Setting the tumbler back on the counter, I pour myself another glass, the moonlight from the windows providing the only source of light in the quiet, empty house. I’m grateful to have the place to myself. I’ve had enough of conversation today and would probably just end up being an asshole to Jon if he were around.
First thing this morning, I was informed several of the students at the elementary school have decided to stop going to counseling. I try not to take these things personally, but in this situation, I know it will reflect poorly on me—especially since I was also told a parent has already called in a complaint about me. Apparently pointing out to an eight-year-old that he’s angry about his parents’ divorce and not at the little girl in his class is frowned upon. It was probably telling him it was okay to be angry that upset them the most. I knew taking on younger kids would be an adjustment for me, and after today, I feel like my concerns are valid. When you are the type of person who puts your all into what you do, it makes it hard not to take things like this personally.
Days like these are hard and frustrating. They make me wish I didn’t care so much or that I had chosen my career based on something like money instead of a desire to make a difference.
Before I met Lizzy, before I knew it was possible to feel so content and whole, a day like today would have led to me seeking out a distraction in the form of a cheap thrill or a meaningless sexual release, but I’ve lost interest in those types of distractions. I don’t want distractions; I want something—someone, who can make those days better. I want Lizzy—I want to see her smile and hear her laugh.
I haven’t talked to her since I ran into her at the gym on Saturday and I’m not entirely sure what I’d even say if I had. This whole platonic friendship thing is new for me, especially since I’m extremely attracted to her. There is just something about her that makes me want to know her. I should probably feel more concerned than intrigued by this odd connection I feel, but the stronger it becomes, the more I want to figure it out.
Phoned In
An odd pinging sound coming from my laptop brings me out of my dark thoughts. My day was completely shot after my little breakdown this morning. Though Dr. Gentry’s words were helpful, they only carried me so far. I still couldn’t manage my sorrow enough to function normally.
When my laptop makes the same sound a second time, I set my wine glass down on my night stand, reach for my computer, and open it up. My stomach flutters when I see a Facebook message from Brenden. We haven’t spoken since I offered him my friendship in lieu of something more, and I’m not entirely sure how things should go from here.
It’s not as if I’ve ever had male friends before, not really. I mean, not since grade school or outside of being friends with someone’s spouse. The truth is, I offered my friendship to Brenden because I didn’t want him to just walk away. I may not be ready or able to date anyone right now, but I’ve felt more like myself the few short times I’ve been around Brenden than I have since I lost Xander. I couldn’t just let that go. I wanted to know him on some level.
TUE 10:12 PM
Brenden Scott
Hi there, friend.
What are you up to this late at night?
For the first time today, I smile as I stare at his message—innocent and friendly, just as we’d agreed upon. This I can do, it will be nice to have someone to talk to that hasn’t been invested in my “healing” process the past couple years—someone that will talk to Lizzy and not the widower.
Lizzy Shea
I’m drowning my sorrows in a rather large glass of wine.
I scoff at my blatant honesty, feeling unsettled yet again by his ability to bring down all my walls until there is nothing left for me to hide behind.
Brenden Scott
Want to talk about it?
The last thing I wanted to do was talk about my day. It was the worst one I’d had in a while, and it’s left me feeling a little like a failure.
Lizzy Shea
Nope. Just a shit day is all. What about you?
Brenden Scott
My day was also shit. I was just hoping for something to distract me, and here you are.
Lizzy Shea
Indeed, I am here, but I don’t see how I can serve as a distraction for you.
Brenden Scott
Oh, I could think of plenty of ways for you to distract me. ;)
I shake my head and roll my eyes, though he can’t see my protest.
Lizzy Shea
Brenden…
Brenden Scott
What? I was just thinking maybe you could tell me something about my new friend Lizzy. I’d much rather talk to you though. Can I call you?
My heart races as I stare at his question, my mind reeling as I consider how to answer. It seems odd and a little wrong to have a man call me this time of night—or at all really, but our conversation has already helped divert my thoughts and I’m not ready for it to end.
Those three blinking dots taunted me as I waited for her reply. I suppose I could’ve simply continued our online conversation, but I wanted to hear her voice. I didn’t want to miss out on hearing her laugh or the heaviness in her breath when I said something that I knew would cause coloring on her cheeks.
A part of me knew there was a chance she’d say no, and that it would end our conversation all together. I’d almost been expecting it. What I hadn’t been expecting was to feel like a kid on Christmas morning when she said yes. I’m not one for talking on the phone. I never had long, late night conversations with my girlfriends when I was a teenager, but the prospect of getting to talk to Lizzy one-on-one uninterrupted excites me.
When the line begins to ring for the third time, I start to question whether she changed her mind or if I’d dialed the number correctly, but it stops mid-ring.
“Hello?” The smooth, low tone of her voice catches me off guard and renders me speechless for a moment. “Brenden?”
“Yep, this is much better,” I reply, finally finding my voice again. Taking a deep breath, I lay back in my bed, placing my head on the pillows, and try to convince my racing pulse to calm down.
“So…what is it you want to know about me?”
“Anything and everything. But why don’t we start with something simple and easy like what you do for a living?”
There’s a rustling sound in the background as she sighs into the phone, and my mind wonders to places it shouldn’t.
“That’s boring, and not much of a distraction, but all right…I work for an office products company.”
“Like Staples?”
“No, not like Staples,” she scoffs. “We sell products in bulk directly to businesses, schools, etcetera.”
“So, it’s like that show The Office then?”
The stress of my days fades away as her laughter fills the line, as I knew it would. This is what I needed, she is what I needed.
“I suppose it is a little like that, except I’m pretty sure they only sold paper and my co-workers aren’t nearly as funny or interesting. So, what about you? What do you do for a living, Mr. Scott?”
There is no chance I am going to talk about my job right now, I don’t even want to think about it. Besides, the first thing people always want to know when I tell them I’m a counselor is why I chose my career. That isn’t something I want to talk to Lizzy about either.
“I work for the state and the school system, but that’s boring. Besides, my job is the reason I’m looking for a distraction right now. So...tell me something else about yourself.”
“That doesn’t seem all that fair, but I’ll go with it for now. Let’s see…my favorite color is green. I’m obsessed with eighties movies—Valley Girl is one of my all-time favorites. I’m a total book nerd—which you may have already figured out. I believe music, at least good music, can solve or speak to any situation in life. I’m a dog person. Though, to my kids’ dismay, I don’t currently have a dog. I’ve lived in middle Tennessee my entire life, outside of the time I lived in Knoxville
while I attended college at UTK. I only have one sibling, my sister, Cat, who you’ve met. How is that?”
She sucks in a huge breath to make up for the ones she didn’t take during her information dump, and I laugh. It’s much more than I expected her to tell me. On the surface, it may seem like she only shared unimportant information, but she shared all the little things about herself that makes her Lizzy.
“Wow…I didn’t expect you to share that much. I’d say that’s a pretty good start. So, eighties movies, huh? I don’t think I’ve ever even heard of Valley Girl. Were you even around in the eighties?” I tease.
“Yes. I may have only been around for a few of them, but it still counts. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. It isn’t necessary to have lived in the eighties to appreciate the awesomeness of their movies.”
She is so adorable, it’s almost absurd.
“I see…and tell me more about your thoughts on music. What kind of music are you listening to? I can’t say it’s ever had the same kind of therapeutic effect on me.”
“So, you’ve basically been missing out on life,” she mocks.
It’s funny, but that’s exactly how I’ve felt since I met Lizzy—like I’ve been missing out. I’ve spent the last couple years trying to be damn sure I seize every day and opportunity that comes my way, yet it all feels lacking now.
“I don’t listen to one particular type of music. I’ll listen to practically every genre. If it speaks to me in some way, I listen to it. I don’t discriminate. My music collection contains classical, country, rock, pop, and hip hop. It depends on my mood.”
“Okay, I suppose I can understand that. No one likes to listen to a sad song when they’re in a good mood, but how can music possibly speak to you?”
“It’s like this…when people write songs and compose music, it generally comes from their own experiences—their thoughts, feelings, and emotions. So, if you think about it, when you connect with music, it’s like connecting with another person’s soul. It can be a beautiful and comforting thing knowing someone else once felt what you’re feeling—that someone once lived through and survived the things you’re struggling with.”
I try to take in everything she just said, feeling a little blown away by her raw honesty and passion.
“You probably think I’m nuts,” she scoffs. “Even more so than you already did.”
“No,” I huff, shaking my head. “Actually, Lizzy Shea, I think you may be the most passionate person I’ve ever met.”
She goes quiet and I can almost picture her with a shy smile on her face as she fidgets with her hair.
“Not really. Just about the things I like. Don’t you have anything you feel passionate about?”
“Do beautiful women count?” I quip.
“No,” she grumbles. “Besides, I don’t believe for a second there isn’t more to Brenden Scott than that. Tell me something about the real you.”
A smile spreads across my face as a sense of pride swells in my chest. She thinks there’s “more” to me. I’m not even sure Allison and Jon believe that some days.
“Okay…let’s see, I have a master’s degree from MT. I’ve also lived in Tennessee my entire life. I’m an only child, but I consider Jon and Allison family. I’m not sure there is anything I’m that passionate about. I used to take life a little too seriously. I suppose, in high school, I was passionate about playing football and making good grades…anything that would help me change my life.”
Shaking my head, I palm my forehead. It hadn’t been my intention to share something so personal with her. That is not a road I want to go down.
“I can’t picture you as some high school football jock,” she taunts.
“Hey! Just because I played football doesn’t mean I was some walking, talking stereotype. I played because it kept me focused and disciplined. Besides, you can’t judge a person by who they were in high school. What were you like in high school? I bet you were you one of those smart academic kids who never got in trouble and kept to themselves.”
“No, but I wish. It would have saved me some trouble, but my friends were the artists, musicians, and passionate thinkers.”
“So...the stoners?” I retort.
“Yeah,” she chuckles. “I suppose so. But I was not a stoner. I was probably more suited to be a smart loner, but I wanted to surround myself with people I thought were passionate about the same things. They weren’t anything like me, though. I like structure and rules. I wasn’t cut out for the partying lifestyle.”
“I can’t say I’m surprised you like structure and rules. I mean, you did make up rules for our friendship.”
A silence follows her sigh and I begin to worry she’s upset by my comment.
“Yes, well...rules protect us and set boundaries. I don’t see anything wrong with finding comfort in that.”
Her flat tone confirms I’ve unintentionally hit a nerve.
“Nothing wrong with it, but sometimes coloring outside the lines and stepping out of your comfort zone can be a good thing too. I’m not talking about breaking laws or anything crazy, but I think sometimes people place unspoken rules and restrictions on themselves and others. People care too much about what other people will think, and they let societal expectations hold them back.”
“Those societal rules can be a good thing too. I mean, otherwise, we might see people walking around in public dressed in their S&M gear or something.”
“I saw someone like that in Wal-Mart once,” I joke. When I hear her beautiful laughter again, I feel the muscles I didn’t even know were tense relax. “But seriously, isn’t there anything you want to do but haven’t because you’re concerned what other people would say or think? Be completely honest now.”
She hums in consideration.
“Okay...fine. If I’m being completely honest, I guess I’d say getting a tattoo.”
I like her answer, a lot, but it seems like such a little thing.
“What’s holding you back?” I ask, unable to fathom why she wouldn’t just get one if that’s what she wants.
“I don’t know,” she huffs. “I guess the fact that I am a thirty-year-old mother of two. It doesn’t seem like an appropriate thing to do...not a good example and all that jazz.”
“And all that jazz?” I tease, laughing. It seems very fitting for her—it’s a very Lizzy thing to say. “So, you don’t think showing your kids it’s okay to be who you want to be and do what you want to do is a good example?”
“Well...when you put it that way, it sounds stupid,” she sulks, humor in her tone. “It’s just…I’m a lot younger than most of the moms I know. I kind of feel like they treat me like a stupid kid as it is, and I’m always trying to prove myself. Lord knows I wouldn’t want to give them any more ammo.”
The thought of anyone making her feel bad about herself causes an unexpected volcano of rage in my gut.
“You should never let someone make you feel that way. You don’t have anything to prove to anyone but yourself,” I grit out, hoping she doesn’t think my sharp tone is directed at her. I roll my shoulders and stretch my limbs to release my tension before continuing in a softer manner. “What kept you from getting one before you had kids?”
“I don’t know. Fear, I guess. It’s a very permanent commitment, and I never enter into my commitments lightly.” She lets out of a huffed chuckle. “Besides, Xander always said it wasn’t really me, and I think maybe he was right.”
Xander? Her husband kept her from being the person she wanted to be and doing the things she wanted to do? What the fuck?
“I see…well, while I do feel your skin is a masterpiece all on its own, I have to ask, if it’s not you who wants the tattoo, who is it?”
“The crazy person living in my head?” she quips, laughing at her own joke.
“Or maybe it’s the real you wanting to come out and play. I say let her out. Have some fun. Experience new things and places. Time waits for no one. You have to seize it while you can or live with regrets.
”
“I wish I could think more like you, Brenden. I really do,” she groans.
“Who says you can’t? What are some other things you want to do or see, but haven’t? What’s on your bucket list?”
“My bucket list…let’s see…I want be fluent in another language.”
“Te puedo ayudar con eso,” I reply, sounding a little too cocky. “Really though, I could teach you, if you want. That would be one item off your list. What else?”
“Such a show off,” she teases. “I want to travel the world. Are you going to volunteer to take care of that for me too?”
“If it means I get to see the world with you, abso-freaking-lutely!” I reply, the sincerity of my words reflected in my tone. I’d hop on a plane with her tomorrow if I could. She inhales a sharp breath.
“You’re crazy,” she says dismissively, brushing off my comment. “What about you, Mr. Seize the Day? Anything left on your bucket list?”
“Nope, because I don’t have one. Don’t get me wrong, there’s still plenty out there for me to do and see, but I don’t hold back or wait when I find these things. A bucket list can end up being a list of regrets.”
“So, you’re saying you have no regrets?” She scoffs. “There isn’t anything in your life you wish was different? It isn’t lacking in any way? You, Brenden Scott, are completely and totally happy and satisfied in all aspects of your life?”
I laugh at her condescending tone. Perhaps most people do live with regrets, but after my life nearly slipped through my fingers, I’ve made damn sure not to take a single thing for granted.
“No, I don’t do regrets. I see those types of things as opportunities for growth and learning. And yes, I’m satisfied with my life. You sound doubtful of that possibility, though. So, what makes you so cynical? Is it just me, or do you feel everyone lives with regrets?”
“I don’t know. Maybe not regrets exactly, but I think it’s human nature to want more and be more in life, no matter what. I mean…I like my job, but it isn’t fulfilling. It isn’t what I’d choose to do with my life, if I had a choice.”
In This Moment (In This Moment #1) Page 10