He smiles. “I know, but why walk carrying . . .” he looks around me to see my bag and his lips make a straight line, “your purchases when I can give you a ride home?”
“Okay,” I reply quietly.
We both walk over to his black truck and I climb in, quickly trying to hide the bag between my feet before he gets in.
“Buckle up,” he says with a grin before starting the car.
“We’re just down the block.”
“Safety first.”
I roll my eyes and snap my seatbelt into place, looking at him with raised brows. He smiles a satisfied smile and drives off.
“So, I take it you didn’t have to work today,” he states.
“Why do you say that?”
He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but stops himself and clamps his mouth shut. A few moments pass before he says, “Just a guess.”
“Yeah, I’m off.”
“What did you do with your free time?”
I don’t answer, because I don’t want to answer honestly, but I don’t want to lie either.
“Phoenix?”
“Hmm?”
“What did you do today?”
“Nothing fun,” I say with a shrug. It’s the truth.
“You?”
“Class.”
I want to ask what kind of classes he’s taking, but I don’t. No need to dig into his life, because then he’ll have the right to ask questions about mine.
We pull up to my house and I grab the handles of the plastic bag before taking the seatbelt off.
“Thanks for the ride,” I say without looking at him, reaching for the handle to open the door.
“Anytime.”
Before my feet hit the ground, which feels like forever because the truck is high, the bag snags on something under the seat and rips. Of course it does. I curse the man at the store for not double bagging it.
With a sigh, I start gathering the two brown bags and the two liter while trying to keep my purse from falling off my shoulder.
“Let me help,” Evan says, getting out of the truck and walking to my side.
He grabs the Coke and one of the brown bags from me, and I quickly walk to the front door and dig out my keys. My face is red, I can feel it. I don’t know why him carrying my alcohol embarrasses me so much, but it does. Maybe because it just further proves to him how fucked up I am. How I buy hard liquor during the week, in the middle of the day, and plan on drinking it as soon as I get in.
I quickly put my purse and brown bag on my dining room table since it’s close, and turn to grab my other items from Evan, finding that he’s standing near the couch. His gaze is on the mostly empty vodka and juice glass and open wedding album on the floor.
“Uh. Thanks,” I say, grabbing the stuff from his hands.
His eyes meet mine, but I quickly avert my gaze. “No problem,” he answers.
I take the drinks to the kitchen and put them away, and when I turn back towards the door, Evan is still there.
“Do you have to work tomorrow?” he asks.
“Yeah, but only for half a day.”
He nods his head. “Do you mind coming to my house tomorrow evening? I bought some paint.”
“Oh. Umm. I don’t know if . . .”
He cuts me off. “Please?” he pleads with a forced pout. “You promised me a bold wall.”
I cross my arms and twist my mouth at him. “I didn’t promise.”
“Well, you’ve had me thinking about this wall and now I’m really excited for all the boldness.”
I roll my eyes and try to keep the smile from my lips. “All the boldness? Really?”
“Maybe I want some company, too. Is that okay?”
“Fine,” I huff. “What time do you want me?”
He grins. “Don’t worry, I’ll pick you up,” he says with a wink before backing out of the door.
Before the door closes all the way, he pops his head back in. “Hey, Phoenix? What’s your favorite color?”
Again my face shows my confusion, but he doesn’t say anything else. He just waits.
“I have two.”
“Okay.” He nods, waiting for my answer.
“Maroon and green.”
“Cool.”
And then he’s gone.
TWELVE-THIRTY COMES fast the following day, and I’m on my way home after another uneventful day at work. My stomach rumbles as I walk inside, and I’m quickly reminded that I have zero food in the house after I make a trip to the fridge.
Once again, unwilling to go grocery shopping, I make my way to the diner for a cheeseburger. I walk into Grubbin’ Grill and Carol spots me, giving me a nod to let me know she’ll get my usual.
“Hey, doll,” Carol greets, bringing me a Coke.
“Hey, Carol.”
“You gonna be alone today?” she asks with a mischievous glint in her eye.
“Aren’t I usually?” I say in a clipped tone.
“Well, I don’t know. You had a cute one in here the other day. Just wonderin’ if he was gonna be back in, is all.”
She doesn’t get perturbed my by attitude, and I kind of respect her for that. I shrug in response to her comment, but don’t bother saying anything. She walks away to help a couple at another table, and I pull out my phone and escape into a romance story while I wait for my food.
“As much as I like seein’ you, darling, you should probably get some food in your house. This food will give you high cholesterol by the time you’re thirty-five.”
I give her a small smile. “Thanks. I’ll get some eventually.”
“You doin’ okay?” she asks, putting her hand on her hip and shifting her weight to one side.
“I’m good,” I answer without looking at her.
“Mmhhmm,” she murmurs. Carol slides into the bench in front of me and I look up in surprise. “Phoenix, I don’t want to tell you what to do with your life, honey, but please just listen to what I have to say, okay?” I nod. “I won’t say I know exactly what you’re going through, because everybody deals with death differently, but I do know what it’s like to lose the man you love. My William passed away suddenly at a young age. He’s been gone now for five years, and I struggled for a good while after his death, so I get it. However, you’re young, and you have a long life ahead of you, and I’d hate to see you waste it. There will be a time when you’ll regret living as a shell for so long. Gordon wouldn’t have wanted you to live like this. William wouldn’t have wanted me to be that way either. Around nine months after his death, I decided I needed to be back in the world. I began going to restaurants him and I would frequent together. I went to the movies. I’d even go to the zoo just to be around people. They were places where I didn’t have to talk to anyone if I didn’t want to, but I was surrounded by them. It’s good to know you aren’t alone in the world, even when you feel like you are.
“I know my William is still with me. I feel his presence sometimes, and it’s comforting to know he’s watching over me. I work, I go out with friends, I have people over to play cards, and I even dated a few times. I’m not saying it’s easy, but you have to live, sweetie. Live for Gordon. Do and experience the things he cannot. He’d like that, I think.”
The tears fill my eyes without spilling over, causing my vision to blur. I grab a napkin and dab at the wetness.
“Thanks, Carol. I’m sorry for your loss, and I appreciate your encouraging words. I just feel guilty sometimes. Guilty for being alive, for laughing or smiling when Gordon can’t do those things. I overthink everything I do, wondering how Gordon would feel if he knew. Then I feel bitter and angry over his death. I take my anger out on people who I know don’t deserve it. I just don’t know . . .” I sigh. “I don’t know what to do.”
She reaches over and clasps my hand. “You try to become the person Gordon loved and fell in love with. You become yourself again. He doesn’t want to see you like this. He wants to see you happy, and I’m sure if you met someone, he’d understand. He doesn�
�t feel sadness where he is. I think he just wants to make sure you’re okay. Show him you’re okay.”
I nod as a tear slips down my face. She gives me a small smile and goes back to work.
A few hours later, I’m at home contemplating on calling Marissa back or not. I know I only have fifteen or twenty minutes before Evan shows up, so if I don’t do it now, I won’t do it until tomorrow. Taking a deep breath, I dial up her number and wait.
I almost hope she doesn’t answer, but will know that I at least tried. A few seconds later, her voice comes over the receiver.
“Phoenix?” she asks, sounding surprised.
“Hi. Yeah, it’s me.”
I hear her let out a breath. “How are . . .” she stops herself. “Thanks for calling back.”
“Yeah, well, you said it was important.”
“Yeah. Umm. I want to see you and talk in person. Do you think we can plan to meet tomorrow?”
“Sure, just give me a call. Evening probably works best.”
“Okay, good. Well, I can’t wait to see you.”
“Yeah. I’ll talk to you later,” I respond.
“Okay,” she says, sounding a little despondent. “Bye.”
“Bye.”
As if on cue, a knock at the door comes as soon as I put my phone down. I open the door to a smiling Evan.
“Hey, you ready?” he asks. “I know I’m a little early.”
“Yep. Let me just grab my keys.”
After I lock up, we start walking across my lawn and head for his house.
“How was your day?” he asks.
“It was good. Yours?”
“Same,” he says with a shrug. “I’m starving, though. I have dinner ready. Are you hungry? I figured we could eat before painting.”
“I could eat,” I reply.
“Still eating frozen pizzas?” he asks with a crooked grin.
“No. Cheeseburgers,” I answer with my own grin.
He shakes his head, but has a smile on his face. “I like your painting clothes,” he says, looking me up and down.
I look down at my green capri sweats and white t-shirt, and then look at him with a raised brow. “Are you being sarcastic?”
Evan laughs. “No, I really do like them. You look comfortable.”
“Thanks,” I say, still unsure if he’s messing with me or not. I thought I looked like a bum.
We walk into his house and the aroma of the food is mouth-watering. I follow Evan to the kitchen and take my place at the table where I sat before. He looks over at me and smiles before putting together the plates for us.
When I see what he’s made for me, my heart speeds up a fraction, and a smile forms on my lips.
“Your favorite, right?” he asks.
“Yes. Thank you,” I reply with a smile.
Evan’s made what looks like the most delicious chicken fried steak smothered in white gravy with green beans, mashed potatoes, and macaroni and cheese.
“You didn’t have to make this for me just because I said it was my favorite.”
“Who says it’s not my favorite?” he replies with a smile.
“Is it?” I ask, narrowing my gaze on him.
“Well, no, but it could be.”
I shake my head. “What’s your favorite?” I ask before cutting into the steak.
“Hmm. I guess I’d have to say pot roast.”
I nod while I chew.
“Well, I appreciate this. It’s really good.”
“Oh, good,” he says, sounding relieved.
We continue our meal without talking too much. Most of our conversation is about food and what we like and don’t like. It’s simple and casual, which works well for me.
After we’re done, he gets up to take them to the sink.
“Let me wash them,” I say, standing up. “It’s the least I can do.”
“No way. I’m not letting you wash dishes when you’re about to help me paint my house. You’re doing enough for me.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Nope,” he says, putting the dishes in the sink. “I’m leaving them there for now anyway, and I’ll just throw them in the dishwasher later. We should get started on this painting thing.”
“Fine,” I breathe.
He wraps his fingers around my wrist and squeezes gently while giving me an adorable smile. “Come on.” He pulls me along for a few seconds before dropping my hand.
“I already moved the furniture away from this wall and put down some plastic. Oh, and I put up some tape to protect the other walls, but I won’t guarantee it’s straight.”
I go to the can of paint and begin to open it with a butter knife he has sitting on top. “What do we have here?” I muse, pulling the top off. “Maroon?” I ask, looking up at him.
“Huh?” he looks into the paint can. “No, it’s burgundy.”
I twist my mouth at him. “Did you buy this today?”
“What?” he laughs. “No. We should get started,” he says, grabbing a roller.
I try not to think that he bought this color paint because I said it was my favorite color. Why would he, anyway? We get everything ready and begin painting the wall burgundy.
An hour goes by and we have one coat of paint on the wall as well as drops of paint on our clothes and skin. The time passes quickly as we talk about things ranging from embarrassing moments in school, to the things we wanted to be when we were kids. Me, I wanted to be Queen of course, and Evan wanted to be a singer. I told him how my mom disappointed me when she told me there wasn’t a chance in hell I’d be queen of anything besides drama. He told me how his mom tried to break it to him gently that he just didn’t have a musical bone in his body.
We put our rollers down and inspect our work so far.
“It looks like you have freckles,” Evan says, touching a dot of paint on my face.
I give him a small smile and take a step back. He runs his hand through his hair, pushing the longer pieces back into place. I laugh when he looks back at me.
“You have a large dollop of paint on your forehead,” I laugh.
“What?” he asks, putting his hand to his forehead.
“How much paint did you have on the roller that a huge glob fell onto you? And how did you not feel that?” I say, still laughing.
“Find that funny, do you?” he says with a wicked gleam in his eye as he takes a step forward.
“Oh no. Don’t you dare!” I exclaim, moving back.
“What? I just want you to help me get it off.” He places a small paintbrush near the can of paint.
“I don’t believe you,” I say, moving slowly away from him.
A huge grin breaks out on his face at the same time he lunges towards me. I let out a girly squeal as he grabs me and runs a paint coated finger across my cheek, under my eye.
“You have a streak of paint on your face,” he announces.
I pull away from him, my mouth open in shock. “I can’t believe you just did that,” I say, amusement clear in my voice.
I step past him and towards the paint can. Dipping my forefinger in the thick color, I turn around to look at him.
“I think we’re even,” he says, looking around the room for an escape route.
I wipe my finger across the skin under my other eye, and put my hands on my hips. “Fine. I’ll just finish painting your wall.”
Turning around, I bend down to pour some more paint into the tray. I can hear his slow and cautious steps coming towards me.
“So, we’re good?” he asks.
“Yep. Now, come help me.”
He bends down next to me and as soon as he does, I dip my hand into the paint, coating only my palm, and quickly touch his face and run it down his neck.
I’m up and running instantly.
“Oh, you’re gonna get it!” he calls.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I screech, not knowing where to run.
I go towards the bathroom, laughing the hardest I have in a long time. Evan is behind
me and turning me towards him with a pull on my arm. He then puts his own paint covered hand on my cheek.
As we stand in the dim hallway, our bodies touching and chests heaving, I look into his honey brown eyes, and then to his mouth. Our laughter dissipates into a silent staring contest. His lips are perfectly proportioned, both almost the same size. Not too full, but not too thin.
Feeling a little uncomfortable with where my mind is taking me, I speak up. “I guess we’re even now.” My voice is husky as I speak the words.
Those perfect lips quirk up on the side. “I guess so.”
“We should go finish up, so you don’t have to have this mess in here for even longer,” I say, taking a small step away from him.
“Yeah,” he says on a sigh. “I’m gonna use the restroom real quick.”
“Okay,” I respond, making my way to the living room.
I’m thankful for the brief alone time. I take a deep breath and try to get my breathing back on track. My face feels flush, but luckily, the paint covers most of it. The feelings I had while I was pressed up against Evan are feelings I haven’t had in a long time. I’ve always found him attractive, whether I wanted to admit to that or not. But now, knowing a little more of his personality, I can tell he’s a really good guy. He doesn’t try to be some sort of tough guy, or put on a cool front, he’s just Evan. Any woman would be lucky to have him.
Picking up a roller, I begin the second coat of paint on the wall and I recall Carol’s words to me earlier in the day. Would Gordon really be okay with me being here with Evan, having fun, laughing and running around? It’s hard to think he would, then again, he’s not here, and maybe he doesn’t see me at all.
“I really like this color,” Evan’s voice says from behind.
I glance over my shoulder and see him standing there with the paint still covering his face and neck.
“Is that why you’re keeping it on your face?” I ask.
“I figured it wouldn’t be fair to have you be the only one looking like you have a giant bruise on your face.”
“Ha! Thanks.”
We finish up our second coat with less conversation, but more stolen glances. We bump into each other a couple times, and the energy that we had between us before, comes back. I’m always the first one to move away and bring up a new topic of conversation.
Resurrecting Phoenix Page 5