“Because you and Ethan always went together? That doesn't make any sense. You went a few weeks ago.”
“And it was too soon.” I can't tell her why I went. She would laugh in my face. Or have me committed.
Harper rolls her eyes. “What am I going to do with you, Kate?”
Love me. Be kind to me. See my broken heart and stop acting like it's a defect.
I say none of those things. Harper would never understand words containing so much emotion.
When I don't say anything, she turns to leave. “Your loss. Sit at home, wallow in your self-made pit of despair. I'll see you later.”
I watch her walk out. After a few minutes the front door closes. I stand in the middle of my room and drink my smoothie. How can she be kind enough to think of making me food but rude enough to say all those awful things? And why do I allow her to?
I take the last of my drink to the kitchen sink and rinse the cup. The pantry door is cracked open. I start to close it, then open it wide instead. There on the shelf are bottles and bottles of wine, lined up like soldiers. Enemy soldiers.
But no Ethan.
My face lifts to the ceiling. “Where are you?”
I hear water gurgling through pipes under the kitchen sink. The wail of an ambulance. The stomping feet of the man above me on the third floor.
But nothing from Ethan.
And why would there be?
I should know.
I return my gaze to the bottles. I step inside the pantry, closer. My fingers caress the smooth glass. The magic elixir inside these bottles was a beacon during my darkest, longest, most excruciating experience. My intake of breath fills my lungs to capacity. When I breath it out, I imagine the black, bleak darkness flowing out of me.
I retrieve the trash can from under the sink and drag it in the pantry. One by one, each full bottle goes into the trash. They fill the trash can. I tie the bag and look down.
“Goodbye.” My chest reverberates with the rhythm of my heart.
I change my clothes, put on shoes, and lug the whole trash can out to the dumpster. It's heavy, but I stop occasionally and use my knee to help keep it in my arms. With the side of the dumpster supporting one side of the can, I tip up the other side. The contents crash into the dumpster. The scent of wine mingles with that of garbage and filth.
The empty trash can bumps against my knee as I walk back to my apartment. I picture Nick's advice scrawled on the scrap of paper.
Fight. Be meaner than your demons.
***
It's Thursday. Cooking day. Nick day, according to Harper. To me, this is see Nick after you attacked his mouth and then he rescued you again day.
Harper flies through the front door, frazzled. “Is he here yet?” she hisses, peering around the rest of our place. I'm in the kitchen setting out everything we need for tonight’s spaghetti sauce.
I shake my head. If he were here, he would have heard you.
“Thank God, I need to change.” She rushes to her room. I watch her go, blond hair sailing behind her.
All week long I've gone back and forth, trying to tell myself that Harper isn't capable of handling deep, raw emotions and not to expect that of her. But she's supposed to be my friend. Shouldn't I expect some support from her?
It's not just her most recent harsh conversation with me about moving on, or even the pep talk she tried to give me a few weeks after Ethan died. It's all the jabs, the small barbs that sound innocuous but are meant to let me know she disapproves of the way I’m handling myself. This morning she told me I'm lucky my skin is so beautiful, because all the wine I've consumed should have given me permanent rosy cheeks. Last week she looked at my stomach and offered to help me prepare more salads for work lunches. I'm not even certain she means to be insulting. Somewhere, in the twisted inner workings of Harper's mind, she might think she's helping me.
I smell her before I see her. The scent of her perfume crashes against the bag of onions on the counter in front of me. My gag reflex activates. I move to the other counter.
Harper passes by the kitchen on her way to the entryway mirror, where she plays with her hair.
“I'm going to leave for a date as soon as Nick gets here.”
“Why?” I look up from the stack of plates I've just pulled from a cabinet.
“To show Nick I'm desired by other men.”
My jaw falls open. “And that's supposed to make him want you?”
We meet eyes in the mirror. Her smile is patronizing. “Aw, Kate. I could teach you all my tricks if you would start dating again.” She whirls around and smiles at me, like she's made a joke and wants me to laugh.
Next subject. “How was work?”
“Crazy busy. Your event is in two weeks, and I'm making sure all my ducks are in a row, so to speak. Lynn is lucky I have so many friends in high places. This schedule was tight. Especially with all the other holiday parties coming up.”
I want to groan, but I stuff it down. Somewhere, between the attempts to bring Ethan back and the realization that I can't, I’ve forgotten about the merger.
“You have an awful look on your face.” Harper reaches around me and into the fridge. “Try not to think about Trent. Maybe his office will be far away from yours. Or maybe on the new floor. Didn't you say they're renting office space on the bottom floor?”
I nod. “That's what I’ll do. Hope he's on the bottom floor.” Or maybe out next to the trash cans.
I start working on the onion. By the time I get it peeled and positioned on my cutting board, I'm crying.
Nick knocks on the door. Harper quicksteps her way over and throws back the door, wide smile ready. “Come in.”
I keep my watery eyes trained on the onion. How am I supposed to greet him? Texting him about tonight’s cooking lesson was one thing. Being in the same room with him is entirely different. It’s not like I can say thanks for saving me, sorry I assaulted your mouth and pretended you were someone else. What’s the proper protocol here?
I pretend to be extremely intent on my task, until he says, “Evie gave me a cactus,” and my instant curiosity thwarts my plan. I look over my shoulder to where he stands, proudly holding a little potted teddy bear cholla in his hands.
“You better be careful.” I sniffle and flick a tear from my cheek, my reservations forgotten. “That’s a jumping cactus.”
I expect laughter, or at least interest in the possibility that a cactus can jump, but he takes one look at my face and drops the cactus on the counter. In two seconds he closes the space between us, his cheeks taut.
“Why are you crying? Did you cut yourself?” He looks my hands over. Satisfied I’m not injured, he looks back at me. Confusion draws his eyebrows together.
I open my mouth, but Harper answers for me. “Kate always cries when she cuts an onion. She has sensitive eyes.” Harper flips her hand around, waving off my tears.
“Next time I’ll wear goggles.” I’m joking, but it probably isn’t a bad idea.
Nick takes a step back. “Sorry. I was afraid you were hurt.” He rights the little cactus and brushes the small amount of spilled soil into his hand, then dumps it into the garbage.
“That cactus doesn’t actually jump.” Harper strides to the innocent looking potted cactus and places a hand half an inch from the spines. “It's a silly story, meant to frighten newcomers like you.” She smirks and winks at him.
Nick nods. “Thanks for the heads up. I'm going wash my hands, and then we can get this lesson started.”
Harper's at my side as soon as he's stepped into the bathroom. She leans into me. “He is so yummy.”
And he doesn't appear to be into you. As shocking as that may seem.
When Nick returns, Harper leans in to the mirror that hangs near the front door and applies her lip gloss. When she’s finished she stands up straight and looks at Nick. “Well, as much as I adore Kate's spaghetti sauce, I have a date.” Her pouty face is something to be admired. “If you’d be so kind as to save me s
ome, I will be eternally grateful.”
“I think we can manage that.” Nick's voice is pleasant.
“Can you, Kate?” Harper's smile is too sweet. Is she pointing out my weight? Or just asking me to save her my spaghetti sauce?
“Of course.” I'm just being sensitive. Harper wouldn't be so mean as to point out something like that in front of someone. And anyways, I'm down three pounds since I stopped drinking.
“See you later.” Harper twirls her fingers at us and leaves.
I look at Nick. He looks at me. The silence is loud.
“Hi,” I say softly. I'm blushing.
Nick smiles with one side of his mouth. “How do you drown a hipster?”
I blink, surprised. “Are you trying to tell me a joke?”
He nods slowly. “Are you always this hard to tell a joke to?”
I bite back my smile. “Try again.”
“How do you drown a hipster?”
I think for a moment, then shake my head. “How?”
“Throw him into the mainstream.”
I nod my approval. “Good one.”
“You're supposed to laugh at jokes.” Nick stomps over to stand at the counter, arms crossed. He's copying Harper's pouty face.
“When the joke is really funny, I'll laugh.” I lift a finger to poke his side but drop it mid-air. Probably best to keep my fingers to myself.
“Let's get started.” I grab a second cutting board for Nick and set him to work.
He's peeling and chopping the garlic like I showed him when he says, “Harper goes on a lot of dates.”
“Does that bother you?” I ask from my place beside him. I'm dicing a green bell pepper.
He snorts. “Why would that bother me?”
I sigh. “You know she's into you, right?” I feel bad for saying anything, but Harper's making it so clear she should really just wear a sign around her neck.
“Um, yeah, I do.” He clears his throat.
I set down my knife and look at him. “What was that?”
“What was what?” His voice is defensive.
“Um, yeah, I do,” I deepen my voice to imitate him.
He laughs. “You're funny. Maybe you should be the one telling jokes.”
“Funny is one of the last things I am.”
“No really, you are.”
“Spill, Nick.”
He finishes the garlic and goes to the sink. “When I met Harper at the funeral, she made sure to get my number, but she said it was for you, in case you ended up needing me for some reason.” He pumps soap on his hands. “Which you did. The morning after I got you off the mountain, she was in your bedroom, and I heard some of what you guys were talking about. Then when she left the room she brushed up against me. And she had plenty of space to get by.” He sniffs his fingertips, wrinkles his nose, and adds more soap to his hands. “This garlic means business.”
I watch him scrub. “Fresh garlic isn’t great for the breath, either. So don't go kissing anyone tonight.” My eyes go wide as I realize what I've said so flippantly. Hastily I grab his cutting board and face away from him, sliding the garlic into the pan.
“No problem there.” He laughs. “Although I know of someone who might do the honor.”
I gulp and look at him. “Who?”
He gives me a side-eye. “Harper. Who did you think I was talking about?” His lips purse together like he's trying to hold back a laugh.
Does he enjoy seeing me red-faced?
I turn back to the pan and add the garlic to the heated oil. “I, uh, I just didn't know who. That's all. Let's get on with this cooking lesson. I'm starving.”
By the time we sit down with our plates I know we've already eaten our fair share of pasta straight from the pan.
“This is better than I remember,” I say between mouthfuls.
“You didn't use a recipe. Maybe that's why.”
Maybe…
We eat in silence, until Nick tells me he met Zane for a beer last weekend. Which makes me realize I haven’t talked to him since June. Since Ethan’s funeral. Add him to the list of people I’ve pushed away.
“I didn’t realize you were friends with him.” I wipe my mouth with my napkin.
“He got in touch with me in August, when he returned from Idaho. I’ve seen him a few times since then. I like him. He has some good stories about Ethan.”
“He’s a good guy. We’ve known him forever.” I hear the words and realize I’ve misspoke. “I mean, we knew him forever.” My nose wrinkles. Those words aren’t right either.
I push my plate away and rub my eyes, irritated.
Nick stands and grabs my plate before I can. “I'm on dish duty. You can keep me company.”
I follow him to the kitchen. We talk mostly about his job while he scrapes, rinses and puts the dishes in the dishwasher.
I'm sitting on the counter, heels bumping a rhythm against the cabinet below me, when Nick hops up beside me.
He sends an apologetic smile across the twelve inches that separate us. “Don't be embarrassed, okay? What happened at the Halloween party… Some of it was my fault. I'm the one who asked you to revive yourself.”
I blush. Sitting this close to him right now, it's easy to remember what his body felt like up against mine. And how painful it was when reality smacked me in the face.
“I just didn't know you were going to use my lips to resuscitate yourself.”
I blush harder.
Nick laughs. He sticks out a hand. “Are we good?”
I shake it and nod, trying like hell to push away the absurd fact that I know what his lips feel like. “We’re good.”
He hops down. “I have to go. My shift starts really early.”
“Of course, yeah.” I jump to the floor. “Have a safe drive home.”
He walks to the door, pausing after he opens it. “I noticed there wasn't any alcohol tonight.” He holds out a fist.
I tap my fist against his.
He walks away, and I shut the door, leaning against the handle.
Tonight will be the sixth night since Ethan died four months ago that I’ll go to sleep sober. It’s not an easy task. Sobriety means more intentional thought. Less erratic, all-consuming emotions. But it’s given me the clarity I so desperately needed. Ethan is not alive. Ethan is not coming back to me, in any form. And it’s something I have absolutely no control over.
26
Kate
“You’re going somewhere on a Saturday night?” Harper’s voice is snide as I walk past the living room. She’s sitting on the couch watching TV.
“Nick invited me over.” I set my purse on the half wall of the kitchen and look through the contents. When Harper doesn’t respond I look at her.
Her angry eyes are trained on me. “He invited you?”
“Why is that shocking?” I grab a bunch of used tissues from the bottom of my purse and toss them in the kitchen trash.
She turns back to her show. “It just is, that’s all. He should be inviting me over. What more do I have to do? Haven't I made it clear that I'm available?”
“Maybe he's focused on getting his life together after the Army. Maybe he's not ready to date. I don't know.” I say all this to the back of her head.
“You're going over there.”
“It's not a date.” I come back from the kitchen to grab my purse.
She flicks her gaze to me. “Wear something else. That shade of green isn’t good on you.” She looks back at the TV.
“I'm not your competition,” I say quietly, then I walk out the door.
I don’t know what’s happening, but something ugly is sprouting up between me and my roommate. I’m resentful of how she’s been treating me, and she’s angry because Nick’s not falling at her feet.
I spend my drive recalling all the nasty comments Harper’s made since Ethan died. They pile on top of each other, like garbage in a heap, until I’m nearly nauseated with the stink of it. Why am I friends with her? Why would I live with some
one who tears me down instead of building me up? By the time I reach Nick’s apartment, I think of how nice it would be if it was Harper who had a place here.
Nick’s car is easy to spot. He still has a blue and white Connecticut license plate. I pull into the visitor spot next to him and climb from the car, juggling a housewarming gift in one hand and my purse in the other.
“Twenty sixty-two,” I mutter under my breath, looking at the sign on the front of the building for direction.
“Looking for someone?” A deep voice asks from behind me.
I whip around, startled. The man is tall and skinny and leering at me in a way that makes me feel gross inside my own skin.
“Yes, she is.” Nick’s voice is loud, assertive. He’s standing on the sidewalk in front of me. “And she’s found him.” His words are a statement, but he speaks with such authority it could have been a command. Stand down.
The stranger holds his hands up in front of his chest. “No trouble, man. You all have a good night.” He turns and walks to the building parallel to the one we're standing in front of.
I turn back to Nick. “That’s two saves in one week.”
“Maybe I can get a second job as your security detail.”
“The job would be boring, I assure you.” I hand the wrapped present to him.
“What’s this?” He holds out the box and eyes it.
“What do you think it is?”
“I’ll open it once we get upstairs. Come on,” Nick grabs my hand and leads me to the stairs.
“Home sweet home,” Nick announces when we arrive at 2062. He drops my hand to open the door.
I walk in and look around. The decor is sparse, and that's putting it nicely. A couch. A TV. And a bookshelf, crammed with books. I walk over, running my fingers over the spines. It's been so long since I picked up a book.
“Where did you get all these?” I ask.
“A lot of them came back from Germany with me. Some my mom sent out when she sent my car. And that shelf up there”—he points at the top—“is full of new stuff. New to me, anyhow. I found a great used bookstore nearby.”
“Begin Again?” With one finger I pull a title off the shelf.
The Day He Went Away Page 19