Say Something

by Jennifer L. Allen

  “Hard to Love” by Lee Brice played, and the lyrics resonated. I had to have been hard to love, and yet the other day Danny had told me he still loved me. How was that even possible after I pushed him away? After I’d treated him like he was invisible. The most wonderful man in the world…

  Get out of your head, Jess, I warned myself.

  I straightened my big girl panties and walked out of the bedroom before I could convince myself otherwise.

  “Wow,” I said, coming to an abrupt stop.

  He’d almost completed the three sage walls, and the room looked like an actual room.

  “Amazing what a little bit of paint can do.”

  “You can say that again,” I muttered, my eyes scanning the space, evaluating the work that remained. “Thank you so much,” I told Danny as I brought my paint roller to the kitchen to dispose of the cover.

  “It’s nothing.”

  I hated the way he downplayed the work he’d done. He’d been like that for as long as I remembered, whether it was giving rides to senior citizens or painting his ex-wife’s living room.

  “It’s not nothing, Danny. This is huge.” I looked around the room. It would have taken me an entire day to do all this. “It’s such a big help for me, and you didn’t have to do it. You’re…” I sighed. “You’re something else, Danny Thompson.”

  He gave me a small, one-sided smile. Memories of when I’d first and last name him rolling through both our minds, I was sure. They were always good times. Happy times. Sweet times. Sassy times.

  “I’ll get started on the accent wall,” I told him, looking away and breaking the silent moment...the staring contest between the two of us. Gosh, it had felt good to just look at him, to take him in again. He was still so damn handsome. Hot even. Yes, definitely hot.

  He finished up that last sage wall as I started the navy one, and then promptly declared it was time for pizza. My stomach chose that exact moment to growl, so I couldn’t exactly argue. He called in an order to the local pizza joint—ham and pineapple, my favorite—and left to pick it up after cleaning up his workspace. By the time he returned, I had finished the accent wall and was cleaning up. I was so glad Michael advised me on the paint with the primer in it because it appeared one coat was all I’d need. I’d be happy if I never had to paint again.

  I cleared a space on the living room floor, spreading out a clean drop cloth for us to sit on. Danny set down the pizza, two-liter of Sprite, and a plastic bag containing paper plates, cups, and napkins. He’d thought of everything.

  After pouring us each some Sprite, Danny held his cup up in a toast. I did the same, tilting my head to the side wondering what he was up to.

  “To your new place,” he said. “To new beginnings. I hope you find what you’re looking for, Jessie.”

  I felt the familiar sting of tears, but I didn’t let them fall. I wasn’t quite sure what I was looking for...peace, happiness...but I sure hoped I found it, too.

  “You too, Danny. You too.”

  The conversation stayed light after that. We ate our pizza and shared renovation stories. Mine weren’t nearly as interesting as Danny’s, but he was invested in my words like they were the most brilliant thoughts ever spoken. The common bond was nice, it took the pressure off our history...the past. And as he tucked me into my car at the end of the night, we made vague plans for me to come out and see his house. I wasn’t sure I was ready for that, and he knew it, so he didn’t push it.

  “Good night, Jess,” he said. The whisper of his lips against my forehead before he closed the car door felt like an illusion...one I felt all the way down to my toes.

  - 17 -

  A few days later, the house was finished and the movers delivered the contents of my small storage unit from the city. The entire process took about thirty minutes before I was sitting alone on my finished hardwood floors with a bottle of champagne and a package of cheap plastic flutes I’d bought specifically to celebrate this moment.

  This anti-climactic moment.

  Alone.

  Moving my entire life should have been a bigger experience, no? The boxes the movers dropped off barely filled my small living room. The items I could unpack would take me a handful of minutes, but most of it had to wait since I didn’t have any furniture yet. No tables for my knick-knacks or shelves for my books. Not yet.

  Except that table.

  I stood from my lonely place on the floor and walked over to the handmade table, carefully unwrapping the bubble wrap. The table’s smooth surface was heart-shaped and it stood about waist high. The light stained wood matched the floors in the living room almost perfectly, and I wondered if somewhere in my subconscious I’d known it would.

  I placed the small table beside the front door, so it would be the first thing I saw when I walked into the house, the last thing I saw when I left. In one of those boxes I had a pottery bowl Emma had made. I received it in the mail with the rest of my Christmas presents last year. I cherished that bowl, that little handmade piece of imperfect perfection. I’d place that on the table, use it to hold my keys or something.

  Leaving the champagne and plastic cups on the floor, I lifted one of the boxes labeled “KITCHEN” and set it on the formica countertop. Once the guys were done with the work, I gave the entire house a good scrubbing, so the cabinets and drawers were eagerly awaiting their new occupants. I ripped open the tape and began the mindless task of unpacking utensils, dishes, and cups.

  The kitchen was nearly unpacked when there was a knock at the front door. Part of me hoped it was Danny. I hadn’t seen him around town the last few days, and we didn’t exchange numbers so I couldn’t get in touch with him if I wanted to. Did I want to? I wasn’t sure, but the way my body came alive at the thought of him at the door told me more than my mind did.

  I finger combed my hair as I hurried to the front door, kicking a few empty boxes out of the way. The sky was turning a beautiful shade of purple as the sun had begun to set in the distance.

  I pushed open the front door, seeing several shadows through the opaque glass.

  “Surprise!”

  My mouth gaped open. My family—my entire family, sans the kids—was standing on my tiny front porch. My mom and Karla held gift bags, Melissa, Bryan, and my dad held casserole dishes of some kind. Michael held a plastic grocery bag.

  “What’s all this?”

  “It’s your housewarming-slash-unpacking party,” my mother answered, as though it was obvious why they were all standing on my porch on a Friday night. “I figured you haven’t fed yourself all day, so we brought over some food. And able bodies to help you unload.”

  “You gonna let us in or what?” Melissa asked.

  I stepped aside. “Of course, come in. I’m sorry,” I said, shaking my head. Shaking myself out of my little funk.

  Karla silently picked up my party for one off of the floor and brought the bottle and cups to the kitchen. She unsleeved the plastic flutes while Bryan uncorked the bottle, and they poured the now room temperature champagne together. I didn’t like champagne anyway, it just seemed like a necessary step. They passed out the cups.

  “To Jessica,” my dad began, holding up his glass for a toast. “We’re so happy to have you home, to have our family together again. Your mom and I are so proud of what you’ve accomplished here, and we know you’re going to take Oak River by storm.”

  I smiled, knowing it wasn’t really possible for an attorney—or anyone, really—to take Oak River by storm, but appreciating the sentiment all the same. “Thank you, Daddy.”

  “Welcome back, sis,” Michael added. The rest of the group echoed Michael’s words, and we clinked glasses.

  “Thank you all, so much. Your help over the past few days has been wonderful. I’m not so sure I deserve everything you’ve all done for me as of late, but I sure do appreciate it. I love you all. Thank you.” I raised my glass to them, and we clinked again. Hugs followed, then everyone took a box.

  As I laughed with my sibli
ngs, ate my mother’s delicious food, and gave unpacking directions, I let my mind wander back to my first meal in my new house. My first toast.

  Danny.

  I hadn’t thought about it at the time, that they were my firsts of those particular moments in the house. But it seems appropriate that those times were with him. In fact, the only shadow on this otherwise perfect turn of events was that Danny wasn’t here with my family.

  He should have been.

  Our toes touched, played with one another. I giggled, always ticklish on my toes.

  We laid naked, wrapped in a blanket on the living room floor, having just christened our new home.

  Our home.

  It was surreal. Danny and I were married, and we owned a house. We were doing grown-up things, and despite my twenty-two years, I very much did not feel like a grown up. With Danny, I always felt like a teenage girl.

  Young and wild and free.

  He kissed my forehead, and I felt it all the way down to my toes. To his toes. To my toes that tangled with his toes. I hoped this feeling never went away.

  I nestled deeper into his chest, burrowing into his warmth.

  Safe.

  Happy.

  Loved.

  Everything I ever wanted with the one man I’d always known would be my forever.

  Before succumbing to sleep, my eyes zeroed in on the one thing I insisted we hang, even if we didn’t do anything else. A small wooden sign over the front door that read “and they lived happily ever after…”

  - 18 -

  Everything was coming together. Between the house and the practice, I was finally feeling like I found my place. That I fit into my place.

  I was at The Bar. Correction, everyone in town was at The Bar. It was Mr. Smith’s retirement party. He and his wife were leaving on an RV trip in the morning. They had children and grandchildren spread out around the United States and decided to take a tour of the country while visiting their family. Mr. Smith—George, I’d never get used to calling him that—promised I’d be able to reach him by cell phone if I needed anything, and I assured him I would call him at the first sign of trouble, knowing it would be unlikely that I’d ever be that desperate. I knew I had to give the sweet man peace of mind, though, and I would be forever appreciative of his faith in me. I knew he’d given me glowing recommendations to all his clients over the last couple weeks.

  “If I remember correctly, you know how to throw a mean dart.” His voice...his warm, minty breath...so close to my neck caused every single hair on my body to stand up on end. It was both exhilarating and concerning, being so close to him again.

  I slowly turned, taking a step back, knowing if I hadn’t, our lips would have—could have—brushed against one another. That’s how close he was.

  I looked into his brown eyes, seeing the little bit of challenge there. I used to know how to throw a dart, that was true. I couldn’t tell you how the game was played, but I could shoot some bullseyes. I hadn’t tossed one in years, but how hard could it be?

  I smirked, letting him know his challenge was accepted. Making my way to one of the dart boards, I nodded hello to a few of the folks I passed. I’d been back in town three weeks, so I’d pretty much run into everyone by now. A few of them stared; Danny and me together in public was fodder for the gossips. I was okay with that, there were certainly worse things.

  I picked up six darts, handed three of them to Danny.

  “You ready to get stomped, Thompson?”

  He grinned at my playfulness. It had been years since he’d seen the fun, competitive side of me. It was years since I’d seen her.

  “Are you ready to get stomped, Price?”

  I saw the light in his eyes falter ever so slightly. Calling me by my maiden name hurt him. He didn’t let it sway him though. With my nod, he winked, then turned to the board. He readied himself, aimed, and fired.

  Bullseye.

  He’d been practicing…

  He threw his second and third darts, also bullseyes.

  Well.

  I raised my brows, acting nonplussed, but I was shaking in my boots. Literally. I had on a denim skirt, pink and green plaid button down sleeveless top, and cowboy boots. But back to the darts...Danny had never been that good. Sure, we never played the right way. We just threw to see who could hit the bullseye. I hadn’t thrown in years, and he was acting like he’d thrown every day for the last four years.

  I cockily approached the line and threw. And I hit the wall.

  The wall.

  I, Jessica Lynn Price, never hit the wall.

  “It’s been a while,” I mumbled.

  I tipped my head to the right, then to the left, stretching my neck. Then I stretched my arms out to the sides and went up on my tiptoes to stretch my legs...I was stalling. He knew it, I knew it, the wall knew it. Maybe I needed another beer. I looked at the dart in the wall. Then again, maybe I didn’t.

  I stood at the duct-taped line on the floor again, lifted my arm, pulled back, and tossed the dart.

  Into.

  The.

  Freaking.

  Wall.

  Again.

  I stood there, blinking. For real?

  I glanced at Danny. He was trying not to laugh, covering his mouth with his hand—the nice guy that he was.

  “What the heck, Jess?” Michael bellowed, coming up behind me.

  I shook my head, I honestly didn’t know. It was no secret I was a dart hustler back in the day. Not here at The Bar because I wasn’t old enough to be here before I left town, but in our friends’ garages, basements, and game rooms. There wasn’t much to do in a small town so we had a lot of house parties. Most of us had dart boards and pool tables. The pool tables were always hogged by guys teaching girls how to play, so I threw darts.

  Evidently, I’d lost that skill.

  And apparently I’d drawn an audience. Thank you, Michael.

  I lined up again, hell bent on making this next shot. I felt Danny behind me, my body coming alive from his proximity.

  “Just take it easy,” he said, his voice a whisper. “The dart is just an extension of your hand.”

  I looked over my shoulder at him and sneered. “They teach you that in coach school?” I asked.

  He laughed. A few people around us laughed, too. Probably thankful that Danny and I were in each others’ presence, and it wasn’t awkward. It was about damn time it wasn’t awkward. Things in Oak River might be okay after all, they probably all thought, secretly celebrating.

  I pulled my arm back, threw the dart.

  Bullseye!

  I shrieked, bouncing and clapping my hands like I’d just won the lottery rather than gotten a one out of three on our fake little game. People around me cheered, excited simply because I was excited. I spun around, trying to find Danny.

  He was there. He was always right there. He wrapped his arms around my waist and lifted me in the air, spinning us around in circles. It was an exaggerated celebration of nothing, but I reveled in the closeness. Mostly because it didn’t hurt. Being close to him like that didn’t hurt. It felt like old times, and I loved the nostalgia.

  Danny let me down and released me. I felt his absence immediately, but was distracted by the high fives of our friends and neighbors. It was ridiculous, celebrating one lousy bullseye so emphatically, but it was more than that, I thought.

  It was a reunion. A welcome home and a bid farewell. A celebration of new beginnings and old goodbyes. It was a genuinely good time. A Friday night in a small town.

  I let myself wonder for a few moments...why was it I’d been so desperate to leave this place? Why didn’t I ever want to come back?

  Oak River wasn’t so bad. I caught Danny’s eye across the room and he smiled—one of the smiles he reserved only for me. I felt my face flush, my body full of awareness. No, Oak River wasn’t so bad at all.

  - 19 -

  I hung a left, my car bumping along the dirt drive that led to Danny’s uncle’s place. Well, it was Danny�
��s place, now, I supposed. He really needed to even this driveway out if he expected my little car to make this trip ever again.

  Getting ahead of yourself? the little voice of reason inside my head asked.

  The voice was right. There was no sense in anticipating any return trips. Danny and I might be getting along fine, but we’d resolved nothing. We hadn’t had one conversation about our past, and that was okay. We hadn’t seen each other in years, and we were getting reacquainted. We were both back in Oak River to stay, so we had plenty of time to rehash the past.

  I pulled to a stop in front of the barn. Looking at the big red structure, I wondered if Danny was planning on having any animals. His uncle had horses, but that was years ago. I didn’t think anyone in Danny’s family had livestock anymore. I was stalling again.

  I opened my car door and stood, stretching my legs. We all closed down The Bar the night before. Thankfully, I didn’t drink the entire bar like I had with my siblings when I’d first gotten back into town, but I was up late, and my body was letting me know it wasn’t thrilled. I stretched each arm across my body as I took in the landscape.

  It was so beautiful. So green. I could see why Danny would have wanted to rebuild his life here. So much potential. So much promise. There were so many things that had been lost between us that he could find here, with someone new. The thought was like a stab in the gut, and I almost bent over from the pain.

  I’d never considered Danny moving on, but he could have. If not already, then in the future. We were divorced. We were nothing to each other. Maybe friends. Maybe not. I didn’t even know. He said he loved me, but maybe it was a friendship type of love. The kind of love people always have for their first loves. A sentimental kind of love.

  I took a deep breath, trying to calm my raging thoughts.