After the Rain

by Bruce, Brandy

  “Okay.”

  “But ... if you find out when Twenty-Four Tears is playing again, I would possibly be up for that.”

  “Excellent.” Paige’s countenance brightened. She glanced at her phone. Our lunch date was coming to a close. “I better get back to work. I’m hoping to get off a little early tonight. Next week, let’s plan to meet at Subway or something. These fries are becoming an addiction for me.”

  I stayed behind, scrolling through Google, reading a few emails, before gathering my things and heading back to my apartment. I kicked off my shoes and went to the bedroom in search of my phone charger. My room, which was barely large enough to fit my queen-sized bed in, looked like a royal mess. Tidiness had never been one of my shining qualities, but now, living in a matchbox, I’d started to crave a little more organization.

  Once my phone was charging on the nightstand, I sat on the edge of my bed, looking over the mess that was my wardrobe. Clothes and shoes flowed out of the closet like a waterfall, but nothing matched me anymore.

  Bright sundresses were pushed to the back. My favorite red pants had been crammed at the top of the closet underneath my yellow pants. Striped shirts and sparkly sandals caught my eye. Ripped jeans and rock-band T-shirts and boots cluttered the floor. Bold colors. Flashy outfits with lots of jewelry. Bright purses and pink lipstick.

  None of that seemed like me anymore.

  Those belonged to a girl who moved with confidence, who liked to be seen, who wanted to be part of the action.

  Not me.

  Silently I began to fold and stack jeans and T-shirts. Addison’s words came back to me: The goal is to stay and settle?

  Was that the goal? It seemed like a good place to start. I’d come for the job, of course. Setting down roots hadn’t exactly been at the forefront of my mind. I’d needed out of Texas, so here I was, and I liked Colorado.

  I’d told Addi that I’d started over once and I’d do it again, but the more I thought about it, the circumstances had been so entirely different. I’d left Minnesota, brimming with excitement, eager to make friends and find my place. Here, other than going to work and stumbling into a friendship with Paige at a coffee shop one day downtown, I felt the very opposite of eager or excited.

  And yet, this couldn’t be it. I finished folding (and was reminded that I hate folding) and then fell back onto the bed and blew my hair out of my face.

  I needed to snap out of this melancholy somehow.

  How did someone go about putting their heart back together once it split?

  No ideas came to me. Not even Miss Lonely Heart knew the answer to that question.

  I went to bed early that night, breathing a bit easier in my now-clean room. My phone buzzed right after I’d brushed my teeth. Paige.

  BEN ASKED ABOUT YOU AT DINNER.

  I stared down at the text but couldn’t think of a reply. The phone buzzed again.

  I TOLD HIM WE WOULD GO TO 24 TEARS’S NEXT GIG AND HE SEEMED REALLY GLAD.

  I waited a few seconds, then typed back.

  WHEN’S THEIR NEXT GIG?

  TWO WEEKS, I THINK. BUT HE’S A REGULAR AT THIS CHURCH I KNOW.

  I sent her an eye-rolling emoji but couldn’t help smiling at her humor.

  I’d been asleep for at least a half hour when my phone started buzzing again, dancing on the wooden nightstand. I blindly reached over and felt around on the nightstand until I found it.

  ARE YOU UP? CAN WE TALK?

  Addison. I looked at the clock. Ten o’clock. Eleven o’clock in Texas.

  I didn’t want to talk. We’d just talked a couple of days ago. What could be so important? A second text dinged.

  DEB, WE NEED TO TALK. I’M CALLING.

  I held the phone and waited and felt sick. Something about the text evoked urgency, and my breathing quickened.

  I answered as soon as the phone rang. “Hi, Addi.”

  “Deb, how are you?”

  “I’m okay. What’s up?”

  “I’m sorry to call late. I know it’s ten, and I know you work the morning shift.” She paused and I felt like I should say something.

  “That’s all right. How are you and Glen?”

  “We’re fine. We’re still waiting to hear on the pastor position. I miss you, Deb.”

  “I miss you too.” I clutched the comforter, waiting.

  “I need to tell you something,” she said gently.

  “Tell me fast.”

  “Luke and Sara are engaged.”

  The sensation that I was freefalling came over me. “I knew it would happen,” I managed to say.

  “I don’t expect that makes it easier.” Addison’s voice was soft and flowed over me, trying to reach me.

  I couldn’t be reached. “I hope they’re miserable.” I said the words, knowing I shouldn’t. Addison just sighed. No scolding. After a quiet moment, I braved a question. “Is there a wedding date yet?”

  “No,” she answered. “But I think they are aiming for six months.”

  My stomach tightened. “Well, then. I guess when you know, you know.”

  “Debra.” Addison said my name, sympathy saturating her voice, and I had a feeling she was crying. A lump was forming in my throat and I knew I’d be crying too soon.

  “I better go. I have to get up early.”

  “I love you. We haven’t forgotten you. You’re part of us forever.”

  But he’s marrying her.

  I couldn’t even gasp. I choked. “Good night, Addi. We’ll talk again. When I can.” It was all I could say.

  “Okay. I love you, Deb. Friends forever.”

  I hung up the phone and the tears came hard. I rolled to my side and screamed silent screams and thought bad thoughts and hurt all over.

  Nearly two weeks had passed since the revelation of the engagement. Eventually the freefalling sensation I’d felt during the phone call had collided with the sensation of my heart slamming into pavement. Other than doling out scathing advice on air as Miss Lonely Heart, I tried to act normal, but after one phone conversation with my mother, she was alarmed enough to say that if I didn’t schedule a meeting with a therapist this very minute, she’d be on a plane and living with me in my itty-bitty apartment for the foreseeable future.

  Gerri Hart doesn’t make idle threats.

  I looked up a few therapists online, read reviews, picked a random person and made an appointment and went. Now, Thursday afternoon, here I sat for our second appointment, in a cream-colored overstuffed chair, across from a woman with leopard-print glasses and hair that was so shiny and black and long, I thought of Disney’s version of Pocahontas every time I looked at her. That first session had been just a retelling of my story—explaining why I suddenly was a very unhappy twenty-eight-year-old woman who now fantasized about showing up at her friends’ wedding in all black.

  Pocahontas’s real name was Dr. Clark. That first day, she’d listened in silence, an unreadable expression on her face. Today her expression was more pinched.

  “You are isolating yourself, Debra. In maybe subconscious ways, such as moving to a new place where you didn’t know anyone, but that can be explained through a new job and a need for change—and more obvious ways, such as avoiding calls from friends and family, not trying to find any community in the new place where you’ve settled, changing your appearance to blend in rather than stand out, and sleeping more, as we’ve discussed.”

  I licked my lips. The dryness in Colorado left me constantly needing lip balm and lotion.

  “Do I need medication for depression?” My mother had insisted I at least ask.

  Dr. Clark inhaled and looked down at her desk. “Possibly. If you do, we will certainly go in that direction. But this is only our second session. I want to let you talk through this more and see what we can do about processing the pain, then letting it go.”

  Process the pain. Let it go.

  “Sounds like a plan,” I told her.

  “I know that it’s easier said than done. But it can
be done, Debra. One way or another, I believe we can get you back to a place where you want to engage, rather than disengage, with the world around you. It takes time to move on from this kind of betrayal and disappointment.”

  “My parents are worried about me,” I informed her.

  She nodded. “That’s good. I’m glad you have people who are concerned about you. That means there are people out there who love you.” This moved the conversation more toward the topic of family. Dr. Clark wanted to hear about my childhood and my current relationships with my parents and my brother. So I described growing up outside Minneapolis. Fighting with my brother, who was only eighteen months older than me, taking music lessons, fishing with my dad, singing with my mother, spending two weeks every summer at my nana’s house on the lake. And always having the dream and desire to spread my wings and experience new places and meet new people. Jumping at the chance to move to Texas. I’d missed my family, but not Minnesota. I loved going back to visit, but my heart wasn’t there anymore. I’d thought I’d found home in Texas—with Luke.

  The search continues.

  “Do you see ‘home’ as a relationship?” Dr. Clark asked.

  I shrugged. “I’ve always wanted to get married and have a family of my own. Before now, I was never introverted. I wanted people and conversation and activity. I guess I never dreamed about a certain place or a house or anything like that.”

  “What did you dream of?”

  I thought for a moment. “Someone to watch movies with at night. Someone to travel with. Someone there at my side in the hospital when I have my first baby. Dinner parties with lots of people around our table.”

  She tapped the desk with her pen. “Did you think about those dreams a lot, before you met Luke?”

  I tried to remember. “No.” I slowly shook my head. “I mean, since college I’ve hoped I’d meet the right guy and get married. But I wasn’t thinking about it constantly. I worked a lot and loved my job. I had an amazing group of friends who I spent all my time with. And even before Luke, I dated guys. But nothing ever came from those relationships. Not until Luke. Then it felt right and wonderful and I wanted to get married as soon as possible and start our life together. Suddenly everything seemed to be right there, within grasp. A wedding. Babies and vacations. Intimacy and security and happiness. It was right there for me. I thought we’d get married and buy a house. Plant roots. Have a family.”

  My throat tightened. Goosebumps covered my arms.

  “Life doesn’t always go as planned,” Dr. Clark said gently. “But there can be new dreams in place of disappointments. I want you to think about what your dreams for your life are now. Apart from Luke.”

  I didn’t answer.

  “The difficulty with happiness being tied up in another person is that we have no control over that person. So they have the power to destroy our happiness.”

  “What do we do when that happens?” I whispered.

  “You take back the power.” She leaned over her desk and folded her hands. “You discover that happiness doesn’t have to come from someone else. It’s starts with you. You will be happy again eventually, Debra. It might start slowly, laughing with a friend, experiencing something new, doing something for someone else, tasting something delicious. Happiness comes with positive experiences. But that’s not entirely what we’re after here. I want you to find peace. With yourself, with your situation, even with Luke and Sara.”

  I visibly stiffened, but she only smiled. “It’s okay. Like I said, this is a process. It will take some time. We can’t control whether someone will enter your life who can make you feel the way Luke did—though I have confidence it will happen eventually. What we can do is work at getting to a place where you feel secure and at peace with who you are and where you are. At that point, I think you’ll be open and ready for whatever direction life takes you.” She took off her glasses and started to clean them with a cloth. “What do you think, Debra? Is that a journey you’re willing to take with me?”

  To be honest, I felt overwhelmed just listening to her. Still, it did seem as though I needed a goal, something to work toward. If the alternative was life with my mother in a one-bedroom apartment or me turning into a crazy woman straight out of a made-for-TV movie, showing up at my ex’s wedding, crying and making a scene—well, I wanted a life beyond both of those scenarios. I supposed I had to start somewhere.

  “I’ll try.”

  Chapter Four

  The number one reason behind all bad hair decisions is love.

  Legally Blonde, the Musical

  That night I went home, physically spent from my conversation with Dr. Clark. I sent a quick text to my mother, assuring her that I’d gone to my second appointment and intended to continue going. Then I changed into my favorite pajamas. My hair was so unruly that I had to put on a headband to push it back. I stood in front of the pantry, looking for something to eat, but nothing sounded good.

  All those things that Dr. Clark had mentioned—laughter, service, experience, even enjoying food—the thought of any of them made me tired.

  I closed the pantry and sat on the sofa, cross legged. I stared at the TV, even though it was turned off.

  This was not going to be easy.

  Paige texted me that Twenty-Four Tears was playing Friday night and she’d told Ben we’d be there. I stretched out on the couch and yawned. A small part of me wanted to go and hear the band again. A larger part wanted to stay on my couch indefinitely.

  Dr. Clark had said for me to think about my dreams for the future. New dreams that belonged to me alone. I mulled that thought over. I didn’t have Luke, but I did have a job that plenty of people would jump at the chance to get. And I was grateful for it. I considered Addison’s question to me about buying a house. Financially there was no way I could swing that at the moment, but eventually—yeah, I’d like to buy a place of my own. I knew from my experience in Texas that setting down roots included building community, which, at the moment, was not on my dreams list. Things like going to church or joining a book club or going out with Paige and her friends—none of that appealed to me.

  That left me and my couch.

  I thought about Minnesota. My nana had an old house with creaky floors. I remembered it could get drafty at times during the long Minnesota winters, but she had those ancient standing heaters that would warm up spaces. When I was little, I’d run into the house and plant myself in front of one of those heaters until my skin felt nearly scalded. Then Nana would set a mug of hot cocoa with jumbo marshmallows on the round antique table in her kitchen.

  Dr. Clark had asked me about home. When I thought of home, I thought of that table at my nana’s house.

  I closed my eyes and pictured it. How does one find home when they’ve grown up and moved away? I couldn’t spend my life eating jumbo marshmallows at my grandma’s table. I opened my eyes and sat up, taking a moment to scan my tiny apartment. Small as it was, I liked having my own space. I needed a place of my own. Maybe a two-bedroom townhome. And I’d buy a rustic, round wooden table to go in the kitchen.

  There. I looked at the calendar on my phone. In about nine months, I’d try to buy a townhouse. I set aside the phone and reached for the remote. Therapy was helping already.

  Friday, after leaving the studio, I decided to swing by the boutique where Paige worked, maybe finalize plans for seeing Twenty-Four Tears late that night. The nice weather must have brought out shoppers because the small store buzzed with activity. Paige waved from the counter and I browsed while I waited for her to have a minute to talk.

  The clothes at the boutique were pricier than I normally would go for, but I looked through the clearance section. A large, cute stark-white purse caught my eye. I picked it up but set it back down. I looked through a couple of racks of tops, but nothing interested me.

  “Hi!” Paige rushed over. “I’m so glad you stopped by. It’s been busy today. I want to show you something.” Paige pulled me to a rack near the tiny dressing room
s. “I thought of you the minute I saw this shirt. What do you think? I think it would look great on you. Oh! They need me up front. I’ll be right back. Try it on.” Paige wagged her finger at me with insistence before running over to the counter. I hadn’t managed to get in one word. I looked at the shirt. Flowy and light, cream and lacy. I just stared at it.

  What was wrong with me? So much effort to try on something I would have loved before. Everything took so much effort. I found a medium-sized one and waited until someone came out of the dressing room. Once inside, I slipped off my black T-shirt and tried on the blouse.

  I stared at myself. Trying to find me.

  Dark wavy hair that barely brushed my shoulders and contrasted nicely with the cream color of the shirt. My cheeks had a little color from the hiking I’d been doing lately. No jewelry. The shirt hung easily on me and felt comfortable.

  Beauty starts inside, then comes out and draws people to you, my mother used to tell me. Be who you are with confidence.

  You light up a room like a seventy-five watt, Debbie. That’s my girl, my father used to say with a chuckle.

  I turned from side to side, recognizing myself but not. When someone knocked on the door, I quickly pulled off the shirt and donned my old one. I held the shirt in my hand as I walked the perimeter of the boutique, not quite willing to let it go. Paige motioned for me to come up when there was an opening at the counter.

  Small steps, Dr. Clark had said, in any form.

  I bought the shirt.

  That night, while waiting for Paige to pick me up so we could ride together all the way to Boulder, where Twenty-Four Tears was playing near the college campus, I examined my outfit for the evening. The light shirt went well with my favorite ripped jeans and my gold sandals. I stuck in some gold stud earrings and twirled my mascara wand over my lashes. When my phone buzzed, I knew Paige had arrived and I rushed down to the parking lot. I blinked in surprise at the sight of Paige standing next to Milo’s car.

  “He asked if we wanted to ride with him.” Paige’s eyes were bright, and I didn’t want to put a damper on her excitement so I managed a smile.