by Meghan Quinn
“That’s kind of sad.”
“It is.” My gut starts to churn as I think about the turn of events Tucker had to face. He lost his baby, his love, and his support system. He lost everything, and here I am, rubbing it in his face that Sadie wasn’t the person for him. God, I’m such a freaking asshole.
“What did you say that made him so mad?”
I swallow hard, thinking back to the other night. The devastated look on his face, the way he shut down so quickly, and then dismissed me, after we were having such a good night. I really should have kept my mouth shut. “I told him Sadie wasn’t right for him.”
“That doesn’t seem so bad.” I love that Adalyn tries to ease the tension in my heart.
“It is when she was everything he ever wanted.” Leaning forward, I place my hand on the table and say, “Adalyn, he was and I guess still is so in love with her. He worshipped the ground she walked on. Yes, they had their fights, but even when they fought, you could still see the passion in his eyes for her. When they weren’t together, he was miserable, and when they were together, he was happy. She literally could make or break him with a few words.”
“So why wasn’t she right for him?”
Good question. He might have loved her, but I think he was in love with the comfort of Sadie, the ease she gave him. “I don’t think they were ever truly in love. They were at each other’s sides for some of the worst times in their life. They were each other’s backbones for so long. They knew the ins and outs of each other. They both grew up in unhealthy environments, mostly caused by their moms, who left heavy scarring on their childhoods. They bonded over the misfortune, but sometimes two broken souls can’t fix each other. In their case, that was true.”
“It makes me sad. But I get it. The Sadie you speak of is not the same Sadie I know. She seems so happy, so content in life.”
I nod. “That’s the new Sadie. Andrew brings out the fun-loving side of her. The Sadie I love and adore, but for a while, before Andrew, she was bitter, liked to be alone, and would drink a lot. For a few months, she literally had nothing going for her. It wasn’t until Andrew came along that she rose from her ashes and became the brilliantly vibrant woman she is now.”
“I bet that is a bitter pill for Tucker to swallow.”
Leave it to Adalyn to smack me in the face with logic. Tucker must be in so much pain, seeing Sadie happy with someone else. And there I was, bringing up the past and then throwing threats of feminine products in his face. What kind of friend does that? Once again, I feel like I’ve failed him.
I slouch even more in my booth. “Ever seen what a troll wart looks like?”
Adalyn tilts her head in confusion. “What?”
I point to myself. “That’s me, a freaking troll wart. No,” I shake my head, “I don’t even deserve the distinction of being a wart on a troll’s body. I’m the rotten, crusted-over, split toenail on a Bergen. A BERGEN.”
My voice elevates, which causes Adalyn to try to tamp down my anger by using her hands to “bring down the noise.” “Your Troll references are frightening sometimes. That movie is for children.”
“But it’s sooo good. Snub of the century during the award season.” Upset, I push my tray to the side, not feeling the Chinese food. “I’m such a horrible person, Adalyn. I was so mean to him. I told him to act like an adult.”
“What?” Adalyn is actually surprised by this. “Why would you say that? Did he burp in your face and ask you to tell him what he had for dinner?”
“Ew, no. Gross, Adalyn. Has anyone ever done that to you?”
Leveling out her arms along the table, she gives me a knowing look. “Emma, I grew up with seven, yes, seven brothers. There wasn’t a night that went by that I didn’t get burp faced.”
“I don’t know how you’re still alive now.”
Looking off to the abyss, she nods. “I can’t believe they’re still alive, actually. After the night they cut my hair, drunk as shit, they should be kissing my feet they’re dicks are still intact.” She shakes her head and glances my way. “But that isn’t what we’re talking about right now. I want to know why you told Tucker, the beautifully damaged man, why he needs to grow up.”
“It’s so stupid. I really think I lost my mind from his silence.” I’m just not used to people dealing with problems like that. With Adalyn, we simply cleared the air and moved on. Aren’t guys meant to do that?
Adalyn doesn’t let me get away with anything. “Spill it.”
“I told him to grow up because he only has two mugs in his house. Two mugs, Adalyn. How is that even possible? I mean, when I was in middle school I think I had more mugs than him. He’s a grown man and has two mugs; it’s just unheard of.” I try to defend myself but even on my ears my words sound hollow.
“Oh, Emma.” Adalyn shakes her head in disappointment. “You fucked up.”
“Yeah, I fucked up big time.” I don’t need Adalyn telling me the kind of sorry excuse of a friend I am, I can see it plain as day. Tampon fireworks, ughhh.
I don’t even bother finishing my meal. I pack it up in a to-go box, and say my goodbyes to Adalyn, who asks me on my way out to sneak a picture of Tucker naked for her. Nope, that’s never going to happen.
The drive home from campus is miserable. Usually I take this time in my car to decompress, to blast my music and enjoy the little drive back home before I have to start studying, but this trip is full of replaying the conversation I had with Tucker this morning over and over in my head.
Yes, he’s been ignoring me; well, not ignoring, just quiet. And yes, that was annoying, but did I really have to criticize him? The man who took me in. The only one of our friends who had bought their own house. Gah. He probably hates me now.
The more I think about it, the more I feel sick to my stomach. He’s had it hard. And then there’s his house, the room he won’t let me go into, and the empty place he’s come home to every night. It’s desolate and empty. That has to be a reason he feels no urgency to make it a home, why he doesn’t even bother to furnish the rooms. He’s content with how it is and that makes me even more sorry for the way I behaved. He didn’t deserve my judgment or criticism.
When I pull into the driveway, I spot Tucker’s truck parked off to the side. He doesn’t bother parking in the driveway any more since he’s usually leaving before me in the morning. I should be the one parking on the side of the road, not him. The guilt keeps piling on.
Because he’s the nice guy he is, the outdoor light is on, giving me visibility to the side of the house. He’s always considerate.
See that wheelbarrow behind me? You can start shoveling all the guilt in there.
When I open the side door, I notice immediately how quiet the house is. Usually I can hear the faint sound of Tucker’s TV coming from his bedroom, but I hear nothing. I check my watch and notice it’s only a little past eight. He must have an extremely early morning if he’s already asleep.
The house is dark besides one light above the sink, illuminating the kitchen and spotlighting a set of mugs on the counter top. My heart seizes in my chest. Oh, what has he done?
Stacked up like a pyramid is a set of seven teal mugs, one for each day of the week, labeled appropriately in cute cursive. Sticking out below them is a note. With trepidation, I set my backpack on the counter and pick up the note, my hand shaking uncontrollably. I quickly unfold it and read Tucker’s signature chicken-scratch handwriting.
Emma,
Sorry about the mug situation. It’s only been me, so I never thought of having more. Saw these at Target, thought you would like them. Now you have one for every day of the week.
Tucker
Tears start to fall down my cheeks from the thoughtful gesture. Here I am, barging in on his space and acting like a total priss, calling him names, and he does something like this. Forget the wheelbarrow of guilt; I’m going to need a dump truck.
I hold the note close to my heart and walk toward my bedroom when from the corner of my ey
e, something bright catches my attention. In the dining room, on the card table, is a bouquet of flowers with another note tucked under the vase. It feels impossible to breathe as I step forward to read it.
Emma,
Thought you might like a little color in the house. Ever since I’ve known you, having a home and a family has meant everything to you. I’m sorry this place isn’t more like a home. I hope this helps.
Tucker
“Oh my God.” My cheeks are stained with sorrow, with regret, with remorse for everything I said to him. How can he be so nice when I’m the one who should be apologizing?
I press the other note to my chest and go to my bedroom where I grab a set of pajamas and go through my nighttime routine.
When I reach the bathroom, I feel as though someone punched me in the gut and knocked all the wind out of me. Instead of the plain shower curtain encasing the tub, a white curtain with pink flamingos scattered across the fabric hangs from the railing. On the floor, a matching pink rug. Hanging on the towel hooks are pink, fluffy oversized towels, and on the back of the toilet is a pink flamingo wearing sunglasses holding a margarita glass. A snort of a laugh pops out of me, along with more tears. When I face the mirror, I’m greeted with a note taped to the glass. This one doesn’t need to be unfolded.
Emma,
Saw the flamingo shower curtain and went a little crazy. I’m not thrilled about the pink, but fuck, the towels are soft. Also, the medicine cabinet is cleared out and there is a special decorative box next to the toilet for any personal things you need to put in there. Sorry I didn’t think of it beforehand.
Tucker
And that does me in. I break down, right there on the flamingo-attacked bathroom. I hold my pajamas in my hands and cry, hating myself. He went through all this . . . for me. He got pink towels for me. He got a tampon box for me.
Peeling myself off the ground, I quickly get ready for bed while thoughts of Tucker swarm through my mind. When I reach for my toothbrush in the medicine cabinet, I immediately notice the absence of his condoms and in place of them, a note.
Emma,
Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Sorry, Em. I hope you can forgive me.
Tucker
That does it. I can’t go to bed without talking to him. I don’t care if he’s asleep. I quickly brush my teeth, wipe the tears off my cheeks, and deposit my clothes in my room. When I reach the bottom of the stairs that lead to his room, I try to tamp down the twisting and churning feeling in my stomach through taking deep breaths. Tucker doesn’t want an emotional wreck barging in on him. Be cool, Emma.
Feeling marginally composed, I take the steps one at a time, the creak of them sounding loud within the silent house. If he wasn’t awake, he’s awake now.
When I reach the top stair, I peek over to his bed where he’s resting with one hand behind his head, his night table lamp providing the only light in the room, and a hardcover book in his hand. I start toward him and that’s when he looks my way.
In the dim light, his book casts a shadow over his bare chest, his ruffled hair barely visible, and those soulful eyes of his breaking me in half.
I don’t even get a word out before I start breaking down again. Fat ugly tears cascade down my cheeks like a waterfall of despair.
With purpose, Tucker places a book mark in his book, sets it on the nightstand, and then scoots back on the bed, opening the comforter up for me. With a slight nod of his head, he calls me over. I spare no time in accepting his invitation. I join him in bed where I snuggle into his chest and hug him. I hug him hard, feeling comforted by the way his heart pounds against my cheek.
“I’m sorry,” I sob, my tears staining his chest.
“I know, babe.”
Babe.
That one little word unravels the knots forming in my stomach. The anger I expected to hear from him is nowhere to be found and instead, all I feel is his arm, pulling me in closer.
“I was so mean to you this morning and then you go and do all these nice things for me. I don’t deserve them. You should have left boxes in my room instead and told me to pack up.”
“Nah, you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
I sit up and look at him. There’s a light smirk on his face. How can he be so casual about this when I feel like total shit?
“Tucker, I’m serious. I was so mean to you, so inconsiderate. You need to tell me you’re mad at me, say something mean back to me.”
He shakes his head. “That’s not how this works, babe. We got in a little fight. I was a dick to you too. You caught me off guard, said some things I didn’t want to hear, and I cut you out. I’m just as much to blame. So let’s just call it a truce and start over. I’m sorry for being a dick.”
“You weren’t a dick. You were upset and I acted like a jerk. I’m sorry.” I shake my head. “I really didn’t mean it when I said I would shoot off tampon fireworks in your face. I would never do that. I don’t even know how to turn a tampon into a firework.”
He chuckles. “Really wasn’t nervous about the tampon fireworks.” He pulls me back down to his chest where I rest my head.
“You got me coffee mugs,” I say, not really knowing what else to say.
“I did. Got the impression this morning that the construction coffee mug wasn’t your style.”
“They’re just fine. I was only upset about you not talking to me and I lashed out, inappropriately. I don’t handle the cold shoulder very well. If you couldn’t tell.”
“Noted.” He sighs. “But for the record, I wasn’t giving you the cold shoulder.”
“You didn’t talk to me for a few days.”
I feel him shrug under me. “Nothing to say.”
“You couldn’t even say good morning? Or how about a little heads-up about trash day, or maybe a little nod in my direction that you were calling it a night.”
He pauses and then says, “Okay, maybe I was giving you a bit of the cold shoulder, but not intentionally.”
“I knew it.” Playfully, I pinch his side.
“Watch it.” He pushes my hand away.
I sigh into his chest and squeeze him again, making sure to let him know how happy I am that we’re talking again. “I don’t want us to fight again. I’ve been miserable without my friend. It makes for a very uncomfortable living environment.”
“Ah, you’re saying that because you want my eggs.”
“You can’t just cook your eggs and not make me any. It’s so unfair. And just so you know, that Chewy Bar did nothing for my appetite.”
“Shocking,” he says sarcastically. “The way you were parading it around my face, I would have sworn it was the breakfast of your dreams.”
“Not so much.” Happy Tucker is talking to me again, but feeling a little awkward lying in his bed with him, I sit up and say, “Well, I guess, I’ll let you get back to your book.” I turn to get out of his bed when he wraps his arm around my waist and pulls my back to his chest. With his arm wrapped tightly around my stomach, he spoons me from behind.
Tucker is spooning me.
“Don’t go.” His voice is quiet, almost desperate sounding. In all the years I’ve known him, I don’t think I’ve ever encountered vulnerable Tucker. He’s always been so tough and rugged, a man’s man. So, instead of going downstairs to my books, I lean forward slightly and turn off Tucker’s light and rest my head on his pillow, giving in to his unexpected request.
Taking a deep breath, trying not to enjoy the feeling of Tucker’s strong arm enveloping me, I say, “Thank you for everything, Tucker. You really didn’t have to get all those things. You could have seriously asked me to leave. I deserved it.”
His head is right next to mine and his breath tickles my skin when he says, “I wanted to, Emma.”
“Okay . . .”
“I do request one thing.” There is determination in his voice, all joking set aside.
“What’s that?”
He takes a deep breath and says, “Rule number si
x. Sadie and my mom are off limits when it comes to conversation topics. Okay?”
Without skipping a beat, I say, “That’s fair. I’m sorry I brought Sadie up the other night, I just felt—”
“Emma.” He squeezes me. “Off limits, okay? We’re not talking about it.”
I guess not. “Okay.”
“Thank you.” He pulls me in closer to his chest, his grip never loosening.
“Uh, are we spooning right now?”
“Yeah.” He’s so casual about it, as if all friends do this. “Got a problem with that, babe?”
“Uh, no. Just wanted to make sure you knew what was happening.”
“I’m well aware. It’s okay to spoon, Emma. Sometimes a human’s touch is all you need to heal wounds. We opened some wounds between us this past week, and I want to heal them.” He takes a second and then adds, “I don’t want there to be any beef between us. I lost your friendship once already. I don’t want to lose it again.”
I try to turn around to face him, but he holds me in place. “Tucker, you’re not going to lose my friendship, I promise.” And surprisingly, I relax into his embrace.
Sometimes a human’s touch is all you need to heal wounds. He’s right. He’s healing mine now.
He kisses the top of my head, and I feel his warmth spreading through me. “I’m holding you to that, babe.” I’m holding him to that too.
Chapter Ten
TUCKER
Emma: I really don’t think making pizza classifies as making dinner. We need to choose something that challenges us.
Tucker: Pizza is challenging when made drunk. Pick up lots of booze; it will be a fun game.
Emma: We are not cooking drunk, you’re just asking to set your house on fire, and then where would that put us? Looking at Playboys together under a bridge while sharing a sleeping bag for shelter.
Tucker: That doesn’t sound exciting to you?