Chapter 39 Blythe
BLYTHE
I may be overtired. I’ve heard that stress can cause delusions and hallucinations but I never thought I’d experience anything this vivid.
Sam is standing in my foyer. Hot Highland Sam, in my foyer, looking like he’s about to drop to his knees and beg me for something. A date, apparently. This can’t be real.
I thought he was the movers, who are now ten minutes late, but I don’t care about that right now. I almost want him to go back outside and knock again. I want the last surprise at my door in this house to be a good one. I want it to overshadow the surprise that broke me.
Nothing will do that, though. That’s one memory that cannot be removed because it is fused to my bones, exists on my skin, lives comfortably in a rent-free penthouse in my mind. The sound of a knock on this front door sounds like dread. It sounds like Death coming to ruin everything.
“How did you know where I was?” I ask, making myself stay where I am and fidgeting with Eric’s old rugby jersey I slept in last night and hadn’t bothered to change out of.
He rubs his neck, grimacing as if the truth hurts. “Colin.”
That makes sense, but did he ask about me or…
“I didn’t ask,” he blurts out. “Not that I didn’t want to. I think about you night and day. Not in a weird way or anything.”
I know I shouldn’t enjoy watching him panic, but it puts me more at ease knowing he’s nervous about this. In my head he was almost not human. Some God I got to spend a few days worshipping. And yet here he stands imperfectly perfect—human.
“Do you want some coffee?” I gesture toward two mugs that sit on the kitchen island. A pristine white box sitting behind them, a GA elegantly stamped on the front flap.
“I would love some coffee,” he breathes out, his body relaxing for the first time since he stepped into the house.
We sit on the back deck, on furniture that is being listed as part of the sale, and say nothing for a few minutes. It’s odd sitting here with him, but as usual, not uncomfortable.
I keep sneaking glances over the rim of my mug because there’s still a small part of me that’s convinced this isn’t happening.
Maybe it’s some kind of trauma response to leaving this house.
But if that were the case, wouldn’t it be Eric sitting with me?
Wouldn’t that be who my psyche conjured up? Why Sam?
“These are beautiful mugs,” Sam says, mercifully putting an end to the silence.
I nod, looking down at the white, green, and blue ceramic mug I’m holding. It’s subtly Scottish. You can see the hills bleeding into a loch if you squint.
“I unpacked them for the first time two days ago and they’ve been sitting on the island, taunting me.”
He studies the mug for a few seconds, coffee gently sloshing below the rim as he turns it this way and that. I expect him to say something more about it but when he looks up I know whatever he’s about to say isn’t going to be mug related.
“For nearly every minute we spent together I thought about how easy it was with you. How if things were different a week away wouldn’t be a one off.
” His warm brown eyes hold my attention even though I desperately want to look away.
“I thought coming home would make it easier. That the distance would put an end to the feelings that I started to have.” He sets the mug down on the table between us and sits on the very edge of the chair.
“The thing is, being a world away from you felt wrong the minute I stepped off the plane. Distance didn’t help.
It made me sick for you. Desperate for you.
And not just you, Blythe.” My breath catches when he uses my name.
“I miss Maggi.” He says it as if he can’t believe it himself.
Like he’s realizing it for the first time as he admits it out loud.
“I keep living for the dead.” The words hit hard because up until a few weeks ago I had been doing the same.
“I grieved you. Grieved what could have been if I started living for me. And you may feel differently and I’ll respect that, but I figured if there was even the smallest chance that you’d be willing to, I don’t know, give me a chance, I’d take it and run with it.
But, you may be happy with what you’re up to now.
Maybe you’re excited to explore things with some cardiologist or professor. ”
“Cardiologist?” I ask, narrowing my eyes in suspicion.
He looks like a kid who has been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Colin may have mentioned a date.”
“Ah. What else has Colin mentioned?” I’m so curious how much of my life Colin has felt inclined to share. Or rather, how much of my life Sarah has shared with him and then suggested that he spread the word to one person in particular.
“The move. Your address… that’s all,” he assures me.
“And you got jealous?”
His mouth moves soundlessly, testing his answer.
“Green with envy.” His cheeks darken at his admission but he doesn’t avert his eyes.
“I’m not normally the jealous type so it caught me off guard.
But I couldn’t help myself from thinking if you were going to date why couldn’t you date me.
Well, for one very obvious reason, and it’s not the continent and ocean of distance.
It was that I spent so much energy convincing myself that I couldn’t change my situation. ”
There’s a swooping sensation in the pit of my stomach. The same kind I would get as a kid at the potential of getting something I’d been dreaming about.
“And now?” I ask, trying to keep the hope from my voice.
“Well, I guess one of the nice things about being alive is that we do get to make choices for ourselves. I’d do the distance thing with you in a heartbeat.
But that’s not fair to you and definitely not to Maggi.
” The way he says my daughter’s name pulls at something deep inside of me.
The way he factors her into what he’s saying is a bigger deal than he probably realizes.
“I have options. I have opportunities that I refused to consider for two years. So even if you decide that ultimately, this”—he gestures between us— “isn’t what you want, I’ve decided to live and accept that the dead will be at peace with me making that choice.
” He picks up his mug and stands. “I needed to tell you that in person. I’ve got some things to sort out in Vancouver with my condo and the store, but I’ve got an interview with my old club next week, and I’ll be subletting Colin and Sarah’s flat.
So, if you decide that you’d like me to take you out on a proper date, I’ll be around.
” He looks down at his watch and sighs. “I fly out in two hours, so I should get back to the airport.”
“Hold on,” I call, jumping to my feet before he steps back through the patio door. “Did you just come here to ask me out?”
His smirk makes my stomach do a loop-de-loop. “Did you not hear all the stuff in between?”
“No, I did, and it was beautiful and thoughtful and pretty damn relatable, come to think of it, but you still could have done it on the phone, saved yourself a cross-country trek.”
Sam walks back toward me and slides his right hand over my jaw, his thumb brushing my cheek, sending chills racing south.
“But then I would have missed seeing you in my jersey again, Rosie.” His chuckle is warm as he presses his lips to my forehead.
I want to wrap my arms around him and hold him close, but my body refuses to move, and then his hand leaves my face, and he’s backing away again.
“I’ve gotta go, gorgeous. Please consider it. ”
It’s not until I hear the front door close that his words come back, forcing me to rip the jersey over my head.
Keefer, I trace the letters of Sam’s last name stitched on the back of my husband’s favourite player’s jersey as a hysterical laugh bubbles out of me.
The fact I’d spent all that time with him without knowing his last name is hilarious to me.
I’m shocked he hadn’t made some cocky remark when he’d seen me in it that first night in the library.
The jersey had been one of the last things of Eric’s hanging in the closet.
I’d spent months going through his clothes when I was ready to.
Donating things that were in excellent condition, tossing things that weren’t.
There is still a box of rugby jerseys somewhere in storage.
Relics from Eric’s past I thought of turning into something for Maggi.
A quilt or pillows or something else I had no experience making.
It’s amazing how much time one spends on Pinterest when grief keeps you from sleep.
Still, for whatever reason, this jersey never made it into the box. Then one night I slipped it over my head and fell asleep hugging myself. It’s all a coincidence of course but I can’t seem to ignore the quiet whisper of fate.
Sam’s mug sits, washed, next to the sink, and I dump the remainder of my coffee before washing my own.
I’m setting it next to his and an empty marmalade jar when I hear the telltale sound of a large truck pulling up.
Had Sam not stopped by, I’d have something to say about the movers being late, but today their tardiness feels like a small miracle.
Ten minutes after the movers leave yet another knock sounds from the front door.
The sound echoes through the empty house, a reminder of how much I hate that hollow noise.
With a deep breath, I swing the door open to find Sarah and Beth standing there and before I can even react, they’ve got me wrapped in a hug.
“Wha…What are you doing here?” I laugh in shock. It’s the second time today I’ve asked that question.
“We figured you may want some company on the way home,” Beth says, pulling me back in for a solo hug. “Plus you helped me move to Germany once upon a time, it only seems fair I repay the favour.”
“Yes, that, and I figured I should stock up on some things since you wouldn’t be travelling back and forth semi-frequently.” Sarah holds up a bag with the logo of a local sugar shack on it.
“You can get that over there, Sarah,” I scold.
She scoffs. “The markup is outrageous, and my dear husband is not what you’d consider a light user of the stuff. I swear his plate will be equal parts syrup and waffles.”
Beth walks past me, taking in the virtually empty house.
There are still bar stools at the island and an espresso machine that my realtor has purchased.
Other than that, there are just the two mugs next to the sink and an empty box sitting on the island.
Beth’s attention snags on the mugs before she sends a knowing look in Sarah’s direction.
Sarah sets her monster bag of maple syrup on the counter and walks over to investigate.
“Did you have a coffee date this morning?”
“A friend stopped by for a quick coffee. It wasn’t a date.”
“Do I know the friend?” Beth asks, making herself comfortable on one of the stools.
“You… don’t,” I say slowly. “They’re a newer friend.”
“A newer, break out the good mugs, friend?” Sarah teases. Of course she knows who the friend is. She had her hand in this before we even met.
Beth laughs and spins her phone screen toward me. “Is this the friend?”
On the screen is a picture of Sam, smiling and covered in mud, wearing the jersey I’m currently draped in. Beth’s eyes drift down and back up and I can tell she’s biting her cheeks to keep from laughing.
I glare at Sarah halfheartedly.
“So this is the reason you bailed on coming to visit me in July?” Beth accuses before she looks back at the mugs. “He’s not still here is he?” she whispers, standing and tiptoeing toward the office.
There was another time she tiptoed around the house like this.
Maggi was hiding in a very obvious spot, and Beth snuck around, pretending she couldn’t see her.
The game was up the minute the door opened and Eric walked through it, tossing his coat and bag aside to catch his daughter.
I can see it all so clearly. All the moments in this house that seemed minor.
The moments that have become cherished in a way I never could have expected because of who they were with.
An hour later, I’m wandering the house alone, gently touching the doors and walls as if contact will transfer all those moments into my memory bank.
In our bedroom, there’s me leaping into Eric’s arms after I took a pregnancy test and discovered it was positive. He was confused since he didn’t know what I’d just done, but after I told him, he hugged me so hard that he freaked out after, concerned that he may have hurt the baby.
In Maggi’s room, there’s her first laugh still bouncing off the walls as Eric blew a raspberry on her belly after a diaper change.
In the hall, there’s Eric squatting down encouraging Maggi to walk from me to him and then throwing her in the air when she made it the entire way.
The kitchen has invisible splatters of baby food and coffee. Shimmering memories of Eric doing dishes or flipping pancakes, a skill he was endlessly proud of.
Eric’s voice is loudest in the living room. Calls of celebration and groans of disappointment are equally present. In here, I can feel his fingers in my hair while we watch one of the UK panel shows he loved so much.
Then there’s the front door. I try to ignore the memory as I walk toward it. Try to remember Eric’s voice calling out when he got home from work. Grasp helplessly for the vision of him smiling over his shoulder as he left for work. But the only sound is the knock.
I turn, taking in the house one last time. Holding onto the images of Eric and Maggi in the house that holds so many beautiful lived memories, definitely blocking the thing that changed everything.
Sarah surprised me with an upgrade to first class, and it’s amazing how much thinking one can do when flat on their back in an airplane.
I mull over all the things I need to do over the next few weeks, one of those things being letting Sam know that, yes, I would like to go on a proper date with him.
The thought of which fills my entire body with anxious little chaos butterflies.
I had indeed gone on a date with Peter, and he had been lovely.
By the end of the night, however, I let him know that I was still stuck on a past relationship.
He assumed I meant Eric, which is fair since I am in a way.
I was stuck on the feeling of not having any big ones.
I wasn’t over the moon about Peter, but I wasn’t repulsed by him.
I enjoyed his company but I didn’t want to drag him home with me.
He wasn’t Eric, and he certainly wasn’t Sam.
It seems like as long as Sam is still existing somewhere in the world, I’ll be haunted by the what-if of him.