by Jessa York
“Aw, Vivienne. Shit. Do you think it can be fixed?” What an odd question? How did you fix something that was so broken? Like a glass shattered into a million pieces could somehow be glued back together again. Nah, you just swept that shit up and dumped it into the nearest trash bin.
“N-n-n...no,” was all I managed. The energy that took made me even more tired. I wished he’d just leave me to my bed.
“Fuck. First things first, you need some liquids in you,” he said, mercifully dumping me back into my comfortable nest. “I’ll be right back,” he whispered into the top of my head, planting a kiss there.
The bed moved when he rose up, leaving me alone once again to stare out the window. From the hall I heard, “Yeah, I found her.” Dean spoke into the phone. I frowned, wondering who in this world would have noticed that I stayed in bed all day. It seemed confusing to me because nothing really mattered outside of this room, so why would anyone care if never left my bed again?
A short while later, he came back with a few glasses of various liquids. Nothing looked good, so I turned my nose up at everything he offered. “Vivienne, it’s three in the afternoon, and I’m guessing you haven’t had anything to drink in a long fuckin’ time. Now, pick a glass and guzzle that shit down or you’re gonna dehydrate.” It was three o’clock in the afternoon already? Wow. I’d never in my life stayed in bed all day, never afforded myself that luxury. But today there simply was no other choice. What else could you do when your body weighed a thousand pounds?
To shut him up, I sat up, grabbed the glass of orange juice out of his hands, and took a wary sip. My glands protested the incoming liquid. I shook my head. “Take another sip. Your body needs somethin’, honey.” My eyes got glassy at his words. I attempted another sip. That one traveled down better. Soon, I finished that glass and removed the cup of water out of his hands, guzzling that down, too. I hadn’t realized how thirsty I actually was. Kind of like how I didn’t how lonely and meaningless my life was until Jason showed up.
“Wow, crying really makes you thirsty,” I told Dean in between gulps. A look of sadness settled on his face. I was upsetting him. He sat down on the edge of the bed, removing his footwear, one big boot at a time. His back muscles strained as he leaned over, his biceps popping. Dean was definitely depriving some lucky girl of all that greatness.
“Scootch over. Make me some room,” he ordered, shoving my body over. I tsked out loud at the invasion, but moved over all the same. How dare he take my spot. Jerk. The bed was cold and foreign over here now that I’d been forced out of my tiny circle of security.
“Why didn’t you just get in the other side?” I whined, feeling more pissed off than ever at his intrusion.
“I like this side,” he said, digging out the remote from the mess of covers and turning on the TV. I guess that was that. I wasn’t getting my spot back. Dean didn’t really care if it pissed me off or not. His attention was now on the show. Typical man. With all the movement and fluids I drank, nature started to call. Damn. Now I had to leave the bed altogether.
Swinging my legs over the side of the bed in a huff, I stomped off to the bathroom.
I couldn’t tell for sure, but I thought I heard Dean chuckling as I stormed away.
“Ugh, how can you watch this mindless crap?” I asked him, pointing toward the TV, frowning in disgust at the reality show. The people on there were so clearly acting according to a script, it wasn’t even funny. How anyone could be fooled into thinking otherwise was a mystery for the ages.
All I heard from Dean was a grunt, and then he began flipping through the channels again. It required a coin toss to decide which was more annoying—the obnoxiously fake family pretending their kitchen was on fire or his inability to pick a freaking channel.
Unable to stand it any longer, I ripped the remote from his hand, flopped over, and started my own search for something stupid to watch. He got up, and I heard him tying his boots. The thought of him leaving sent me into a panic. Even though he was a huge pain in my ass, I still felt comforted by his presence. It was nice to have someone there to silently commiserate with.
“You leaving? I’ll turn it back. Here,” I told him, turning it back to the fake family whose kitchen wasn’t on fire after all. Phew. Good grief, this was crap TV.
“Just going out for some food. I’ll be right back.” Before I could protest or beg him to stay and not leave me alone with my thoughts, he was gone. The front door slammed as he tromped out. I flopped over, assuming the position of every bed-ridden TV watcher.
For some reason, the TV helped stop the noise inside my head, but not completely. Every time I thought of what happened with Jason, it felt like someone was digging a knife into my stomach. How could I have screwed things up so royally? Again?
After just half an episode of a timeless comedy show, Dean was back, clomping up my stairs. Did it not occur to him to take off his boots at the door?
In he swaggered with the nondescript, greasy brown bag of my dreams, throwing it onto the bed. Then he sat down, removing his boots again. “Bacon Burger, yum.” If there was one thing that could change my mood right now, it was this. My mouth watered at the smells wafting up my nose. I ripped the bag down the side to save time—because it was a big bag—and grabbed my burger. “You should take them off at the door,” I mumbled to him through a mouthful of deliciousness.
He frowned at me and replied, “What?”
I swallowed before repeating my sentence, “I said, you should take off your boots at the door.”
“Noted,” was all I got before he dragged the bag toward himself, yanking something out of it. “Why do you always rip the bag? I’ve never understood why you do that?” he said as he examined the bag with his free hand.
“Time-saver,” I mumbled again, saucy onions falling out of my mouth.
“Mmm, got ya,” he said through his mouthful of grilled chicken burger. As he chewed, he handed me a soda that he’d bought, which I gratefully accepted.
We ate in companionable silence with the exception of his attempted covert glances over at me when he thought I wasn’t looking. But I was. It was incredibly sweet that he cared so much about me that he came over to feed and water me.
He finished his burger first, stashing his trash in the ripped bag. “So, everything’s over with that guy?” he asked, lying down.
My burger stuck in my throat. I reached for my drink to wash it down. “Uh, yeah.”
“What happened? You were stupidly in love yesterday, then all of a sudden...”
I acted like a huge asshole and he doesn’t have time for women who act like they should star in their own movie of the week.
“Can I give you the short version? Because the long one will kill,” I whispered, setting down my burger as I started the short version.
Which evidently still killed.
32
Vivienne
Dean was an angel, looking after me for the first couple of days, feeding me and kicking my ass into the shower.
But eventually he had to take off for a business trip, thus leaving me. I protested, even asked if he’d cancel and change his plans so he could stay with me. Talk about needy. He smiled, kissed my head, and said, “You’ll be fine. I’ve never known a tougher woman.”
Then he turned around, overnight bag in hand, and left me alone.
Today, I started wandering downstairs, even going out on my nonexistent patio to talk to my birds. They weren’t great listeners, but I loved watching them while I drank my coffee.
Luckily, Dean spoke with my contractor. Gerry said his crew would return in a week or so.
The relief I felt of letting someone else deal with the hard decisions for a while was huge. I suppose this would be one of the benefits of marriage. But if I were married, I wouldn’t have been holed up, unable to leave my bedroom for days on end either.
Still, I was immensely grateful for Dean’s intervention during my time of need. There was no way I’d have gotten through this with
out him. I just wished he could have delayed his trip a few more days. There was life before Jason—there would be life after him, too. Maybe.
Sitting in my pink satin robe in the sunshine, the doorbell rang through the open patio doors. Not feeling much in the mood for dealing with Girl Scouts or the neighborhood watch right now, I ignored it, continuing to soak in the sun. The bell chimed again. I swung my head toward the door, scowling. The Girl Scouts were getting pushier every year. There was no way I even considered opening the door. I’d quite likely scare the poor girls to death. My robe wasn’t exactly G-rated. Not to mention my hair resembled a nest of sorts.
I heard a bit of a commotion, then suddenly my side gate burst open.
“She’s not gonna be back here.”
“Look, I forgot the key at the office. Just check. And stop yelling. The neighbors will hear and call the police.”
“I could have saved you all the trouble of ringing the doorbell and sneaking in the back if you’d have let me pick the lock.” That last one was Riley’s voice. Truth be told, I loved Riley to bits, but sometimes she scared the living crap outta me. There was no way a legal secretary should have the kinds of skills she did. Maybe she had a really shitty childhood and had to learn ninja skills to survive.
Ever since that day I followed Jason—okay, stalked him—I kept wondering what kind of upbringing he’d had. I couldn’t get the image out of my head of those young kids at the trailer park throwing rocks on the road, looking bored as hell. My heart ached for them. I had this odd desire to bake muffins and take them to the kids. Not that I dared go back there for fear Jason would see me. Also, I wasn’t sure the kids would take muffins from a crazy stalker lady without calling the police and reporting me.
I still couldn’t stop thinking about them and how I could make their lives a little bit brighter in that stark, desolate environment. Anyway, right now I had bigger fish to fry, so I stood to meet my uninvited guests. “Hi, girls. How’s it goin’?”
Audrey stopped short, obviously shocked to see me. That would have been fine if Harper and Riley hadn’t been following so closely. But they were, so the last two crashed quite violently into Audrey, causing her to trip on the uneven Earth, nearly taking a header right into my chair. Bags went flying in every direction. Luckily, she caught herself with her hands barely touching the ground, jumping back up to yell at her co-conspirators.
“What the hell are you tryin’ to do? Get me killed?” she barked at them with her hands now on her hips, her feet in that don’t-screw-around-with-me pose she did so well. I only saw her do that with her husband Murray. It was funny as hell to watch. Murray always got that deer-in-the-headlights stare about him. Sometimes he even tried to stutter his way out of whatever hole he dug himself into, which made things even more entertaining.
“Yeah, Audrey. We brought you here to lure you into Vivienne’s backyard and kill you,” Riley said dryly, rolling her eyes. “Although, this would be a good place to bury a body. Nobody would even notice with all the piles of dirt and lumber everywhere,” she said, casing the joint. See? She dressed like a princess, but underneath the name brand dress, she had something going on. Something that I had no desire to know.
“Um, I’ve got neighbors who may not like homicide jokes. Just sayin’,” I said in a hushed tone to Riley.
Just like it always was with Riley, she put on her sweetest I-couldn’t-hurt-a-fly face, smiling at me. Thing is, I knew she could absolutely hurt a fly, swiftly and without leaving a trace of evidence behind, then bury the poor unsuspecting soul in my mess of a backyard without anyone being the wiser.
“Sweetie, how are you doing?” Riley asked first, walking up to hug me. Her ninja arms felt good around me, so I let her hug me for a while.
“As good as can be expected, I guess.” I mean, what else did you say? Well, I got my heart and soul ripped out, my childhood dreams dashed and stepped on, and I’d probably die a lonely old spinster that nobody would even realize was dead for a month until the mail carrier smelled a suspicious odor coming from the mail slot in the door every time he deposited my bills through the crack.
It’d all be bills or junk mail—no letters from grandkids or pictures of them on their first day of kindergarten. No postcards from grown kids off on holidays, sending us a hello from a beautiful beach somewhere. Of course, that all made me start to tear up, thinking of what might have been.
“How nice. You leave old people behind, yeah?” Roza boomed before even turning the corner. “God, what happened? Bomb? During war even bomb not make this damage,” she said, shaking her head, peering around Vivienne’s backyard.
“They had to do more digging, Roza.” I sighed. “They’ll fix it eventually.”
Riley finally released me as Harper pushed her way in and placed her hands on my shoulders, looking me over with a critical eye. “You look like hell.” That was her helpful comment.
“Thanks?” I answered, unsure how to respond to that.
Sticking her foot in her mouth, she backtracked. “We brought movies.”
“And chocolate and ice cream,” said Riley, bending over to pick up the fallen bags. I’d eaten enough ice cream in the last two days to choke a horse, but I was always game for more.
“I got you some magazines,” Audrey said, digging violently into the bags that Riley had gathered up. Riley gave her a look, which she promptly ignored, continuing to fish around until she found what she was looking for.
With Audrey, I wasn’t exactly sure what kind of magazines to expect. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw they were just harmless gossip rags. Well, harmless to me, not harmless to the stars pictured on the covers or on the inside.
She practically shoved them into my chest. “It’s always nice to see other people’s lives are shittier than yours.”
“Thanks, Audrey. Isn’t that nice of you?” I suppose this whole thing would be worse if my face was on ten different trashy magazines.
“And I brought soup.” Roza dug into her bag and pulled out a chicken. A very raw chicken. Hmmm, interesting.
“Let’s get inside. This ice cream isn’t going to make it much longer.” Riley held up the bag containing the melty mess.
I looked at her, then the bag, quickly turning around, mumbling, “Maybe we should just bury it in the backyard.”
“Do you want me to put your groceries in the kitchen?” I asked Roza as she shuffled her way into the kitchen.
“We cook now. Where’s kitchen?” She gazed around my kitchen.
“This is my kitchen,” I told her, motioning with my arm to the fantastic kitchen.
Roza frowned. “Back home you know how we cook? In coffee can, over fire. But this is nice, too.” She sniffed, waddling her way to the cupboards.
In ten seconds flat, she had me organizing everything she needed to cook her soup. The other girls had wandered off.
“First, we boil old hen to inch of her life,” she said, dumping the chicken into the pot. The water splashed onto my gorgeous gas range. I tried my best not flinch too much. “Then we cut vegetables. Mostly carrots.” I nodded, then assisted her in chopping up the array of veggies.
“We dump in,” she yelled as more liquid sloshed over the side of the pot. “And boom.” She clapped her hands together, startling me. “Best soup in land. You wait and see. In old country, they always say, ‘Old hen and young carrot make a tasty soup,’ and it’s true. You use young hen, no fat,” she said, emphasizing the F. “No fat, no taste. Same with carrot. You taste old carrot? Dry, no juice, very bitter.” Her face screwed up like she’d tasted a lemon. “Old carrot has no sugar left to sweeten the broth.”
My eyes teared up and I smiled at her meaning. “I’m afraid my young carrot doesn’t want to join the old hen in the soup.”
“Young carrots sweet, yes, but not so smart. You help him understand.”
After my soup tutorial, Harper dropped Roza back home. It was time for her “stories,” and she was getting tired.
Harpe
r came back with bags of Chinese food. These girls liked their wine, so that was flowing freely along with the egg rolls and beef and broccoli. I couldn’t remember whose idea it was, but instead of watching the movies downstairs, we all ended up in my bed, eating Chinese, drinking wine, and commenting on every damn thing that happened in The Notebook. Yeah, that’s what was playing right now.
“Why did you pick this movie?” Riley gave Harper a dirty look while dipping her egg roll into the sweet and sour sauce. “This is a love story, not something a girl wants to watch after getting dumped.”
True enough. My stomach had several knots in it already just thinking about what was to come. It wasn’t exactly break up fodder. Perhaps a shoot ’em up movie would have been a better choice.
“They end up together eventually,” Harper emphasized that last word. Ah, so that was her game. She figured there was still hope for Jason and me. Gosh, she was cute.
“Honey, Jason was pretty adamant that he was done with whatever we had. There’s no going back now. I respect his decision.” Even though it freaking killed.
“For goodness’ sake, he was mad at you. It freaked him out. You guys just need to talk and work it out. When you care about someone, you get mad sometimes and regret stuff you say in the heat of the moment. He’ll get over it.” Always the romantic. Ever since Harper found her Prince Charming, she wanted everyone around her paired up to feel the same magical bliss.
“He said I was a distraction. I don’t want to be the one who stands between him and his dreams,” I said stoically, feeling rather proud of myself for being such a grown-up. But Audrey started laughing uncontrollably at what I said, bits of lemon chicken spewing out of her mouth.
“Oh, if you ain’t the funniest thing. All us women are distractions for our men,” she said, wiping under her eyes with a napkin. “That’s how it works. If you ain’t a distraction, you ain’t catchin’ his eye. And you need to catch a man’s eye frequently to have a relationship. My bet? He’s sitting in his shitty apartment wishing you were there to distract him right this very moment.” She burst out laughing all over again.