“I am not your favorite person, get out of here.” She chuckles as she gets up to set up the game.
I mutter under my breath, “If you only knew.”
“Huh?” she says without looking at me, untangling the remote cords.
“Nothing,” I say, and she comes back to sit next to me. “What’s it going to be, Sutton?”
“I win, you have to shovel my driveway.”
I interrupt her, “Different one. I’d do that anyways. I’ll do it tomorrow, actually.”
She rolls her eyes. “Okay, I win, you cook me dinner of my choice. If you win, I’ll buy you coffee for a week.”
I look at her confused. “That is the weakest bet in the history of bets.”
“What do you have in mind then?” she sasses at me, and just as I’m about to answer, a notification lights up my phone between us, catching both of our attention. She snatches it from me, trying to guess the unlock code. “Oh my God, was that what I think it was?”
“Give me the phone, Emery.” She holds it away from me, and I lean over her, trying to snatch it from her hand.
“You got a Tinder match?!” She’s laughing now.
“Give me the dang phone,” I playfully say as I try to snatch it, but she dodges and gets away from me, running around the couch as I chase her.
She yells and laughs as I tackle her back onto the couch after a couple of laps. I’m painfully aware of her every curve molded against my body as she’s pinned beneath me. Our chests heave from the spurt of energy followed by a crash that has my heart speeding faster than any bout of cardio could do. Our eyes dance back and forth before mine find her lips. She licks them before biting her bottom lip, letting it pop back out after a second.
“You should check it,” she whispers as my mouth is two fucking inches from hers. Two inches, and she wants me to check my Tinder match that I’m not even sure how I got because I thought I deleted that app weeks ago.
I drop my head, resting it on her chin with a sigh of defeat. Is she serious right now? I sit up, settling back onto the couch. Whatever moment we almost had was interrupted once again.
“I really don’t need or want to. I thought I deleted Tinder a long time ago. I haven’t gotten a notification in weeks.”
She sits up, fixing her sweater and handing me back my phone. “Open it. Come on.”
I sigh, not wanting to do this. I unlock my phone and open the notification.
“Wow. She’s pretty,” Emery says, dissecting and studying the girl’s profile more than I’ve ever done on the app. “You should message her.” Her fingers start tapping, and I steal the phone again.
“No. It’s fine.”
“Come on, just see what happens.” She’s trying to be funny and sweet, but this feels weird.
“Why are you pushing this so hard?” The question finally comes out.
Emery shrugs and focuses her stare on the paused TV as she spins the wedding ring still occupying her left ring finger.
“Because you spend your free time with a twenty-eight-year-old woman mourning her husband. You have needs. You should…meet them.” Her cheeks burn red as she spits the sentence out.
“Oh my God,” I mutter and sit forward with my elbows on my knees, rubbing my hands down my face. “Are you serious right now?”
“Don’t pretend like you don’t.”
“Jesus, Emery.” I stand and take our plates to the kitchen.
“Come on, Mason.” I hear her follow me. “Do this for me. Message her and see what happens.”
With my hands on the counter, I lean into them, chewing my cheek. “Will you stop bugging me about this if I do?”
“Yup.” She gives me a big smile, but it doesn’t meet her eyes.
“Pain in my ass,” I say as I take the phone and message the girl named Lacey, who I have no interest in. “There. Done. Happy?”
“Yep. Now let’s get back to Mario Kart.” She spins on her foot and sits on the couch. I watch her from my spot, sitting on my couch, in my living room, in my house. No one has ever looked like they’ve belonged in this home with me more than she does.
And now she’s trying to push me into someone else’s arms.
jouska—a hypothetical conversation
you play out in your head
Emery
I call Drew, then hang up before it rings about five times. I keep pacing around my house, too anxious to sit down. He probably got there about twenty minutes ago, so I’m guessing they’ve maybe ordered drinks? Maybe an appetizer? What the hell was I thinking, trying to talk him into going out with someone else?
Oh yeah—I wasn’t.
I read the last few letters from the last few weeks over and over, and then the one I got today.
The cravings came on strong today. I wanted to slip up so badly. I wanted to taste the pain of the needle in my arm and the relief flood through my veins. So, I’m sitting here wondering what the point of life is. What is the fucking point? Because this surely can’t be it. The point of this life surely can’t be fighting the temptation every damn day.
But I made this bed, and now I need to lie in it.
This is just a hard day in the midst of my good ones. It’ll pass.
It just sucks.
It was much shorter than the others, and my heart sunk when I noticed it. But I rummage through my office for a pen and write him back.
I was in denial, trying to push him away. Too scared of my feelings. Too scared of what it all means. And honestly, too scared of what people would say if I were to get into a relationship not even a year after my husband died.
Or worse, my feelings about it all. The fact I feel like I need to keep convincing myself I loved my husband with every beat of my heart. How does someone start to like someone else? How do I let him in without me getting in the way?
Why don’t I feel guilty towards either of these men for writing with you?
Maybe because you’re like my secret—no offense. These letters have gotten me through the hardest months of my life. So did Mason, but this is different, it’s my way of venting without saying the hard stuff out loud, and maybe that’s even worse.
And now Mason is on a date with a girl from Tinder. TINDER. God. Maybe I should get on Tinder. No, I won’t do that. But I have cleaned every room in my house today twice. I’ve probably done four miles in my kitchen, and I’m about to lose my damn mind.
Maybe I’ve already lost it.
p.s. I think I want to quit my job.
Reading over the letter, the idea of quitting becomes more real. The more I think about it, the more I realize I don’t want to be stuck in an office all day. After starting my plant kits, I’ve become obsessed with watching life grow into these little seedlings. A community garden keeps popping through my head. It would be an awesome way to get parents and their kids outside to do something together, and learn how to grow their own food. It would require a lot of research because I’m still a novice, but my love for it has turned into a passion. I seal up the envelope, stamp it, and leave it on the counter to take out in the morning before I make cookies. Then brownies. By the time I finish I want to make bread, but I’m out of flour, and it’s been three hours since their date started.
Oh, no.
What if he brings her home? Cool it, Emery. You have zero right to be jealous or angry. My skin crawls as I give up on distracting myself. Shuffling to the bathroom, I shower and get ready for bed since I have nothing else to do except go mad. Once I climb under the covers, I turn towards Derek’s side of the bed.
“I miss you so much.”
I miss you too, baby.
Tears slowly fall down my cheek, dampening my pillow. “I don’t know what to do, Derek.”
Do what makes you happy, Emery Jean.
“Damn you,” I scoff, sniffling. I roll back over and plug my phone in. It’s now been four hours, and he hasn’t texted me. She’s probably sitting on his couch, feet tucked under her legs, swirling a glass of wine around while tuckin
g her long blonde hair behind her ear.
Yuck. “Stop thinking so much, Emery,” I say out loud, as the disappointment of him never texting me sets in. But why would he, I made him do this. God, what have I done?
Just as I close my eyes, I hear the vibration of my phone on the bedside table. Sitting up as fast as possible, I think I pull a muscle in my stomach, but I managed to throw the blankets off me and look at my phone in record time.
Mason: Just wanted to let you know I made it home.
I type and backspace probably ten times before I decide to just be generic.
Me: Great!
The question is clawing at my fingertips. I have to ask.
Me: How’d it go?
The typing bubble for him does the same thing. Appears, disappears, appears, disappears. Over and over.
Mason: It was great.
I wait for more, but that’s all he says. I need to know more. Did they kiss? Was she nice? Was she interesting? Did he make the first move? More importantly, are they going on a second date? But I can’t ask any of it because I made it a point to push him away. He’s not mine.
Me: Good. I’m glad you had a good time.
Mason: Thanks.
Mason: What are you doing?
Me: Laying in bed.
Not two seconds after he reads my text, my phone rings, and I answer right away.
“Hi,” I say softly into the phone.
“Hey,” his deep voice coos back at me, and my body immediately settles into my bed, muscles relaxed now. “How are you?”
“Tired. I cleaned and baked. Even got a little exercise in.” He doesn’t need to know it was from pacing my kitchen.
“That’s great.” He chuckles into the phone. “Emery?”
“Yeah?”
“I had a really good time tonight.”
My heart sinks, but I school my voice. “That’s great. I’m so glad!”
“Emery?”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t want to go on a second date.” His statement surprises me.
“Why not?”
“She’s not you.”
His confession feels like a bomb in my chest, but a weight lifted from my shoulders all at once. I can hear my heartbeat, nervousness amplifying the noise. “Wha—What?”
“Don’t make me go on another date with someone that isn’t you, again,” he says it softly, almost pleading.
“I thought you had a good time?”
“I did. She was nice. Pretty even. But I wasn’t being fair to her.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’ll talk tomorrow.” I can hear him roll onto his bed.
“Seriously? Are you serious right now? You can’t drop that bomb and then leave me hanging!”
“You forced me on a date tonight. I think this will make us even.” I roll my eyes. “Don’t roll your eyes,” he corrects me, and I smile into my comforter.
“You know me too well.” I chuckle.
“Tomorrow?” he asks.
“Tomorrow,” I say through my smile. “Goodnight, Mason.”
“Goodnight, Emery.”
How the heck am I supposed to sleep now?
mirifical—amazing, wondrous; working wonders
Emery
The moment I knock at the front door, Mason opens it with a big smile beaming right at me. I think that smile is one of my favorite qualities of his. He always makes me feel like he’s happy and excited to see me.
“Hey you.” I hug him and take off my boots.
“Hey. Good to see you.”
“Good to see you,” I say back. Both of us awkwardly smiling. Both of us thinking about the conversation last night—about the conversation we’re going to have.
“Dinner is just about done.”
“I thought we were ordering in? Didn’t you have to work today?”
“I left early.” He winks, and my heart thuds in my chest.
“Smells delicious. What can I do?”
Mason grins. “Just sit. I’m almost done.”
I sit on the opposite side of the island and watch his large frame move gracefully around the kitchen. Every muscle under his black V-neck tee moves with his body, a sight to behold. Mason turns with our plates ready, and we sit at the kitchen table, where a candle glows in the center.
“This is amazing, Mason. Thank you.”
He shrugs, shyness taking over as we eat. He breaks the silence first. “Why were you so adamant about me going on a date?”
I knew this was coming, and I sigh. “Honestly?”
“Only the truth.”
“I was scared,” I finally admit.
“Of me?” His brows furrow.
“No. No. Not of you. If anything, of me.”
“What do you mean?” he asks me.
“Mason, I’m terrified that moving on means the love or memories I have of Derek disappear. Or that it doesn’t mean as much. I know it sounds funny when I say it, but honestly, it scares the hell out of me. In about two months, it will be the anniversary of his death, and lately, I have the hardest time remembering the sound of his laughter, or the way he would say my name. It’s not fair to you.”
I look up at Mason, and he’s chewing his lips like he wants to say something.
I continue, “I don’t know. This is all new and scary, and I don’t know the rules for this type of stuff.”
“Not everything has rules, Emery.”
“Tell that to the girl that’s mostly followed them for the majority of her life.”
Mason stares at me again, contemplating something. “Come here. Come with me.” He stands and holds out his hand to me. Wiping mine off, I place my palm in his. They fit comfortably together as he brings me outside to his back deck, where I see a big blanket, piled with pillows and more blankets. Twinkle lights shine from railing to railing, but he shuts them off, and the stars shine brighter than the lights did.
He leads me to the blanket, and both of us lay down and cover-up—under the same blanket—risking it all over here. We stare at the stars, not touching, but the heat radiating from his body being so close to mine feels like he is. Neither of us says a word as we lay in silence, looking at the sky. Crickets chirp around us, mixed in with the rustle of the leaves in the wind. This is my love language.
“I could do this all night.” I say, finally breaking the quiet of the night.
“I could too,” he says. When I look over at him, he’s already staring at me with a content grin. “Emery?”
“Yeah?”
“I really want to kiss you.”
I gulp down the nervousness, and for the first time, a wave of guilt doesn’t wash over me. And that is what I’ve been waiting for. “I think I’d really like that.”
The whisper falls off my lips, and for once, I don’t feel grief or pain or constant sadness. I feel butterflies filling my belly, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand. Prickles start from the top of my head and work their way down my body when I see him roll towards me. We’re both lying on our sides, staring at each other when his hand comes to my face. His fingers lightly brush the hair from my eyes, and the soft touch of his hand on my skin intensifies my feelings. Nervous excitement pulses through me as he tips up my chin. Mason’s eyes roam my face like he’s trying to remember every detail of this moment, and he can’t decide where to look next, not wanting to miss a single thing. His lips grow into a slow grin as he inches closer, the warmth of his breath on my lips. I could burst with anticipation. His nose tickles mine, a soft, slow circle before our lips finally connect. His fingers tilt my chin up a little more before he cups my cheek, kissing me a little deeper, lingering before slowly pulling away. The moment I don’t feel him anymore, I miss him. I lick my lips, desperate to taste him—savor him. When I finally open my eyes, he’s still grinning at me, and I can’t help but grin back.
“Emery?” Mason breaks the silence.
“Yeah?”
“Let me love you through your heartache.”
“Yeah?”
“Kiss me again.”
And he does. There was no other answer in my mind other than yes—that’s how it is with Mason. From the very moment I took a chance and sat next to him in that diner.
It’s always been yes.
anchorage—the desire to hold
on to time as it passes.
Emery
Quit your job.
Do it. What’s stopping you? And I mean that in the simplest form. What. Is. Stopping. You? If it’s anything other than “I want to keep working,” which I know isn’t the case, then do it. I mean, as long as you have the ability to. If you’re like broke, I wouldn’t suggest it, but hey—you do you.
But hell, what do I know? I blew all my money on drugs, so maybe I’m not the best person to take advice from.
Quit holding yourself back from feeling shit because you don’t think it’s socially acceptable. That’s all sorts of fucked up. If someone has something negative to say, fuck them. I know, just from the letters we’ve exchanged, you loved that man with a force not many could keep up with. And guess what? You can start seeing someone and still feel that way for Derek. Any respectable man would understand that.
And also, tell him how you feel and see what happens. For your sake of mind, if Derek is as good of a guy as you say he was, then I can guarantee he wants his wife to be happy. He wouldn’t want her heartbroken and lonely. He’d want to know she’s taken care of.
ps. Do you think we’ll ever exchange names?
Smiling, I chuckle at the last line. I have to say, I’m beyond curious, but I also love the mystery of these letters. Just as I’m about to write back, a loud knock interrupts me, and I shove the letters in my junk drawer under the other papers before running to the front door. A big grin is plastered on my face before I open it, and when I do, my heart swells at the sight of my parents and Drew.
“Hi, guys! Come in. Come in!” Even though the snow has melted, it’s still a bit chilly at night.
The Best of Me Page 12