I couldn’t save her husband.
occhiolism—the awareness of the
smallness of your perspective
Mason
April
“I still can’t believe this is your place,” I say as I look at the new apartment my brother moved into.
“I know, right? I still can’t believe I moved up at work so fast,” he says as he unpacks a few more boxes. He got a job at a paper mill, driving heavy machinery or something of the sort. “Thanks for helping me. I didn’t realize how much shit I collected in that tiny apartment until I started packing.”
“It adds up fast,” I say as I laugh at a picture of us as kids.
“Hey, I gotta go down to the leasing office and sign another paper or something. I’ll be right back.” He does a plié and opens his arms wide. “Make yourself at home.”
I roll my eyes and continue unpacking the box, putting the clothes on his bed and the stuff for his room on his dresser or nightstand. Once the box is empty, I head to the living room and grab a new one. His new apartment is leaps and bounds nicer than the other one. Now he has light gray walls rather than old white ones stained with dingy yellow marks. Nice hardwood rather than old scuffed up, rickety ones. I’m proud of him, he’s come so far.
I grab the closest box to me, surprised by how heavy it is. As I’m walking with it, the bottom of it falls through. “Shit.”
Notes scatter to the floor from a shoebox, and I bend down to pick up a bunch of notes. I don’t bother reading since they aren’t my business, but there is an opened one, and the name at the bottom catches my eye.
Picking it up, I scan through the letter, and my heart drops.
You’re right. I’m just trying to figure out a way to adapt to this new life without forgetting the old one. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. But honestly, had it not been for your letters, I don’t know if I’d be where I’m at today.
I took that chance because of you, and now I’m doing better than I could’ve imagined, so thank you.
I’m seriously thinking about quitting. Not much is holding me back other than worrying about what I would do if I wanted to go back. I don’t want to end up in that position.
Keep staying strong. You can overcome this. I know it.
Ps. Emery. My name is Emery Sutton.
My hands shake as I read letter after letter. Emery poured out her heart to him. She even writes to him about me, nothing bad at least, but still. Never once has she mentioned this, and neither has Tristan, who fucking knows about her and me. I’m fuming with every word I read—how dare he do this. How did he even do this?
“Hey, I’m thinking pizza for—” Tristan stops when he sees what I’m holding. What I’m reading. What I’ve read. I stand, nose flaring and anger seeping from my pores. His hands rise in defense. “It’s not what you think.”
“Then you better fucking explain and explain fast.”
“Can we sit?” he asks.
“Talk! Now!” I yell. I’m too angry to fucking sit. I need to know what the hell is going on between him and Emery.
“I was desperate. I needed a place to vent. To pour my heart out, and journaling wasn’t cutting it. I needed someone that didn’t know me or who I was. I honestly didn’t think she would write back.”
“How the fuck did you get her address?!” The letter crinkles in my hand as I grip it in a fist.
“I was at your place a long time ago, and I saw a file. I was bored and flipping through your shit—which I’d like to add, is normal—and I found a folder. I was looking through it, and I saw her. I looked at her face. I looked at the police reports. I looked at the picture of how fucking broken she was at the funeral of her husband, and I thought, ‘Damn, maybe she’d understand some of my pain.’” He straightens. “Don’t act like you're so innocent, Mason. Even if what you were doing to check up on her was out of the goodness of your heart, that still doesn’t make you innocent. Plus, I’m willing to bet she doesn’t know.”
“Shut up,” I growl through gritted teeth.
“Does she? Have you told her?”
“SHUT UP!” Anger explodes from me as I walk up to him, right in his face. “Stop fucking writing her, Tristan. Now. It ends now.”
“She doesn’t know who I am, Mason! Fuck, if it weren’t for me, you two wouldn’t be a thing right now!”
“What did you just say?” I turn back toward him, my eyes squinting, trying to find the audacity he thinks he has.
“I said, if it weren’t for me, you two wouldn’t be a thing. She was broken, Mason. I told her to take a chance and do something crazy. You. Were. Her. Chance.” He backs up, shaking his head at me. “So, you’re welcome. And I can finish unpacking. Thanks for the help, brother.” He turns his back and starts unpacking a box as I grab my keys.
As I’m about to walk out the door, I say one last thing. “I mean it, Tristan. Stop writing her.”
“Whatever, man.” My hand is on the doorknob but pauses when I hear him end with, “And tell her the fucking truth. She deserves better than that, Mason.”
I slam the door on my way out because I know he’s right.
perambulate—to walk or travel through or round
a place or area, especially for pleasure in a leisurely way
Emery
The tapping of my pencil dazes me into a trance as I keep checking the clock in my office. I’ve been thinking about what I want to do, and the idea to start a community garden hit me, and I’ve been obsessing over it ever since. I could hold classes for adults, kids, even parents with their kids. I could set it up where people could rent a space for building their own garden or come and purchase what we have fresh. Excitement builds more and more as I keep replaying the words in my letter. What is holding me back? I’m smart with my money, I’ve already invested a large chunk of the money I got from Derek plus paid off my remaining debt. I live simply, so what is holding me back?
Not a damn thing, baby.
I smile and set my pencil down once it’s time to go home. Grabbing my bags, I walk to Mr. Thompson’s office with a new purpose and pep in my step. I knock on the door twice, and I hear his gruff voice.
“Come in.”
Peeking my head in the office, I smile. “Mr. Thompson, can I speak with you?”
“Emery. Yes, come in.”
I walk into his big office with a beautiful view of the city behind him. “Um, I wanted to speak with you about my place here.” I clear my throat, nervousness taking hold of me. I hate doing these things. “After Derek died, I really looked forward to coming back to work here. I longed for something normal. But the longer time went on, it was him I wanted back.”
Mr. Thompson’s face softens in understanding.
I continue, “I know my work has been only satisfactory since I’ve returned, and I don’t like knowing that. I’ve always strived for excellence. But the more I look at life, the more I think I just need time. A break. So, I would like to officially put in my two weeks’ notice.”
He smiles. “Thank you, Emery, for talking to me about this. You have been valued here for a long time. If you ever change your mind and want to come back, the job is yours.”
My eyes widen. “Really?”
“Without a doubt. It’s been an absolute pleasure having you, and we all wish you the best.”
I smile. “Thank you. I’ve loved being here.”
He nods and shakes my hand, and as I walk out to my car, I can feel it. Leaving my job was the right thing, and I’m so excited to start working on new things—pursue my new passion.
My excitement is at an all-time high, and I decide to go to Mason’s instead of home. As I pull into his driveway, I see a car I haven’t seen before out front, but don’t think anything of it. I pull my hair out of my bun as I walk through the door in the garage, shaking it out and fluffing it.
I walk in the house, “Honey, guess who’s home?!” I chuckle as I shuck off my shoes, and when I walk into the living room, I see
Mason sitting with an older couple. My smile drops, my eyes widen, and my cheeks burn in embarrassment as Mason holds back his laughter as hard as he can.
“Glad you made it, honey.” The lady winks at me, also holding back laughter. I noticed her hands moving as she talked, so I’m assuming these are his parents. I am mortified. Mason stands and walks up to me, wrapping me in a hug.
“I am so sorry. I wouldn’t have come over and barged in if I knew you had company.”
“Don’t be silly. I was about to call and see if you wanted to come over.” He smiles with his eyes, and it’s one of my favorite things about him.
I smile, then look at his parents. “Hi, I’m Emery. It’s so nice to meet you.” I stick out my hand, but his mom stands and hugs me.
“Hi, Emery.” She lets me go but holds my shoulders. “Believe me, I’m more excited to be meeting you.”
I laugh, her welcoming spirit making me feel more at ease. Turning to his dad, I smile big and wave before I stick out my hand. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
His dad puts on a huge grin and also stands to hug me. He’s probably only a couple of inches taller than my 5’2”, and his big belly gets in the way of our hug and I chuckle.
“It’s a pleasure.” His muffled words through his grin make me smile. His happiness is infectious.
Mason pats the spot next to him, and I sit down, leaning my head on his shoulder.
“How was work, pretty girl?”
I laugh. “This probably isn’t the greatest thing to lead with when meeting your parents, but it was great. I quit my job.”
Mason smiles but his mom looks worried and confused as she signs something to his dad.
“Is everything okay?” she asks.
“It’s great.” I smile. “It’s been a hard year, and I’ve come to some realizations. That wasn’t what I wanted to do with my life, so I finally took the plunge. My boss told me if I changed my mind and wanted to come back, the job was mine.”
“That’s amazing, love. I’m happy for you.” Mason smiles at me, and I return it.
“Well, this sounds like a cause for celebration!” His mom gets up and goes to the kitchen, coming back with a tray of cinnamon rolls. The sight of them makes my breath catch in my throat, and tears rush to my eyes.
“Would you like one, Emery?”
I look at her and nod, chin quivering.
“You okay?” Mason whispers to me, and I nod.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m more than okay,” I reassure him. It seems like something so small, but it feels like this is Derek telling me he’s proud of me for following my gut.
I take a deep breath. “I actually had an idea.”
“Tell me,” Mason says, signing what he says and what I say. I make sure to face his dad a bit more so he can read my lips also.
“I’ve absolutely loved my garden, as you know. And I want to start a community garden, maybe even a greenhouse.”
His mom gasps. “Oh, my soul! That is incredible!”
I smile at her. “Thank you.”
“There’s no better person to do it. Whatever you need help with, I’m there.”
“Me too!” his mom chips in.
“Mom’s a bit of a gardener herself.”
My brows lift in excitement. “Really? I would love it if you guys wanted to come over sometime. I could use some tips and tricks. Really, all the help and advice there is.”
Mason’s smile grows ten times bigger and he squeezes my knee. His mom’s face has excitement written all over it.
“I would love nothing more.”
I look to his dad, and he has the same big grin, nodding. He’s a man of few words, but probably the happiest person I’ve ever met. Snuggling into Mason’s side, we sit and talk and laugh with his parents. As I watch them interact, another wave of peace washes over me. It’s like the room in my heart where Derek was, had been destroyed by the devastation. But each time that peace settles over me, the room gets fixed up a little more. It’s still his room, but it’s more comfortable. Homey. Livable. Not as damaged.
You’re doing it, baby. I’m so damn proud of you.
I am. I’m doing it.
eglaf—a word that has no meaning;
can be used in place of any other word
Emery
May
My feet sink into the soft carpet as I trudge to the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee before I sit out on my back porch to watch the sunrise. The cool bite to the early May air makes me shiver as I cover up with a blanket. This is the month. This month will be one year since he left me.
“This has been the weirdest, hardest year, Derek.” It’s never been weird or odd for me to talk out loud to him. If anything—it’s comforting. “I miss you like crazy.” Looking down, I trace the mug with my finger when a glint from the sun catches my ring. “I don’t want to take this off, but I think it’s time,” I say as I slide my ring off my finger. Unclipping the silver chain from my neck, I take off the small pendant that was on it and slide Derek’s ring onto the chain before putting it back on. Sitting for a bit longer, I let the warmth of the sun beam on my face, heating my cold cheeks before I turn on my phone. A text from Mason pops up.
Mason: You should see this sunrise.
Me: I’ve been watching it.
Me: Really something, huh?
Mason: Really is.
Mason: How are you doing, pretty girl?
Me: Good. I miss you.
Mason: You should feel what it’s like to miss you.
Me: Charmer.
Mason: This should be my last shift for a few days.
Me: Good, I feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks.
Mason: I might be late, but if you want to meet me at my house tonight, I left a key under the pot by the garage. We can eat and shit.
Me: Eat and shit. Lol.
Me: I’ll be there. xoxo
Mason: Good. See you tonight, love.
Me: Be safe.
I spend the day cleaning, running errands, and catching up on things I’ve needed to do outside. My little vegetable garden is doing so well. They’ve become my babies. Spending all day in the dirt reminded me I want to stop by the store for some fresh flowers for Derek’s grave to spruce it up. I feel him more at home than I do here, so I don’t go there often. The cemetery doesn’t bring me comfort, or any semblance of a good memory. But my house? My house is filled with them, from dancing in the kitchen in the middle of the night, to family dinners, to game nights with just the two of us.
After stopping by the store, I drag my feet through the cemetery. His lot looks good, they keep it up well here, fortunately. Dropping to my knees, I dig up the ground around his headstone, pouring fresh soil and planting the flowers I picked up. An hour later, I’m all done and sweating, but it feels good. A peacefulness comforts me. None of this has gotten easier. It’s only become different.
It’s a strange feeling, half of my heart stubbornly holding onto the man of my past while the other half chases after the feeling of another—a future. Derek had the best of the old Emery, and Mason is getting the best of the new Emery—one I’ve pieced together since the old me broke. Kneeling in front of his headstone, I place my hand on top and close my eyes. The breeze blows through my hair, and I smile. He’s here, and it’s different from every other time I’ve been here.
It’s because you’re healing, Emery Jean.
A smile takes over my face.
I’m proud of you, baby.
“I love you.” The silence doesn’t surprise me, and I stand to my feet, looking around the cemetery at the graves, each one holding the body of someone who lived a story. A story I’ll never know.
Shaking out of my thoughts, I head back to my house and shower, grabbing a bunch of stuff to surprise Mason with dinner. He won’t be home until eight-ish, so I’m going to head over around six and get started. I throw on my new white and grey striped linen dress with a nude belt. The colors bring out the natural tan of my skin. My shoulder-length
hair is in beachy waves, and my make up is neutral with heavy mascara to make my eyes pop.
The key is right where he said it was, and I let myself in and get to work, turning on music as I make the sides and then the kebabs. Just as I finish, Mason walks in and heads straight toward me.
“Jesus, you look stunning.” His arms wrap around me, and he kisses me.
“Hi.” I give him a cheeky grin, lifting my chin for a kiss.
“Hi.” His finger slides down my cheek before indulging me. “Coming home to you cooking does things to me, I’m not gonna lie.”
I laugh, and he kisses me again, backing me up against the counter. My fingers find the zipper to his jacket and bring it down, slowly pushing his coat down past his shoulders. He’s still in uniform, and that does things to me. Mason’s hands cup my cheeks as his kiss deepens, both of us wanting more of each other as his hands make their way into my hair. A moan escapes me, and he eats it up before pulling away.
With our foreheads still together, his eyes are focused on mine. “God, Emery. You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”
All I can do is try to catch my breath as we keep looking at each other. I lick my lips to savor his taste, and when he sees my tongue run along my bottom swell, he smirks with his tongue in his cheek as he tilts his head. He’s so damn good looking it throws me off my game.
Mason slowly backs up with a sly smirk and a look that tells me he’s up to something.
“I made chicken kebabs,” I say, my voice quiet, just above a whisper.
His eyes darken as they travel up and down my body. “I’m starving.”
God, me too.
“Need any help?” he asks. I don’t, but I want every reason to be as close to him as I can be.
“Yeah, can you grab the plates? I’ll grab the glasses,” I tell him, and Mason walks around me, his front right against my back as he leans over me to grab the plates. He kisses my shoulder on the way back and lingers for a moment before taking the plates to the table. I’m right behind him, and when he sets the food down, he stands tall and faces me. He looks down at me with the same hungry look, maybe an inch between us, after I set down the glasses.
The Best of Me Page 14