17. Now
Now: Thanksgiving Day
W endy and her family arrive at our place shortly after two o’clock. Wendy and Rick are close to celebrating their twentieth year of marriage. Twenty! She’d mentioned to me once before that they’d married young, right out of high school. I thought high school sweethearts only existed in the movies. I didn’t think that was real life, yet I don’t exactly have a great picture of what forever love looks like when it comes to marriage.
They have two energetic daughters that keep them busy: Georgia and Hazel. I love their names and promised Wendy one day I’d use them in one of my novels. She blushed and said that wasn’t necessary, but I know she’d love it.
Georgia is the younger of the two sisters, she just turned eight, and Hazel is now thirteen. Georgia has her arms full with some type of casserole dish, and Hazel is carrying a crockpot with homemade chicken and noodles. Wendy also made hot rolls, mashed potatoes, and roasted vegetables. Rick loves smoking meat and brought an assortment of brisket, pulled pork, and smoked ham. I can’t believe they brought all of this to share with just me and Dad, but they’ve been joining us for Thanksgiving for the last five years, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
The Heckarts spread out their food along the counter. Since our kitchen is on the smaller side, Dad and I have moved our table into the living room and arranged the furniture so that there’s plenty of room to comfortably eat and for the men to watch football.
After we get everything set up, we send the girls through the line first. Wendy tugs me back a little so we can have a moment to talk privately. I grab the pitcher of sweet tea I’d made out of the fridge and begin to pour us both glasses.
I hand Wendy hers and she motions with her head towards my bedroom. She wants somewhere we can talk alone. I don’t often get nervous around Wendy, but she’s also unpredictable at times when it comes to things that fly out of her mouth. I should be used to that by now, but it still catches me off guard at times.
We take our drinks into my bedroom. Suddenly I feel a little embarrassed for bringing her in here. She’s been in my house plenty but the realization that this isn’t my own home isn’t lost on me. I’m less than ten years away from the big 4-0, and yet I’m still living at home with my Dad. I can’t even use his health as an excuse to stay here. He’s actually in great health.
Thankfully, I’ve never once felt judged by Wendy or her family. If they’ve ever had any opinions about me, they are careful to keep them to themselves.
“So…” Wendy starts.
She’s wearing a sweater the color of a pumpkin and her nails are a bright orange to match. I stifle a laugh because her attire reminds me of Velma from Scooby Doo. She just turned forty a few months ago, but doesn’t look a day over twenty-five. I haven’t found a single wrinkle on her flawless skin, and she certainly doesn’t look like she popped out two kids. She looks great .
She’s standing against the door frame, eyes roaming around my room. My eyes follow her line of sight. What does she see? Does she look at me and see a woman who never grew up?
I shake my head to clear any doubt creeping in.
“So…” I retort back, unsure of why we came in here in the first place. I don’t want to rush her, so instead, I take a swig of my iced tea.
“You said you were gonna tell me more about what you and Denver talked about the other night. You never elaborated,” she says, looking directly at me and smirking. “Don’t think I missed those heart eyes you were making at each other in the parking lot. You weren’t hiding at all, I had a very clear view of the show. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’ve got a crush on the tall mountain man,” she added, her features bright with excitement.
Okay, so she wants to get into this now. This is the reason she brought me in here, to talk about Denver. Right. Last week I’d gotten into her car after the meeting and barely spoke a word to her the entire ten-minute drive to my house. I told her I was tired (which was true) and would relay our conversation to her later (which was also true). I just hadn’t anticipated that the later time would mean now. She wasted no time pumping me for details.
She finishes off her drink and sets her glass down on one of my coasters on my desk, folding her arms across her chest. She’s waiting for me to begin.
I take another sip from my tea and set it down on a coaster as well. I watch as one of the ice cubes melt and a trickle of condensation runs along the glass, collecting in a tiny puddle along the coaster.
I clear my throat and ask, “What would you like to know?”
A small laugh escapes her. “Everything,” she replies.
“Well, he recognized me from the book signing and came up to me in the parking lot,” I say, stating the obvious. She already knows this but she nods her head to tell me to keep going .
“And then what? What did he say?” she asks, leaning in towards me the slightest amount.
“He said he’s been coming to G&G for six or seven years now and it’s always this time of year,” I say, hoping that’s enough and we can talk about something else. It’s only a matter of time before one of her girls finds us in here talking about a man. A handsome one at that. My cheeks burn at the thought.
“Oh, yeah? Huh. Did he say why he started coming in the first place?” she asks.
I shake my head. That was information he didn’t offer up and something I was too afraid to ask further details about. The timing didn’t feel right. Maybe it never would. Who are you grieving for? What happened? Because he could easily ask the same thing of me.
“He didn’t say. He just said he comes this time of year between now and February.” I try not to draw out the word February. I don’t want to bring more attention to it. Wendy already knows what that month means to me. That’s not something we need to discuss.
She nods again, as if accepting this. “I wonder what’s happened in his life?” she says out loud, more to herself than to me.
Something he said that night has stuck with me. Life is hard, but being alone is harder. I know he is raising Marvel by himself. How long has he been doing that? Is that the loneliness he was referring to? Or is it something else? Maybe he lost his wife and really is alone. Maybe something bad happened. Something he isn’t ready to tell me. Now he won’t get the chance, because I won’t be seeing him again.
Before I can say anything else Wendy speaks up, “So, when do you think you’ll see him again? Did you get his number?” She smirks again at this.
I look away, avoiding her gaze. I know she means well, but I’m done talking about this. My nonexistent love life. It’s Thanksgiving, and we should be out there enjoying the holiday with everyone else, not in here talking about a crush that won’t go anywhere.
“No, I didn’t ask him, and he didn’t ask me for it either. It’s okay though, really.”
I suddenly feel her presence growing closer to me, her warm scent of jasmine wraps me up in a warm embrace. With a gentle touch her hand pulls my face back to hers. I look at her, really look at her. Her dark brown eyes hold mine for a moment before she says anything. I exhale and feel some of the tightness in my chest loosen.
“Do you like him?” she whispers.
Of course I do. I mean, what’s not to like? But I don’t really know him. Not like that. Not in the way she’s asking.
I shake my head gently. “I don’t know. I’m not sure.”
She nods in return. “Okay, that’s fair. But do you want to?”
I want to look away from her. But her eyes lock me in place. Ground me.
“Yes, but I—” I start but don’t finish.
“Do you want to?” she asks me again.
“Yes,” I say so softly I’m not sure she hears me at first, but she does.
She takes both of my hands in hers and I stare down at our hands. While mine are cold and clammy, hers are soft and warm like I expected they would be.
“Then don’t stop yourself from at least trying to let that happen. You talk yourself out of a lot of things, Nicki. Don’t let this be one of those times.”
I hear Denver’s words echoing in my head. Sometimes showing up is all you can do. Maybe he’s right, perhaps they both are. Maybe this is exactly where our story should begin, rather than end. But I don’t know… I don’t know if either of us is ready for that. I don’t know how he feels about me. Maybe he says those types of words to every new girl he meets, and I just happened to be that girl. I’m getting in my head again, I know I am, but I can’t help it. I always do this. Talk myself out of something that might be good before I’ve really given it a fair chance.
It’s fear talking, but will I listen to it this time?
“Nicki,” she says to me softly, reining me back in, away from the negative thoughts that are pulling me under once again.
“Sorry, I’ll, uh, think about it,” I promise.
There’s sadness in her eyes that wasn’t there before. But she nods, understanding. Letting it go for now.
“Don’t think too hard about it, or you’ll just talk yourself out of it. If you like him, go back next month. Give it another shot. Give him another shot,” she says.
“He did try to convince me to come back to another meeting,” I say, shyly.
Wendy squeals. “Well, why didn’t you lead with that? You have to go back! You have to give him a chance.”
“Am I going to these meetings for me or for you? Hmm?” I challenge her.
She shrugs her shoulders and picks up her empty glass. “Maybe both? Okay, I’ll drop it for now. Just promise you’ll think about going back again.”
“I promise I’ll think about it.”
“Good. I’m here for you, Nicki, and I’ll always listen. I care about you. Let’s get back out there before the food gets cold.”
And with that, we enjoy our Thanksgiving feast. Without another word of a man with eyes grass green and teeth as pure as snow. We don’t dwell in the past and we don’t obsess over our future. We simply cherish the time we have together in each other’s company.