I was surprised that thought of him hadn’t caused as much pain as it had only days ago. Maybe I was healing...finally.
“Sure. I can meet you there around nine, I have to drop by a job site first thing.” The fact that my little brother had to take care of work “first thing” and would be finished with it in time to still meet me at nine was crazy. Nine o’clock was what I considered first thing in the morning, even when I worked at the firm.
“That sounds perfect. Thank you, Mikey.”
“No problem. We should be able to pick up the flooring you picked out tomorrow or Wednesday.”
“That’s wonderful. I can’t believe how quickly all of this is coming together.”
He shrugged. “It’s a small project, and you wanted it done fast.”
“Well, it might be a small project, but it’s still a lot of work. I appreciate it.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he waved me off. “You having dinner with the ‘rents?”
“Nope,” I answered, rising from my desk chair and stretching again. “They’ve got some meeting tonight so I was just going to pick something up on my way home.”
“I’m heading to The Diner; want to join me?”
“Sure. Just let me put these files away.” I made quick work of putting back together the handful of files I’d been reviewing.
Mr. Smith had been right. Nothing I’d come across was particularly urgent—mostly wills and estates that needed the occasional update when a new grandchild was born, or when someone pissed off a relative enough to get written out of their will. Some of the wills were quite entertaining. Gotta love small towns and big, crazy families.
“All right, ready,” I said as I turned the key in the lock of the file cabinet.
Michael left ahead of me, waiting in the grass as I locked up. “Think you’re going to be happy here, sis?” He asked as I joined him.
I looked at my new home and my new business, then at my brother and smiled. “I think I already am.” I hooked my arm in his as we walked the rest of the way to our cars.
***
“I think you’ll find a lot of what you’re looking for at the flea market. They have a lot of rustic, repurposed things straight off of Pinterest.”
I let out a small laugh. My buff little brother knew what Pinterest was.
“What?” he asked, pausing with a forkful of meatloaf halfway to his mouth.
I shook my head, “Nothing.” I told him. “It’s just a little funny that you know what Pinterest is.”
He rolled his eyes and ate his food, waiting until he chewed and swallowed before continuing. Nothing but manners, my brother.
“I don’t live in a cave, Jess. Mom’s entire kitchen came off Pinterest. During the entire remodel, all I heard was ‘Pinterest this’ and ‘Pinterest that.’ Makes me glad we don’t do residential work. With commercial jobs, the folks have ideas, but they’re rarely that specific.”
“Well, I honestly never even thought to consult Pinterest for ideas.” It was true, but I sure was thinking about it now.
“Great,” Michael said, glaring at me. “You’ve got that look now.”
I laughed and speared a stalk of asparagus with my fork. “Just in terms of interior design, not carpentry.” I remembered seeing one of those pallet-style headboards a while back. That would look great with the whole rustic feel I was going for.
“Well, just don’t mention the word ‘pallet’ to me, and we’ll be fine,” he said, eyeing me.
I laughed; it was as though he was reading my mind. I tipped my glass of tea to him. “Deal.”
“There’s some new home store Mom and Karla were raving about at family dinner last month. It doesn’t have furniture or anything, but it’s got bed things, towels...that kind of thing.”
“Oh yeah? I’ll ask them about it.”
I’d sold all my furniture in one big yard sale when I sold the townhouse, and donated most of the linens, knowing that the modern styles and designs wouldn’t have matched the cottage. Hell, they wouldn’t have matched Oak River with all their clean lines and sharp edges. The only big piece I’d kept was a small, wooden heart-shaped table Danny and I had picked up at a local artisan showcase shortly after we were married. I’d been so excited, it was our first handmade piece, and I’d had dreams of picking up more like it for our home. Never did get around to it. It was one of the many things I’d set aside in my pursuit for a family.
Thinking back to those days, I wondered when exactly I had stopped living our dream. The early days of trying to conceive were still optimistic. We whispered about baby names and shared secret looks, like we knew something the rest of the world didn’t. After a few months, it became mechanical, but we were still optimistic, I think. Sure, the seed of doubt had been planted, but we were two young, healthy people. It would happen eventually—soon even—and when it did, the easiness of our lives would return. We’d smile and laugh like we used to, randomly tossing ridiculous baby names at each other, like Banana June or Maple South. We’d go back to fooling around for fun, instead of because it was a certain time of the month.
It hit me then, like a ton of bricks to the face.
God, I thought, three years. I wasted three years trying to have a baby. Ok, maybe all the years weren’t a total waste, I mean we didn’t know there was a problem that first year, but we should have. It should have been easier than it was, but it wasn’t. That should have been the first clue. Why we waited an entire year to see a specialist was beyond me. Maybe things would have been different if we’d sought out help sooner. Or maybe they would have ended that much faster.
It wasn’t that wanting and trying to get pregnant was a waste of time. That wasn’t it at all. It was that I had an amazing, loving husband through all of that time. A man who wanted to share the burden with me, and I didn’t let him. I wasted that. I wasted him. And I’d regret it for the rest of my life.
“Jess?”
I registered the mess on my plate before looking up at my brother. I’d apparently merged my asparagus and mashed potatoes while stuck inside my head. The look on Michael’s face told me it wasn’t the first time he’d said my name.
“Sorry, just thinking about stuff.”
“You okay?”
I took a mental inventory and nodded. I was okay. It was getting less difficult to think about the past and what I’d lost. Many people don’t think of infertility as a loss because there was nothing tangible to lose, but oh, how I grieved for the lost opportunities and possibilities. They were as real to me as anything. Having never actually gotten pregnant, I never knew anything more than that...opportunities and possibilities.
“I’m good,” I said, smiling at him. For the first time in a while, it felt like the truth. It felt like thinking about the past was more therapeutic than painful.
“You mentioned you had all your colors picked out?” he asked, moving the conversation to something safe and comfortable.
“Yes. I’ll pick up the paint when we go to get the stain in the morning.”
We spent the rest of dinner talking about the renovations, and I welcomed Michael’s opinions about the space. It was fascinating, listening to my little brother talk shop. He really liked the rustic charm theme, and he had a lot of ideas. It was almost as though he’d spent a lot of time thinking about it, and I wondered if he and Kara had dreamed of what their home would look like. We settled our bill—I insisted on paying for his meal, much to his chagrin—and we made plans to go to the flea market over the weekend with his truck.
Life was good.
- 15 -
I was back in the hardware store Wednesday afternoon, frustrated and sweaty; my clothes streaked with two shades of paint.
I’d managed to finish painting my small bathroom that morning, and then I made it halfway through the bedroom before the wooden extension pole for the paint roller Michael and I had just purchased snapped right in half. Yeah, I might have been applying a little too much pressure, but I was getting tired. Painting was
no joke. Thank goodness I’d agreed to let Michael and Dean paint the ceilings with their fancy spray machine because there was no way I would have been able to hold the roller over my head to do that job. I rubbed my poor, sore arms. I needed to find a gym, stat.
I picked out a metal pole, smacking my hand against its length for good measure. I smiled at the inanimate object—it passed my silly little inspection—and turned away from the shelf to head to the cash register, almost running right into Danny.
“Whoa,” he said, placing his hands on my arms to steady me. “Easy there, killer.”
I found myself smiling at the odd endearment. He’d called me “killer” in the past often, when referring to my feisty side—in the most loving way, of course. Danny didn’t know how to be anything but loving. I hadn’t seen that feisty girl in a long, long time. Neither had he.
“You’re not going to hit me with that, are you?” he asked, gesturing to the pole in my hands.
I looked down at it and absently shook my head. “Painting,” I told him.
“Me, too,” he said, holding up a pack of paint brushes.
I nodded. This was awkward. I didn’t want it to be awkward. I didn’t know what I did want it to be but awkward definitely wasn’t it. We had too much history for it to be awkward, then again, it was because we had so much history that it was awkward.
I sighed, frustrated, but I made no move to leave. Being in his presence calmed my constantly racing thoughts. It wasn’t like this when we ran into each other at the diner or even when I’d seen him at the bar. But something changed...at the park...the barrier I’d erected, the Danny deterrent, it was gone.
He lifted his hand and touched a lock of hair that had came loose from my ponytail. “I like the color,” he noted.
I looked at the strand in his hand, my eyes widening at the whiskey paint streak.
Shit. He wasn’t supposed to see that.
“It’s my favorite color,” I told him. It’s the color of your eyes, I thought to myself. I didn’t say my thoughts aloud, but he knew. It’s what I said when I chose the same color for the bedroom of our townhouse all those years ago.
Those whiskey eyes were brighter than they’d been the last few times I saw him. Less sad. It was as though my confession had given him a hope he hadn’t had before. I felt guilty for that, but I wasn’t sure why. I wasn’t really sure what I was supposed to be feeling, or why I was supposed to be feeling it. I was so confused.
“Do you need any help?” he asked, surprising me. He looked like saying the words physically hurt, like acid on his tongue. Which is probably why I didn’t shoot him down. I think I surprised him as much as I surprised myself when the next four words came out of my mouth.
“I’d love some help.”
***
“Shit.” Shit, shit, SHIT! What in the hell had I just gotten myself into? I just invited my ex-husband to my new home to help me paint my bedroom the same whiskey brown color as our marital bedroom...the same color as his eyes!
“Ohmygod. Ohmygod.” I bopped my forehead against the steering wheel one, two, three times as I sat at the one stop-light in Oak River.
Why did I say he could help? What was I thinking?
I wasn’t thinking. That was the problem.
No, that wasn’t true. I was thinking. I was thinking that I couldn’t bear to see rejection on his face one more time. I couldn’t bear to see the pain behind his eyes. The moment he’d offered to help, I saw it. Quick like a camera shutter, that pain of his. It was there, like he’d forgotten who he was talking to for a moment and just offered some neighborly assistance, then he remembered and snap.
When I agreed...his eyes turned a shade of greenish-brown I’d never seen before. Well, that’s not entirely true either. I had seen them that color before. On our first date. When we’d had our first kiss. Said “I love you” for the first time. Our first time making love. Our wedding day…
The fact that a tiny, insignificant moment of me accepting his help ranked up there with those once in a lifetime relationship milestones for him really said something about the way things had become between us. At the end of our marriage, I wouldn’t have accepted Danny’s help with the car door, so this really was something. A breakthrough of sorts.
But what did it mean?
Did it have to mean something?
I wished I could get out of my head. Just for one day.
I pulled into my driveway. Danny gracefully bought me some time, saying he needed to run home to change into appropriate painting gear. He’d been wearing ragged clothes at the hardware store, but I think he knew I needed a minute to process. Always considerate, always intuitive. They were two of the many reasons I fell so head over heels in love with him all those years ago.
“I’m so sorry I was late,” Danny said, taking a seat in the booth beside me. He always did that, sat beside me instead of across from me. He said he wanted to be as close to me as he could. It was sweet.
“It’s fine,” I lied. I was pretty annoyed at him. It was our six-month anniversary, and we’d agreed to meet at The Diner at six o’clock. Didn’t he understand how embarrassing it was to be a girl, all dressed up for a date, without her actual date? A few groups of kids from our high school had passed through The Diner, and they’d all seen me sitting alone. Some laughed, and I was certain it was at me.
I tried so hard not to cry. I always cried when I was angry, but I wouldn't do it now. Not over a boy.
He reached across my lap and placed his hand over mine. My skin felt hot under his. I swear there was even a sizzle.
“I really am sorry, Jess.” He sounded so genuine… “Look at me, please?”
My eyes lifted from our hands to his pretty brown eyes. It was weird describing a boy’s eyes as “pretty,” but they sure were.
“I was on my way here when I saw Mr. and Mrs. Roberts walking down Main Street holding bags of groceries. Turns out their car wouldn’t start in the parking lot and the auto shop was closed so they couldn’t get it looked at or a tow. I gave them a lift home. I couldn’t let them walk all the way home.”
Mr. and Mrs. Roberts were probably the oldest people in town. They must have been in their eighties. They didn’t live far from the center of town, but for two senior citizens, I didn’t think the distance truly mattered. A block was too far for them to have to walk in the summertime, not to mention while carrying grocery bags.
“You did a good thing,” I told Danny, forgiving him immediately and falling in love with him just a little bit more. He had such a genuinely good soul.
“It was nothing,” he said, blowing off what he’d done. He always downplayed his good deeds.
“I love you, Daniel Andrew Thompson,” I told him for the first time.
Those pretty brown eyes lit up like firecrackers on the Fourth of July. “I love you, Jessica Lynn Price,” he said.
As his lips brushed against mine, I melted. I melted right into a puddle on that red vinyl seat.
I loved Danny, and he loved me. My life couldn’t possibly be any better than it was in that moment.
- 16 -
“Come on in,” I said nervously as I held the door open. Danny slipped by me, his shoulder brushing against mine ever so slightly. The light touch sent tingles through my entire body. I’d missed that feeling.
“Wow,” he commented, taking a look around.
“I know,” I said, trying to see what he saw. The main living area looked gutted with the concrete slab exposed, patched walls, and stripped cabinets. It was hard to believe this was actually progress and not the starting point. “It’s rough,” I added, feeling a little embarrassed.
“Nah, it’s not that bad,” he said, setting down a box of what appeared to be more painting supplies on the floor. “If you want to see bad, you should see my place.”
“I’d like to,” I admitted, surprising myself, and him, yet again. I’d always loved his uncle’s property. The house was always just a house, but the land was beautiful.
/>
“Yeah?” he smiled a crooked smile, and my heart skipped a beat.
I nodded, pleased I’d made him so happy twice in one day. Maybe I could do this friendship thing with him. Maybe.
“Well, all right then. So where are we working?” he asked, and I appreciated that he wanted to get down to business. He was probably as nervous as I was that we’d lose this easy...whatever it was…that was happening between us.
I’d thought about locking the bedroom door so he wouldn’t see the unfinished walls, but he’d already seen the paint in my hair, so there was no use. “Well, I need to finish the bedroom,” I said, pointing to the open door. “And this whole space is going to be that sage green color. Except for that wall,” I said, pointing to the wall that was shared between the kitchen and living room. “That’s going to be navy blue.”
“Navy?” he asked, his lip curling.
Ahh...navy blue was one of the colors of Oak Ridge’s rivalry school. Some things never changed…
I shrugged my shoulders. “I think it’ll look pretty.”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” he said. I would have been offended if I couldn’t tell he was hiding a smirk on his handsome face. He pulled some painter’s tape out of the box he’d brought inside and walked over to the far corner of the room. “How about I get started out here while you finish up in the bedroom?”
I felt myself relax. He was ignoring the whiskey-colored elephant in the room, er...house. Maybe it was just as curious to him as it was to me that I was painting my new bedroom that same color. Or maybe it was just too difficult for him to be in my bedroom with me, even without the bed. The bedroom had become a very unpleasant place for us. What was once a place of rest and fun had become all business. A chore. An angry space.
“That sounds great,” I agreed and quickly disappeared into my bedroom.
***
Awkward...again. I’d just finished painting the last wall in the bedroom and was too scared to go out to the living room. I could hear Danny moving around the space, the beat of the country music he’d started listening to about an hour ago bounced through the walls.
Say Something Page 8