“Um, earth to Jo.”
I blink at the sound of Kaelyn’s voice bringing me back to the present. I resume my attention to my iPad that’s resting in its stand on the breakfast bar, locking eyes with her concerned face on the screen.
“Sorry, I was miles away,” I say. I throw on a smile that is anything but genuine, trying to disguise the brutality of the pain attacking my insides from such a vivid memory.
Over the past five years, I’ve mastered how to make my fake smile look real. My friends think I’m the happiest I’ve been since Christopher’s death, but they don’t see the heartache hidden under the mask that I keep in place. I conceal it well—until nightfall comes and the pain I’ve successfully managed to keep tight unravels in a slow and excruciating death.
“Are you okay, Blondie?” she asks with an amused tone.
Ever since I took the plunge and dyed my hair blonde, Blondie has been my new nickname.
I’m not one for appearances, but Kaelyn was on me for months to do something new with my hair. Last week, I finally relented and let the hairdresser have full control of my hair for three hours. Platinum blonde was the end result. I actually like it, but those who say blondes have more fun are nothing more than bullshitters, as I don’t feel any different.
“Yeah, I’m just a little tired, thanks to my asshole neighbor,” I say. Rolling my eyes, I take another sip of coffee.
“So, except for him being an asshole, was he at least hot?”
I laugh because this is Kaelyn; her head is filled with hot air and guys. Okay, that’s a little cruel, but she’ll never be president—that’s for sure—especially when she says things like, “Is Halloween always on October thirty-first?” and “I thought Harry Potter was based on a true story.”
She might not be the brightest crayon in the box, but she never fails to entertain me. She always makes me laugh. I crave it when I’m surrounded by so much darkness.
“I didn’t really look, to be honest.” I shrug.
A total lie. I did look. Hell, he was half-naked. Where else were my eyes supposed to go? I might not have been with anybody since Christopher, but I’m still female. I know when to appreciate the male form, especially if he is in The Vampire Diaries.
However, I won’t be letting on to the fact that the asshole guy, who happens to be my neighbor, is a little more than nice-looking. Kaelyn will only get ideas, and I’ve spent the past three years trying to avoid her fixing me up with hot guys. Even after years of being alone, I’m not ready to take that step of letting another guy in, of trying to find a replacement. Christopher was it for me, and that kind of love is irreplaceable. He is irreplaceable. Even if I could take the leap and try to find a new love, it would be pointless; the moment he took his last breath was the day he took my heart with it, so I have nothing to give anyone.
Anyone but my son.
I’ve accepted that I’m destined to be alone, and I’m okay with that. If I can’t be with Christopher, then I don’t want to be with anyone.
“Well, you’ve certainly spent a good chunk of the morning hating on him, which tells me you’ve been thinking about him. That means you know if he’s hot or not.”
“I have not been thinking about him.” Another lie. “I wouldn’t waste a single moment thinking about him. I’m pissed off and tired. Can we change the subject, please?” I snap.
Her eyes widen at my sharp tone before she falls into a fit of laughter. “Wow, you are cranky this morning!”
I scowl at her before my frown turns into a half-smirk. “Sorry. You know how I get when I don’t get my full eight hours of sleep.”
“Yeah, you turn into a bitch!” Kaelyn cackles.
For the first time since our conversation started, I finally crack a full-blown smile—a real one, this time. “What can I say? It’s a gift.”
“You just need to get laid. It’ll ease your constant tension.”
Here we go. I roll my eyes, and before she can get ahead of herself and tell me how I need to move on and find love, I say, “Don’t. Seriously, don’t start with the I-need-a-man crap, or I will end this conversation.” I move my finger toward the red button on the screen, deadly serious.
“Jo, I’m just pointing out the obvious. When was the last time you went on a date or had sex with a guy?” she asks pointedly with her eyebrows raised, already knowing the answer.
I purse my lips, inching my fingers closer to the End button. I stew for a moment, trying to figure out the best way of answering her without actually opening my mouth, but I come up with nothing.
“I have sex all the time,” I lie through my teeth.
I haven’t been intimate with anyone since Christopher. He was the first and last person whom I ever shared myself with, and the thought of having foreign hands in places where Christopher’s touch once lingered makes me physically sick. It would be like tainting his memory, his touch, and I will not erase the pleasure, the vulnerability, and the love with some random guy. Christopher meant too much to me for me to do that. He was my beginning, middle, and end with everything in between, and it will take a lifetime to recover from losing someone so important in my life.
That’s not to say that I’m a nun. I just find other ways to relieve my stress.
“And playing with your eight-inch dildo doesn’t count.”
My eyes widen just as Junior plops down on the stool next to me.
“Oh, hey, Junior!” Kaelyn singsongs, amused.
I panic, waiting for any backlash questions to come my way—specifically, Mama, what’s a dildo?
Please don’t ask me. Please don’t ask me.
“Hi, Aunt Kaelyn,” Junior says.
I’m thankful that’s all he says.
How the hell would I have explained what a dildo was to a six-year-old?
“How are you doing, bud? How do you like Austin so far?”
He just shrugs his shoulders. “Okay, I guess.”
He doesn’t mention being woken up to loud-ass music at stupid o’ clock in the morning, which is a good thing. It means he wasn’t as bothered about it as I obviously was.
Junior turns to me, still in his football pajamas. “I’m hungry. Can I have some cereal?”
“Shoot,” I grumble. “We still need to go grocery shopping. Why don’t you get dressed, and we’ll head out for breakfast instead? How does that sound?”
“Awesome!” he exclaims before rushing toward his bedroom.
I turn my attention back to Kaelyn, who’s sitting on her sofa with a grin on her face, laughing lightly.
“Can we not use words like dildo while on FaceTime? I have no idea what I would have done if Junior had asked what one was. I am so not ready for that kind of conversation yet. If ever!”
Kaelyn’s laughter grows loud. “You could have just told him it was a massager or a magic wand!”
“Oh my God! You’d make a terrible parent!”
“Thanks!” she says, feigning insult. “I love you, too!”
I roll my eyes as I drink my last drop of coffee before resting the empty mug back on the countertop. We’re silent for a few moments, and unfortunately, she takes this as an opportunity to go back to our original discussion.
Sighing heavily, she begins, “It’s been five years, babe. He’d want you to move on. He wouldn’t want this—being alone—for you. You have to move on.”
And I was wrong. It seems like I don’t hide my sadness as well as I thought.
My hand travels to the back of my neck, and I tightly squeeze the tendons with my fingertips as my insides clench with an intensity that makes me want to vomit. “Kaelyn,” I warn, desperately not wanting to discuss this.
“I’m sorry. I don’t want to upset you, but this has to be said. You’ve been putting your life on hold ever since he passed away. It’s time to spread those wings and finally live your life, Jo. You deserve to be happy.”
I’m silent as I try to process her words, and I know, deep down, that she’s right. I shouldn’t be this
affected by his death five years later, but I am. I’m still mourning his death, as if it happened only yesterday, and that’s been the norm for me ever since he died.
But the thought of moving on with my life without him kills me, even after all this time. Some days, I’m convinced he’ll walk back into my life, as if nothing had happened, but in reality, I know that will never happen. I’m stuck in a place where he still consumes every one of my thoughts. My memories and wishes revolve around him, keeping me constantly stuck in the past. I know it’s unhealthy, but I don’t know how to let go. I don’t know if I want to let go.
I hold my stare with Kaelyn, feeling my skin prickle with anger—not at her, but at the world for taking away the one person who was able to help me breathe, to live…to be me.
I don’t know who I am without him. I’m utterly lost.
To keep away the tears that threaten to fall, I square my shoulders and ease my stare. “I know you’re right. I’ll try, okay?” I’m being honest with my words, but as they leave my mouth, they feel like deceitful lies.
My head is sensible, telling me that I need help, but my heart isn’t interested in moving forward. It’s happy with reminiscing in the past, clutching ahold of a love that is no longer possible. I find myself siding with my heart because I like it in the past. I like the vision of my world with Christopher in it. It’s better than the one without him in it.
“Good. That’s all I wanted to hear. You’re my best friend, and I love you.” She keeps her eye contact pierced on mine.
It’s going to take more than a simple I love you to help me heal, but knowing those words come straight from the bottom of her heart is definitely a step forward.
“I love you, too,” I say wholeheartedly. “I should get ready for breakfast with Junior. I’ll call you in a couple of days. I’ll let you know if there are any more music incidents.”
“Yes, and get a better look at him. Maybe take a picture.” She winks before elaborating, “For me, of course. I might need another reason to come visit you in Austin.”
“I’m going!” I say quickly, not wanting to start up another conversation about the mystery rock star across the hall.
She laughs her high-pitched laugh before backtracking her previous words. “I’m joking, babe!” She’s quiet for a moment as she regains her composure, her face smoothing out. “You know where I am if you need anything.”
“I know. Thanks, Kaelyn.”
We disconnect the FaceTime call, and I let out a jagged long breath that I was keeping to myself for pretty much the duration of our conversation. I brace my head in my hands, squeezing my eyes shut, and a single tear rolls down my cheek. It’s a reminder that my everlasting depression is never too far behind.
God, Christopher, what am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to live without you?
“Mama, are you okay?”
I spin in my seat, plastering my mask of a smile on my face, and turn my attention to my son. “Yeah! I’m fine, baby. I’ll quickly get changed, and then we can head out, okay?”
“Okay,” he replies happily.
I put my sorrow to the side while I grab a quick shower before changing into a pair of skinny jeans, a plain black T-shirt, and my white Converse that have quite frankly seen better days.
“You ready?” I ask Junior as I enter the main room, shrugging on a jacket before grabbing my purse from the side table.
He eagerly jumps from the sofa, and we make our way out of the apartment—or we attempt to.
When I open the front door, I halt in my steps as I look down and see a small white box. I frown as I bend down to pick it up. A little curious yet confused, I wonder what the hell could be in the box and, most importantly, who put it there.
“What is it?” comes from Junior, his eyes bright with intrigue.
“I have no idea, bud.”
I go to open it up, and I’m even more baffled to find two beautifully decorated cupcakes. They almost look like works of art instead of edible cakes.
“Hmm, it looks like somebody left us cupcakes.”
I see there’s a small note attached, so I gently rip it from the box and open up the note.
A peace offering. I hope you can accept my apology for the loud music last night. Don’t hesitate to knock on my door for a cup of sugar, neighbor.
The last sentence riles me up in an instant. He’s just apologized for being a complete ass, but he’s blatantly mocked me at the same time.
Is this some kind of joke?
God, what an ass!
“Mama, is it okay to eat them?”
“No,” I grit out, retrieving a pen from my purse. I close the lid to the cupcakes before jotting down a quick note on top of the box.
Thanks for the cupcakes, but I don’t accept sugar from strangers. I do, however, accept your apology, neighbor.
I leave Junior standing in front of our open door while I walk the eight steps to the asshole’s door where I proceed to gently place the cupcakes on the floor. I contemplate knocking on his door to alert him of his returned peace offering, but I don’t want to risk the chance of having to speak to the jerk. Instead, I walk back toward my apartment and shut the door.
“Come on, let’s get some breakfast.”
A couple of hours later, we both return with our bellies well fed and bags of groceries in our arms. Junior’s lightest bag includes nutritional goodies, such as cookies and candy bars. I approach the apartment, and I slow my steps when I notice another white box sitting in front of my door. I frown as I come to a stop, stifling an irritating sigh.
What the hell?
Ignoring it for a moment, I let myself inside with Junior in tow.
“I wonder what’s in the box,” he says.
We place the grocery bags on the countertop.
“Stay here,” I say to Junior.
I head back in the direction of my front door to retrieve the package. Leaving my door ajar, I bend down and lift the box. As I open it up, I feel a pull at my lips, but when I realize I’m actually smiling, I quickly straighten my face.
In the box sits two new deliciously baked cupcakes, and in the center of the cupcakes sits a fifteen-dollar iTunes gift card. I read the note attached to the box.
I’m glad you accept my apology; however, I don’t feel like you really mean it. Please accept my sugar-free cupcakes and an iTunes gift card—you know, so you can drown out my music with One Direction or whatever crap you listen to.
My nostrils flare with a mixture of anger and a little bit of amusement.
One Direction. Really?
I mean, they’re good for teenyboppers—or they were. Kaelyn mentioned they’d taken some kind of hiatus, but I can’t say I’ve ever been into the boy-band thing, even when I was a teenybopper myself. Kaelyn, on the other hand, loves them, hence why I seem to know useless information on pop culture.
With an eye roll, I glance at his door before bringing the box inside the apartment. Junior warily eyes me as I set the box down and search for the pen from my purse.
“What’s the point of people sending us gifts if you’re just going to send them back?” he complains.
I begin to scribble on top of the box while he looks at me as if I’ve grown two heads. My boy has a valid point, but when someone suggests I like to listen to a boy band that has barely hit puberty, I tend not to be inclined to accept his gifts.
One Direction? I mean, yeah, their music doesn’t make my head explode like the heavy-metal shit, but c’mon, do I look like I listen to boy bands? Thank you for the gifts. I really do mean that. I’ll keep the cupcakes this time since it’s obvious you went to a lot of trouble. I didn’t even know they did sugar-free cupcakes. Who knew? However, you can keep the gift card. It seems you need it more than I do.
Once I’ve gone over my note with a smug smile on my face, I head back into the hallway and leave the parcel—minus the cupcakes—perched in front of his door. As I go to step away, I can hear someone strumming a guitar on the other s
ide of the door. I break out in shivers at the acoustic music that seems to have effortlessly come to life.
It’s beautiful.
It’s breathtaking.
Wow, it’s incredible.
I find myself leaning against the door until my ear is almost touching the wood, unable to stop myself from listening. I tilt my head even further, my whole focus on the gruff, deep tone of the instrumental. It sounds familiar, and with a concentrated squint, I try to make out the underlying tune when a trembling sigh escapes my lips at the raspy voice that perfectly accompanies the flawless, smoky composition.
“Wonderwall.”
He’s singing “Wonderwall” by Oasis, except it sounds different and original with an edgy, roguish sound.
I’m unable to move from the spot, entranced and completely spellbound.
After I’ve stood here like an irrational stalker, my fingers inches away from almost stroking his door, the song begins to fade out, and I laugh when the Friends theme song “I’ll Be There for You” reverberates through the door.
Through my hilarity, I just about jolt out of my skin when I hear, “Um, excuse me.”
I whip around and come face-to-face with a perplexed blonde girl whose eyes are narrowed on me in distaste. I jump from my spot, my skin flaming at being caught eavesdropping on my neighbor.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I was just dropping a box off for, um…um…” I have no idea what his name is.
“For Drew?” she elaborates slowly, as if I’m educationally delayed.
“Yes, Drew! I’m dropping it off for Drew.”
An awkward silence stills between us, and with a stiff smile, I begin to edge toward my apartment, desperate to disappear. I see her glare at the box on the floor before slowly sliding her eyes to mine.
“You’re just going to leave the box there?” she asks with a huff, clearly appalled.
Well, Drew started it.
Drew…
“Um, well, yeah, but seeing as though you’ve arrived, you can give it to him.” I return my steps back to his door and collect the box before handing it to the girl, who can be no more than twenty-one years old.
Is this his girlfriend?
Our Forever Page 3