Dear Life

by Meghan Quinn

  “Get up and I’ll tell Marleen you’re not taking this program seriously. Daisy made a dream board and wants to share it, so sit your ass down,” Carter chimes in, his face a mask of seriousness. Eyeing Hollyn, he says, “Go ahead, Daisy, show us your dream board.”

  Not sure how to handle the situation, I say, “It’s okay if she wants to leave.”

  “No.” Carter focuses his attention on me. “It’s not okay, and you shouldn’t be fine with her leaving. Stand up for yourself.”

  The level of uncomfortableness has kicked up a few more notches. I don’t want to make a big deal out of this. I’m still making friends but it doesn’t seem like Carter is going to let this go, so I muster a little bit of courage. “I would really appreciate if you stayed just a little bit longer.”

  I try not to wince as I look at Hollyn. I really don’t want to make her angry, especially since she was so nice to me the other day and she’s Amanda’s best friend.

  Hollyn eyes Carter but then turns her attention on me. “I would love to see your dream board, Daisy. I’m sorry for being rude, I’ve just had a really horrible week.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  She shakes her head. “No. I really don’t.”

  I don’t push her, instead, I take my dream board out of the plastic bags I wrapped it in and hold it in front of me. I really went all out, using fabrics, magazine clippings, fringe, and pretty much anything I could find in my craft drawers.

  “That’s fantastic,” Carter says, leaning forward to get a better look at it. Oh gosh, when he’s nice to me, it makes my stomach get all fluttery.

  “Thank you. Dreaming big meant something to me these past weeks. I feel like that’s all I’ve been doing in this program, dreaming big, so pulling together a visual seemed easy. What it comes down to is, I want to live. I’ve been stuck in this little bubble my whole life, never really doing anything for me, always living for my grams but now that she’s taken care for, it’s my turn. I want to put me first and just live.”

  Bobbles and trinkets hang off my dream board, pictures representing milestones I would love to achieve, places I want to visit, and activities I want to do.

  “What’s with the rubber spatula?” Carter asks.

  “Oh, I want to work in a bakery one day. I have some time and money to explore the world right now, but when I’m done, I want to work in a bakery.”

  Carter nods his head and continues to examine the board. “You went all out, Snowflake.”

  “I like being crafty.” I shrug.

  “Didn’t she do a good job, Hollyn?” Carter asks, involving Hollyn into the conversation, who clearly wants to leave.

  “Fantastic. Looks like you have a lot going for you.” Do I? Is she just being nice?

  Kind of a weird comment. How does one respond to that? Thank you? You have a lot going for you too? Maybe you should just leave because the Debbie Downer vibe you’re sending isn’t quite working for me?

  “She does have a lot going for her,” Carter says, a softness in his eyes as he looks at me, dispelling any kind of uncomfortable feeling I might be having.

  Why is it so easy for him to make me feel like mush?

  And why does his comment give me all the confidence in the world?

  ***

  Dear Life,

  I have never felt so nauseated, so sick, so absolutely disgusted in myself before in my entire life.

  I kissed another man. I knew it was wrong. At that moment, with Jace staring at me, the same kind of hurt I saw reflected in my eyes, I knew I was too close. I knew I was getting too attached, and yet, I still moved forward and pressed my body against his. I let him touch me, hold me, kiss me back.

  I’m a cheater. There is nothing else to say.

  Sincerely,

  Hollyn

  Dear Life,

  New clothes, new experiences, new friends. It seems like things are piecing together for me, and yet, I feel uneasy.

  Isn’t it obvious as to why? I have a HUGE crush on Carter. I feel so embarrassed just thinking about it. Kind of like the sad-nerdy-girl-who-likes-the-bad-boy-on-a-bike embarrassed. I can’t seem to stop thinking about him. It’s before I go to bed, when I wake up, even at these meetings. I get so excited to see him. And the worst part, there is no way he would feel the same way.

  Tonight for instance, he was so stand-offish, barely looked at me, until he started talking sternly to Hollyn, defending me, saying I have a lot going for me. He’s throwing me such mixed signals that I don’t want to do something stupid, like try to kiss him when all he really wants is to be my friend. Or maybe he sees me as some pity project?

  Once again, I’m hindered by my past, not properly preparing me to know how to read people, how to tell if they’re actually interested in me. And I can’t ask Hollyn.

  What does a girl really do at this point? Do I ask him if he likes me? That seems scary. A little too scary for me right now. Maybe I’ll just ride it out for now. That seems like a good idea.

  Kind regards,

  Daisy

  Dear Life,

  Hell, where do I even start? I can’t even formulate feelings for the bomb that was just dropped on me by Rebecca. I’m just going to say it. She’s a fucking bitch. A selfish, convoluted, twisted, fuck-up. That’s all I can reflect on because fuck, if I spend too much time thinking about, I will find my ass on the floor, staring down the empty end of a bottle. I’m barely hanging on by a thread.

  And the one person I want to lean on won’t talk to me. My phone calls and texts are going unanswered, which fucking hurts. It’s causing my anger to twist further and further into the dangerous, I’m-about-to-snap zone.

  That will have to be fixed, right away, because fuck if I will put up with Hollyn not talking to me. I don’t care if our kiss scared her. I need her and right now, she needs me too.

  Jace

  Dear Life,

  Fuck to the you.

  Carter

  Step Five: Learn Something New

  HOLLYN

  “I want sauce on the side, but only if it has onions in it. If there are no onions, then you can put it on the pasta but only with Parmesan cheese, the real stuff. Leave the garnish, but only if sauce is on the side. If sauce is not on the side, then no garnish. And I want my garlic bread extra crispy, but not burnt, if it’s burnt, I send it back. Got it?”

  Patience. What’s patience? I lost it around I “want” my sauce on the side. What a rude whore face. Working in the food industry for so long has taught me the proper lingo when ordering something. I want and I need? Yeah, you can go fuck yourself. I would like and may I please have, those terms will keep me away from slipping my thumb in your food.

  Tonight has been living torture. Rude customer after rude customer. Demanding everything from a seedless lemon for their water, to more napkins. Here’s a hint: stop slurping up your spaghetti like a slob and you won’t have to pat your squirrely mouth every two seconds with a napkin.

  The worst request of the night though, five coffee stirring straws, linked together to make one large straw. If the request was for a child, then sure, why the hell not? But there was no child in sight. Instead, it was a thirty-something-year-old man, wearing a Star Trek shirt and Klingon ears. He ended up “tipping” me with advice. Want to chap my ass, leave me no money, but instead, a written note telling me how I should be at home “making a home for my husband.”

  Yes, ladies, you read that correctly. He told me to make a home for my husband. Well, even if Eric were still alive, I wouldn’t be making a home for him, the damn man can make his own home. Chauvinistic prick!

  Yup, it’s been a beautiful night.

  “Sal, I’m putting in an order that I don’t even understand. Good luck deciphering it,” I say while plugging in the sauce-on-the-side girl’s food request.

  “Just hand me what you wrote down, it’ll be easier that way.”

  I quickly plug in the rest of the order, then tear off my slip and hand it to hi
m. The clock above the salad dressings reads five minutes before my shift is over. At this point, I’m more than happy to hand over my tables to someone else and forgo the tips, staying later to tend to my tables doesn’t sound appealing to me at all.

  “Carla.” The one waitress always looking for extra shifts because she has two kids to support turns toward me. “Want to finish out my tables for me so I can take off?”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, tips are yours. I just need to get out of here.”

  “That would be awesome. Thanks, girl.”

  I give her a quick rundown of each table, shed my short apron, and clock out, making sure not to clock out too early. I still want to get paid the full hour.

  I gather my purse from my rickety and rusty locker and head out the back door where I’m parked. On my walk, I check my phone for any messages. I’m surprised to see nothing on the screen, no notifications at all.

  Seems strange since the past few days, I’ve received unanswered phone calls and texts from Jace. I guess I can’t blame him. I fled his apartment, like it was on fire after I kissed him and haven’t talked to him since. I guess after such a long stint of not talking to him, he got the picture. I have nothing to say to him.

  That’s not true. I have so much to say to him, but nothing I actually want to voice out loud.

  Digging through my purse, I search for my keys to my car. My hands hit my wallet, a packet of Lifesavers, and a few loose tampons, but no keys.

  “Ugh, where are those damn things?” I mutter.

  “Looking for these?” The voice in the dark night scares the absolute piss out of me, causing me to jump no less than five feet in the air. At least that’s what it seems like.

  “Gahh!” I hold my heart, my breathing erratic as I look up and see Jace standing against my car, holding my keys out in front of him. On the verge of having a heart attack, I place a hand on the hood of my car for balance as the other one holds my chest. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, scaring me like that? I could have whacked you in the nuts with my purse.”

  Chuckling softly, he steps forward, under a parking lot lamp so his face is well lit, forming deep shadows in his features. “Your purse to the nuts would have been easily blocked.”

  “I’m swift. There’s no way you could have blocked that attack.”

  He looks me up and down. “I would have taken my chances anyway. So tell me, Hollyn, why are your keys on the ground near your car?”

  Remembering he has my keys, I reach for them but he pulls away and waits for an answer to his question. “Ugh, I don’t know. I probably missed my purse when I was trying to fit them in.”

  “Uh-huh. Answer me this, do you always leave your door unlocked?”

  “If someone wanted to break into my car, that’s their problem. They won’t find much besides some wipes, a few pairs of ten-dollar sunglasses, some old gum, and a Glee CD that has been listened to way too much.”

  “Old gum is always a winning item to steal from a car.” He nods. “Okay, one more question. Why are you talking to me now but when I call and text, you refuse to answer me back?”

  Up front, isn’t he?

  What do I really say? I didn’t get them? That would be a blatant lie since he can probably see on his phone that I read his messages. Maybe I can say I was too shy to respond? No, that is probably the worst lie ever. The truth? That I can barely look at him after kissing him because it reminds me of the fact that I cheated on my husband and that, even though I feel guilty as hell, all I want to do right now is kiss him again.

  Where’s a psychologist? They would have a field day with that.

  “Well . . .”

  “Come on,” I respond, not able to look at him. “I’m pretty sure you know why I haven’t gotten back to you.”

  “Let’s pretend I have no clue,” he counters. “I want to hear it from your lips. Tell me why you’re not responding to me.”

  “Jace.”

  “Hollyn,” he says back, not letting up.

  “Why are you even here? Aren’t you supposed to be in Arizona?”

  “I am. But I was able to squeeze out for the night. I fly back tomorrow. Like I said, the front office is being lenient with me right now, given my situation.”

  “So why are you here?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” He takes another step closer. “I want to know what the hell is going on with you.”

  “Nothing is going on.” I stab at the asphalt with my toe, avoiding all eye contact with the handsome, all-American boy.

  “Bullshit,” he calls out and then sighs. He moves from standing in front of me to leaning on my car. He sticks his hands in his tight-fitting jeans, and I can’t help but notice the way his pecs ripple under his long-sleeved shirt. Doesn’t he know it’s still winter in Colorado? Where is his jacket?

  “Hollyn, I need you,” he admits, pulling my thoughts away from his body and back to the man himself.

  “What?” I ask.

  Meeting my gaze, he continues. “I need you, Hollyn. You’re the only one I can really talk to about everything. I’ve grown to rely on you, and when I need you the most, you freeze me out. It’s not fucking fair. I thought I was more important to you than that.”

  “Jace,” I sigh, my heart wavering. He needs me. When was the last time someone actually needed me? The last time: when Eric was alive. And just like that, I’m back to the nauseous feeling that won’t go away. Wanting to tell Jace the truth, I say, “I feel guilty around you.”

  “Guilty?” His eyebrow quirks up, completely confused by my statement. “Why do you feel guilty?”

  “Because.”

  Yup, solid answer. I should be a master conversationalist.

  “Care to elaborate?”

  “Not really.” I cross my arms over my chest and continue to stare at the ground.

  “Hollyn, cut the shit,” he says sternly, throwing me for a loop. With his index and middle finger, he lifts my chin and forces me to make eye contact. “We’re honest with each other, if anything. Tell me what’s going on.”

  Sighing, I sit on the hood of my car and set my purse down next to me. Jace steps up in front of me, his body fitting between my legs, crowding my space. Nervous of his proximity, I take a deep breath before I tell him what I’ve been feeling.

  “We kissed.”

  “We did. I remember.” He smirks at me, which strangely eases the tension in my shoulders.

  “It wasn’t good.”

  His eyebrows shoot to his hairline in disbelief. “It wasn’t good? I beg to differ, it was fucking great. So good that the only reason I didn’t chase after you was because I figured you needed space. Otherwise, I probably would have fucked your mouth with my tongue all night long.” His voice is low, seductive, so incredibly sexy that I can feel my spine start to shiver just from his words.

  “Um, that’s nice,” I say awkwardly, causing him to laugh.

  “That’s nice? Come on, Hollyn, you’re killing me here. Give a guy a little ego boost.”

  I chuckle from the pained look on his face. “I don’t mean it like that. The kiss was amazing, but that’s what makes me nervous. You’re the first man I’ve kissed since Eric died. No matter how I try to look at it, it feels like cheating.”

  From my confession, Jace’s face softens, he settles in closer, and squats so we are eye level, his hands on my thighs, warming me instantly.

  “Hollyn, you’re not cheating on Eric. I can understand how that must feel, to kiss another man when your heart is still partially with another, but it’s not cheating. It’s moving on. It’s letting go, it’s giving yourself a chance to continue to live.”

  “But I’m not ready for that.” My voice grows tight. And when Jace runs his hands up my thighs and grips my hips, I find it odd that I feel comforted. By him. He should be a stranger to me, yet I feel so connected to him.

  “You’re never going to be fully ready, Hollyn. You’re just going to have to close your eyes and jump. Trust
in your strength and the strength in the people around you.”

  Tears fill my eyes, my heart breaking with the thought of letting go of Eric. How can someone let go when they barely even had them to begin with? How can I let go of the one thing that gave me life? Was it love or was it Eric? I’m mourning the loss of someone I didn’t get to fully experience, and yet . . . so is Jace. Realization really hits me hard. We truly are going through the same thing and despite his recent setback, he seems to have a little more strength than me. Can I channel his strength and move forward? He needs me, yet I have so little to give him. In fact, all I’ve done is to be there to listen. To listen. I have talked ad nauseam about Eric, although admittedly, it has often been to the four walls of my apartment. Would we find it easier to move forward together? Is that what he is suggesting? If I continue this friendship with him, am I being unfaithful to Eric, or is it okay to find a friend in grief? Although it would be a lie to say I only feel friendship toward Jace. What woman would? I have relied on him too, and in some sense, it would be incredibly selfish to deny him whatever strength and peace he finds in me. And I’m not that girl. Can I be more to him? Can I . . .

  “Are you jumping in?” I ask him. “If I jump in, will you jump in?”

  Backing away, he stands and moves his hand to the back of his neck, contemplating my question. From beneath his propped up arm, he glances at me. “You’re jumping in?”

  “Only if you do. I can’t do it alone.”

  “You drive a hard bargain.” A smirk passes over his handsome features. “It’s not going to be easy.”

  “I don’t expect it to, just don’t make me do it alone, Jace.”

  “Will you stop ignoring me?”

  “Yes.” I smile sheepishly.

  “And we’re honest with each other from here on out?”

  “Yes.”

  “No hiding, no holding back. Everything is laid out on the table.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Good.” He comes forward and links my hand with his. Pulling me forward to a stand, his other hand grips my hip, bringing me closer. Guilt still lurks in the back of my head, and my stomach flips with each of Jace’s intimate touches. “Since we’re being honest, I have to tell you, ever since I first laid eyes on you, I knew we were connected on a deeper level.”