32. Marley
THIRTY-TWO
MARLEY
Turns out getting to the lot I had parked in was a lot farther than the eight kilometers I’d hiked, but at least my car is still there.
The minute Tom is out of the car, both of my friends turn to me expectantly. “What?” I feign ignorance.
“You know exactly what. Tell us everything, and don’t leave out a single detail,” Nellie says.
Izzy glances over at her. “You can leave out all the bits without the hot hero.” My friends are ridiculous.
“Don’t roll your eyes, Mar. We both have very boring lives and rely on you for these things.”
“When have you ever relied on me for these things before?”
“You’ve had some pretty fun hookup stories from your trips,” Nellie says, like the trips are nothing more than jaunts to all-inclusive resorts. “Remember the one with the interpreter?” She nudges Izzy.
“Oh, right!” Izzy fans her face. “That one was pretty hot.”
I’m looking at them like they’ve both lost their minds because, in all honesty, I don’t remember these stories. That could be because I embellish. I tell them about the hookups but then make them sound like more than two people trying to forget about the shit they saw that day. It’s much easier to focus on something that feels good so you don’t succumb to the stuff that doesn’t. Avoidance as a survival technique is how Dr. Webber describes it. She doesn’t agree with me that if survival is the ultimate goal, getting there by any means necessary, as long as you aren’t hurting anyone along the way, is just fine. Apparently, I’m hurting myself and that’s something I shouldn’t be so cavalier about.
I end up giving them a glimpse of my week with Bennett. Some things are ours, and I don’t feel like letting the girls into that space. They don’t need to know that he’s the only person I’ve ever felt truly free with because that will hurt them. They don’t need to know I’ve felt somewhat invisible until Bennett looked at me. And I don’t mean physically invisible, I mean that he saw the real me despite years of hiding from others and from myself. I do veer off course and tell them about the Hores because they played a pivotal role in my week. I tell them how Bennett doesn’t think he really has anyone in his life, and how he seems to be a bit unaware of just how much his neighbors love him.
It takes around two hours to get to my place because of road work, and when we get there, Izzy insists on grabbing stuff for me because she doesn't want to risk me falling up or down the stairs. Considering I haven’t tested proper stairs out since the sprain, I’m grateful. We have an hour to kill before my appointment so we go to Nellie’s to get me settled in her guest room.
Tom is waiting in the driveway, and he has several grocery bags at his feet.
“Tom’s going to take you to your appointment, and Nellie and I will make dinner. Hopefully, it’s a celebratory one.”
“Sounds good,” I say, slowly getting out of the car .
“He better have found the good shit,” Nellie says mostly to herself as she slides out of the car and walks straight up to the bags at Tom’s feet.
Izzy rolls her eyes at me before grabbing my stuff. “Remember when she didn’t care about what she ate? Now she’s so particular.”
I shrug. “Sometimes it’s good to know what you want.”
Izzy looks at me, one eyebrow raised, one hand on her hip. “Oh? And acting on what you want, is that good too?”
“Shut up, Iz,” I say quietly as I hobble towards my car.
Nellie had moved into an older neighborhood last year, and while the homes aren’t all on top of one another and the street is lined with large mature trees, I find myself instantly missing the openness of Bennett’s land. There is a major renovation happening down the street, and the noise of hammers and drills drowns out any chance of birdsong. It’s for the best, I remind myself, and this too is temporary anyway. Soon I’ll replace all other noise with sounds people in this country can’t even fathom. I’ve become a pro at drowning out with the sound of my shutter.
My appointment is quick, and I leave with a prescription for a powerful anti-inflammatory and a mild painkiller. I’ll fill out the anti-inflammatory script but not the painkiller. After I was burned, I learned that I liked how a good painkiller numbed more than just the pain a little too much. I can numb things just fine without narcotics.
Nellie and Izzy have made tacos for dinner, and as we all sit around Nellie’s dining table debating whether hard or soft tacos are better, I try to remain present. But my mind wanders to Bennett’s kitchen. Is he having dinner at the island, or does he usually eat in the living room? Are the dogs with him? Or is he eating with his own thoughts as company? I’m restless, and can’t stop my left foot from tapping under the table, but I try my best to refocus on the taco debate.
“Hard tacos are an abomination,” Izzy says, as she perfectly layers toppings into her soft shell without looking because she’s too busy glaring across the table at her husband. “Had I known your true feelings, I probably would have never married you.”
Tom shrugs and takes a giant bite of his taco, and pieces of shell rain down onto his plate.
“See?” I point at him. “That right there is why I can’t get on board with the hard shells. They are way too messy. You lose half the thing the minute you bite it. And what’s the point of not getting to eat half the thing you’re trying to eat?”
“Listen,” Nellie cuts in, “the best thing to do is to wrap”—she puts a flour tortilla onto her plate then grabs a hard shell and places it on top—“the hard shell inside the soft shell and then you get the crunch without the mess.”
Tom points at her while taking another bite. “Brilliant,” he says around a mouthful of taco.
“That’s what the lettuce is for,” Izzy exclaims. “And there’s less sodium.”
“To be fair, Iz,” I say, copying what Nellie just did, “I don’t know how many people are concerned about their sodium levels on taco night.” I add my fillings and take a bite. Once I’ve swallowed, I put the taco down and sigh. “I hate to admit it, Izzy, but this combination is fucking perfect.”
She frowns at me then looks at the plate of shells, seeming to consider giving in. “I’ll take your word for it,” she finally says before taking a bite of her perfectly composed soft shell taco.
Izzy has been the same since we met in college. She was four years older and had decided to get a diploma in fine arts between getting her undergraduate and postgraduate degrees. We met in a composition class, and despite the fact she was already married with a kid and we didn’t seem to have much in common, we hit it off. Nellie and I met when I was researching for a project at the college library she worked at. At some point, we just kind of morphed into a trio that occasionally let Tom and whichever person Nellie happened to be dating join in. Tonight was a pretty accurate depiction of our dynamic.
After we’ve eaten and cleaned up, Izzy and Tom hug us before heading out to pick their kids up from Tom’s parents’ place.
“Want to watch some Schitt’s Creek ?” Nellie asks after she locks the door.
“Um, would you hate me if I called it a night? I’m kind of drained.”
“Wanna talk about it?” she asks, heading into the kitchen to turn off the lights.
“Maybe some other time.” I give her a sad smile, and she nods.
“Well, no pressure, but you know where to find me.”
“Thanks.” I hug her and then make my way to the bedroom.
When I go to grab my change of clothes, I find a hoodie folded on top of my bag. It’s not mine. It’s the sweatshirt Bennett had changed into after the rain incident. I pick it up and hold it to my nose. I expect it to smell like laundry detergent, so I’m surprised that it smells like him. And then I laugh because during one of our dinner chats he’d told me how when a dog is adopted, he includes a blanket that smells like his place in the care package. It helps the dogs adjust to their new environments. This is his way of helping me adjust to my Bennett-less existence. I’m gone, but he’s still caring for me.
I set it aside and pull out a ratty T-shirt and shorts. After I change and brush my teeth, I plug my phone in and climb into bed. I stare at it for a bit wondering if I should text him and say thank you for everything. But I don’t want him to know I’m already thinking about him, that I haven’t stopped thinking about him. So I roll over and close my eyes. I lie there for a while, chasing sleep before I swing my legs out of bed and grab the crutches. I make my way back to my bag and grab the sweatshirt. Then I head back to bed and curl up around it. I fall asleep almost immediately and don’t wake up until Nellie knocks to let me know breakfast is ready. No dogs barking or coffee in bed today. No strong arms wrapped around my body or beard tickling my ear. I know there are things that a person can become addicted to immediately, but I never thought one of those things would be another person. I didn’t even know I was addicted.