want anything but sex with a new girlfriend?”
“Don’t put me in that category, Adriana. I’m not after a heavy relationship, but I’m not exactly willing to throw myself into a relationship based on sex only, which I have done on more than one occasion. It never ends well,” I openly admit, annoyed at her assumption of me. “I’ve got a hell of a lot of soul-searching to do. I’ve only had two serious relationships, a girl in college and Charlie. Look where that went.”
“I wasn’t born yesterday, Julian. Women throw themselves at you. This chick would be expecting nothing less.” The malice in her tone catches me off guard, offending me with her comment.
“So, are you trying to say I’m worth nothing but a good time in the bedroom?” I ask hastily.
She stumbles on her words. “No… I don’t mean that. Quite the opposite. I’m not relaying my message properly.”
“What message is that?”
“Despite what you may want, women do see you as a drop-dead gorgeous man who they envision in their bedroom. I know you’re trying to find yourself, and I’m sorry for making you feel worthless. I’ve only ever had one relationship… and if God weren’t so fucking selfish, he’d still be the one.” She stands and dusts off her pants.
My immediate thought shifts to Adriana, forgetting about our argument. “Hey, you okay?”
She stops, her eyes slightly glazed over. “No… it sucks. What the hell do I know about dating? I know I’ll probably have to do it one day even though the thought of it makes me want to break out in hives and vomit profusely.”
“A date?” I question.
“Yes. And have sex with someone else. I’m not a nun.”
“You’d be a waste of a nun,” I point out, softening my tone.
“That’s a shitty pick-up line, Baker.” She punches my arm softly, followed by a relaxed laugh.
I nod in agreement. “Never said I was a pro, don’t be fooled by the exterior.”
We spend another hour walking through the fields, lost in mindless chatter. As the sun slowly sets, we call it a day and drive back home.
Adriana pulls the car up in front of Hazel’s home, prompting me to unbuckle my belt.
“Thank you for today, Adriana. I’ve got enough apples to feed a herd,” I joke.
She continues to stare out the window, lost in thought. I give her a moment. Adriana needs time to process her thoughts, and pushing her doesn’t get you anywhere but into a heated debate.
“No, thank you, Julian. Being able to talk openly about Elijah means a lot to me, and I can’t believe how much I miss talking about him.”
“I wish you could see your face when you talk about him. You look so alive,” I admit.
“My family walks on eggshells whenever his name is brought up. It’s like they think I’ll break down, so they just avoid talking about him. I hate they do that.”
I place my hand on hers reassuringly. “Adriana, you need to tell them it’s okay to talk about him, in fact, it’s therapeutic. Sometimes you’re going to have bad days and get emotional, and that’s okay, too.”
“You’re right. I need to stop being treated like a porcelain doll. When a porcelain doll breaks, what do you do? You glue her face back together with superglue,” she rambles.
My shoulder moves involuntarily as the laughter consumes me. “I wouldn’t know, Adriana, I’ve never owned one and don’t plan to anytime soon.”
A smile traces her lips before she boots me out and wishes me well on my date.
I sit across the table from Nyree.
The date is nothing out of the ordinary so far. She’s a fantastic cook, preparing some Spanish meal which I have no chance of pronouncing. Most of the time we talk about work since it seems to be the only thing we have in common.
&
nbsp; The apartment is opposite Long Beach with a view of the ocean, the air lingering of salt and humidity. With the balcony doors open, there’s a soft breeze blowing against the sheer purple organza curtains which hang by the door.
“It’s a nice place you have,” I say politely.
It’s an open-plan living and dining room combined. The furniture is all white but doesn’t appear too sterile. It’s nicely decorated with splashes of bright colors and a million cushions.
What’s with the cushions? I’m not a picky guy, but I think cushion-loving women need to come with a warning.
“I love this place. Moved here about two years ago.” She finishes the last drop of wine, informing me she’s going to grab some more and to make myself comfortable on the couch. I never really understood when people say to make yourself comfortable. Isn’t that what you would naturally do? Why would you purposely make yourself uncomfortable?
As I move over, I sit on the edge, not sure if I’m allowed to mess the carefully aligned cushion thing going on. Grabbing my cell, I text a message just out of curiosity, wondering if this needs to be brought up in our therapy sessions.
Me: Since you’re a woman, can you please explain the purpose to me of why you need a million cushions on a couch?
I’m not expecting an immediate response, knowing Adriana has a work function going on. Moments later, I’m surprised to see my screen light up.
Adriana: I’m guessing date night is getting cozy. To be honest, I hate cushions. You only need one. Are you expected to take them on and off every day?
The comment throws me off. It isn’t at all like that. I don’t want that, do I? Nyree is gorgeous, sexy, but something about tonight feels off.
Me: She’s gone to get more wine, so to answer your question, it’s not one of those dates. You know Eric is a serial cushion freak.
Nyree is taking a long time to get wine. I poke my head to the side, unable to see her shadow in the kitchen. Maybe she stores wine somewhere else in her apartment. Like where… her bedroom? I enjoy the solitude, taking advantage of texting while she’s gone.