—EIGHT—
Me: QOTD: Pineapple on pizza? This could potentially be the turning point for us, so choose wisely.
Zephyr: It’s trash. That isn’t a matter of choice—only fact. But pickles are a different story.
Me: You passed. I’m just going to sit back and relish in your answer.
Zephyr: Punny.
Me: I think you meant cheesy. *pizza emoji*
Zephyr: Also punny.
Me: The best puns come in pears.
A smile stretches as I curl into the corner of the couch, pulling my ankles up beside me. I nibble my lip, sending him one more message.
Me: Did you see the sunrise this morning?
Zephyr: I did. But I don’t think I saw what you saw.
A sadness sweeps through me, as it always does at his reply. I’ve asked him that question every day for the last ten days, and his response hasn’t changed.
I flinch in place when Leah slides down the couch and peers over my shoulder, trying to sneak a peek at my messages. “Girl, you have that look on your face. Who are you talking to?”
“What look?” I wonder absently, closing out my e-mail app.
“That look I haven’t seen in a long time.”
This catches my attention, and I’m certain “the look” promptly fades. A sudden surge of guilt permeates me, as if I were just caught doing something wrong.
Was I?
Is it wrong to smile again, to feel a small weight lift with each passing day, to watch the sunrise every morning with hopeful eyes instead of an insatiable yearning for sunset?
Is it wrong to communicate daily with the man who has Charlie’s heart?
Is there something wrong with my heart for wanting to move forward and live a life without him in it?
Leah gives a pinch to my thigh, her gilded eyes twinkling when our gazes meet. “That’s not a bad thing, honey. That’s not a bad thing at all.”
“It feels like I’m cheating on his memory—on what we had together.” My confession is heavy, enveloping us both in a dense cloud. “It feels like a betrayal.”
“What does?”
I swallow. “Living.”
Leah runs her palm up and down my jean-clad thigh, her softness the antidote to my thorns. “Mellie, listen to me. Living is the greatest honor you can give his memory. Do you really think Charlie would want you to walk around like a zombie every day, with that smile he loved so much snuffed out?”
My eyes water.
“I know it sounds cliché, but he would want you to be happy. Truly happy. And I think, deep down, you know that, too,” she finishes.
The back of my throat feels tight and prickly, like I swallowed a mouthful of needles. “I told you Charlie was an organ donor…” I begin, eyes slipping down to the little pink polka dots on my ankle socks. “I, um, located the recipient of his heart, and we’ve been… talking.”
Leah blinks, eyebrows dipping. “What?”
“It’s all anonymous. I promised him I wouldn’t invade his privacy or ask personal questions. I honestly didn’t think he’d ever contact me back, but… he did. And it’s been helping me with the healing process.”
“Babe.”
Her tone is a little bit of love and a whole lot of warning. I continue to stare at my socks. “It’s nothing, really.”
Leah lets out a hard exhale, her lips puckering as she falls back against the couch cushions. “Your therapist and support group are there to help you heal, Mellie. This sounds… messy.”
“It’s totally innocent,” I counter.
She spears me with a pointed look. “The fact that you need to tell me it’s innocent makes me wonder.”
I clench my jaw, trying not to let her words sour the little bit of joy I’ve managed to pull from the rubble. My correspondence with Zephyr has heightened over the past week and a half, and while our conversations are vague and casual, there is still something earnest, something deeper, hovering beneath the repartee and easy exchanges. There’s good advice. There’s heart.
There’s hope.
And I think there’s something else… a blossoming connection.
Something kindred.
Something potentially messy.
Zephyr strikes me as a broken soul, much like myself, only he’s broken in a different way. Longer, maybe. His pieces are scattered in the wind, some long gone.
But broken is broken, and we cut ourselves the same.
Leah nudges me with her toes when she catches me zoned out, picking at my fingernails. “You know I’ll never judge you, right? I’m not trying to hinder any progress you’ve made. Shit, girl, nothing compares to seeing you smile again.” We share a tender look. “Just be careful. And don’t tell West… you know he’ll get all weird about it.”
Speaking of West, his timing is impeccable.
The front door busts open and my brother saunters through, a little grin unfolding when he spots Leah beside me on the couch. “Morning,” he mutters, kicking the door closed with his heel.
“What are you doing here?” I inquire, but it’s a baseless question. West always drops by unannounced.
“Dad said to take a look at your bathroom, and I finally have some free time. The master, right?”
I frown. “I’m good, West. I hired someone already. He should actually be here within the hour.”
West slips out of his shoes anyway, eyes locked on Leah. “Sweet. I’m off the hook.”
“How is Dad? I need to stop by for dinner. I’ve been so busy.”
“He’s good. Still overfeeding the dog. Still pissing off Mom.”
I let out a chuckle, despite the pit that forms in my chest when I think about visiting Mom and Dad. I love my parents, I love them so much, but they remind me of him. They remind me of the life I no longer have. When I look at them, I see dinner dates with Charlie, I see bonfires in their backyard, I see my wedding day, my father walking me down the aisle and my mother weeping in the front row.
I see their horrified faces when I finally woke up in that hospital bed, teetering the line between fading away forever and making a comeback.
I know I can’t stay away forever, but I still need more time.
The sound of my name has me jerking my head up, pulling me from my idle thoughts and wicked memories. West eyes me from the opposite loveseat, a cup of drive-thru coffee twirling between his fingers. I blink. “Huh?”
“I asked if you were coming out with us tonight. To the brewery.”
“Oh.”
Maybe. Maybe I can do that.
I do feel better. More composed. More… me.
I’m about to respond when a knock at the front door has me jumping to my feet and instinctively smoothing down my hair and adjusting my blouse. Leah sends me a curious look as I shuffle to the front entryway, clear my throat, and pull the door open.
Miserable.
He looks absolutely miserable.
I’ve determined this is just his face, so I hide my wince and smile at him. “Hey. Thanks for coming.”
Parker’s eyes hold with mine, and I can’t tell if they are ice cold or blazing fire. Either way, I feel a temperature shift as he stares at me. His work t-shirt is scuffed and faded, his jeans worn and hanging low on his lips, weighed down by a tool belt. Dark hair curls along his forehead, a little shaggy and mussed, giving his hard exterior a flare of boyish charm. But the rough stubble shadowing his jaw and the muscles that flex beneath the thin layer of cotton when he steps forward, tell me he’s all man.
“That’s the arrangement.”
I chew on my inner cheek when he pushes through the threshold with his toolbox and his clean, woodsy scent. “I know. But I’m sure you’re busy, so I appreciate you squeezing me in.”
He makes some kind of humming sound, or maybe it’s a grunt, giving me a quick once-over before shifting his attention to the right. Parker’s eyes drift between West and Leah as he stands there rigid, sporting his trademark scowl, looking as if he was trying to find a church but walked into a brothel instead. He’s clearly not a people person.
“Hey, man.” West holds up his coffee cup in greeting. “How’s it going?”
Leah sends him a little wave, her cat eyes assessing him like she’s on the prowl. Shameless.
“This is Parker. I met him through…” I trail off, remembering that I met him through a suicide prevention group, and that’s probably the most awkward introduction ever. Regrouping, I clear my throat and finish, “A networking thing.”
Leah mouths to me, “Sign me up.”
I feel my cheeks heat as I shift back to Parker, who towers over me like a giant shadow, dark and mysterious.
Parker blinks back at me, expression unchanging. “Bathroom?”
“Yes. Right. Follow me.”
My eyes pop open over my shoulder, issuing Leah a glare of admonishment, but she only waggles her eyebrows in return. West shakes his head, bringing his coffee to his lips.
Leading Parker up the staircase to the second floor, I glance back at him with a floaty chuckle. “Sorry. That was my brother and best friend.”
I’m met with another grunt-huff.
Cranky.
When we reach the top of the stairs, Parker drifts to the left, so I instinctually reach out and curl my fingers around his upper arm, guiding him to the right. His bicep ticks beneath my touch, his gaze zoning in on the contact, then flicking back up to my face before he pulls his arm free and moves around me, trudging towards the master bedroom. The pads of my fingertips tingle with warmth, so I swipe them along my thigh as I trail him.
I gave Parker the basic rundown of my renovation needs at our last group meeting, saving his number into my phone and texting him a few pictures of the unfinished job. Most of the hideous pink wall tiling has already been removed by my father, the new boxes of subway tile stacked along the wall, ready to go. White, clean, a little sterile.
Nothing that will remind me of Charlie and his bright personality, or the way we would take bubble baths together in the soaking tub and make love beneath the shower jets.
Slipping my hands into my pockets, I linger in front of the bathroom, watching Parker assess the workload. “Do you think it’ll look good?”
His eyes skim the space before he pins them on me. “Can’t go wrong with subway tile.”
“I agree. I wanted something simple… understated.”
A few beats pass between us, gazes still locked, and I wonder how he always manages to say so much without saying anything at all. While I can’t decipher what he’s trying to tell me, I feel the vibrations of his unsaid words beneath my ribs, in my throat, and low, low in my belly.
Fidgeting under his jade stare, I’m unsure of what to say, so I just smile, bright and happy. I get the feeling that people don’t smile at him often. Or at all.
Parker’s jaw clenches at the sentiment. “You do that a lot.”
“What?” I slink back, a little self-conscious. “Smile?”
“Yeah.” His eyes narrow with a semblance of scrutiny, brows furrowing. “People smile too much. I never understood it. Smiles should be saved for things that bring us real joy, and we give them away so easily, so carelessly. To strangers on the street—to people we don’t even like.”
I’m not certain if I’m more taken aback by the fact that he just strung together more than three words, or by the words themselves.
Or… that he’s noticed me. My smile.
Parker seems to share in my surprise and quickly averts his eyes, scratching at his hair. He looks frustrated with himself—with his brief burst of vulnerability.
I blink myself from the stupor. “I don’t see it like that at all. I think—”
“I’m going to get started. I’ll have it done in a couple of days.”
Parker disappears into the bathroom without another word, successfully shutting me down. I suck my bottom lip between my teeth, making a hissing sound, observing the way he gets right to work, kneeling down with his t-shirt riding up his back to reveal a small stretch of bronzed skin. Shaking my head, I shuffle backwards until I’m moving out of the bedroom, and I can’t help but wonder what his story is. What broke him. I wonder if his pieces are scattered like Zephyr’s—how far they’ve traveled, how long he’s been walking around with cracks and missing parts.
But what I’ve learned about broken things is that they can always be put back together. It’s just a matter of how much time you’re willing to put into making the pieces fit. How much patience. How much diligence.
I finally head back down the stairs, unsurprised to find Leah sprawled across my brother’s lap, head perched on the decorative pillow atop his thighs.
She shoots upright when she spots me. “Girl.”
Here we go.
I fiddle with the long sleeve of my flowy white tunic. “There’s no point, Leah.”
“You don’t think he’d be into me?”
“I don’t think he’s into… anyone. Or anything.”
“Okay, okay,” Leah breezes, nodding with consideration. “The tortured silent type. I can work with that.”
West scoffs. “That was your takeaway?”
“Yes, Westley, that was my takeaway. Not everyone can pull off the “drooling and desperate” angle like you can.”
He tosses the pillow at her.
My eye roll is automatic as I saunter over to the couch, plopping down beside my friend. “I didn’t want to say it in front of him, but I met him at Loving Lifelines. He doesn’t talk to anyone. He doesn’t share. I think something bad happened to him.”
“Shit.” Leah’s eyes soften as she turns to look at me. “Maybe he needs a friend. You should invite him out for a beer with us tonight. Sometimes people just need that little push, you know? To feel included. Noticed.”
“I don’t think he wants to be noticed.”
My response spills out unsought and candid, and it’s a sad declaration.
Sad and relatable.
And then I think…
Some people don’t want to be noticed, but maybe that’s exactly what they need.
Charlie thought I looked sexy in red.
“It’s a striking contrast to your skin, like holly berries sprinkled into a winter snowfall,” he told me once, always the poet. Always the romantic.
I’d wear red as often as possible because it made him happy. Cocktail dresses, high heels, barrettes, lipstick. Crimson, scarlet, roses, and wine.
The tube of lipstick slides along my lower lip, butter soft, complementing my matching maxi dress. I press my lips together, then pucker my mouth, noting how my fingers are trembling as I pop the cap back on. The reflection staring back at me is one I haven’t witnessed in well over a year—face decorated in makeup, lightly curled hair, a pretty dress.
Effort.
With a quick smile at myself in the mirror, I reach for a small bag resting on the counter and make my way out of the hall bathroom. The trek towards my bedroom feels longer than usual as the sound of a power drill welcomes me like a musical score for my grand entrance. I clench the little paper bag between nervous fingers, shuffling my bare feet when Parker comes into view on the floor, installing the new bathtub.
“Hi.” He doesn’t hear me over the shrieking drill, so I clear my throat. “Hi,” I say louder, until he lifts up on his knees and twists to face me, silencing the drill. There’s a smear of pewter paint along the side of his jawline and a sheen of sweat glistening his forehead.
Parker frowns slightly, eyeing me from toes to top. “Did you need something?”
The bag crinkles as I grip it tighter. “I, um… well, I just wanted to see if you…” I trail off, biting on my lip. Parker’s eyes narrow as my thoughts race, almost like he’s trying to read them before I can spit them out. “I was wondering if you wanted to go—”
“Don’t. You’re just going to embarrass yourself.”
His unexpected words cut me off, rendering me silent, save for the tiny gasp that escapes and joins the heaviness now hovering between us. I’m certain my cheeks are flushed as red as my dress. “Excuse me?”
“If you’re about to ask me out, I’m saving you the trouble. Just don’t. I’m not interested.”
“I wasn’t…” I’m stunned, my legs starting to quiver, my tongue tying into knots. Is he for real? What an asshole. “I wasn’t coming on to you.”
“No?” Parker stands slowly, flicking wood shavings from his work pants. He sighs, a little exasperated, his eyes skipping around the bathroom before they finally land on me. “You’re standing in front of me all made up, wearing some kind of “fuck me” dress, looking nervous as shit. I’m not an idiot, and I’m not interested.”
I feel myself shutting down, inundated by the cruelty of his words and the acidity in his tone. Bitter and venomous. His light green eyes are swimming with something… repugnant. An eerie juxtaposition to the beauty of them.
A fuck me dress? What the hell?
I’m torn between being outraged and throwing this bag at his face, and bursting into tears. “That’s bold of you to assume. You must have a very high opinion of yourself.”
“Not really.”
“So, you just enjoy being mean, then? Tearing people down when they’re trying to be nice?”
Parker hesitates before glancing my way. “Just people like you.”
“People like me,” I echo softly.
I can’t help but study him through brimming tears, desperate to expose what lies beneath the anger and the rough foundation. I’ve never responded well to negative people—I gravitate towards kindness, smiles, positive lights. People like Charlie.
And when my own light dimmed and my smile waned, it only intensified my increasing feelings of despair. My grief was turning me into something I loathed.
I was that negative person. I was the thing people like me avoided.
My eyes dip down to the carpet when his sharp stare becomes too overbearing, and I determine his walls are far too hardened for me to poke through. “I wasn’t making a pass at you,” I mutter gently, swallowing down my own anger. “I assure you I wouldn’t be trying to seduce a man I just met in the bedroom I shared with my deceased husband.”
Parker’s silence has me glancing up, catching the wrinkle that creases his brows, the tiniest indication that he’s listening. He’s waiting for more words.
“I was inviting you out to the brewery tonight,” I continue, the paper bag now clutched between two hands, crumpled tight. “There’s a group of us going. Nobody you would know, of course, but I wanted to extend the offer. I thought maybe… maybe you could use a friend.”
His frown deepens, his grip on the drill tightening. Tension rolls off him in waves. “I don’t need any friends. I like being alone.”
“Do you? Or are you just more comfortable with it?”
“What does that matter?”
I force a smile, the smile that seems to irritate him somehow. The smile I offer so easily—so carelessly. Then I step forward, pushing through the bathroom threshold and setting the little bag beside him on the sink. “People like me might not be so different from people like you.”
Something flashes in his eyes, something fleeting, and he stiffens, his gaze drifting to the bag, then back to my face. We’re only inches apart now, and I feel his warmth, I feel his heat. He’s not as cold as he appears to be.
Parker remains silent.
Unmoving.
He’s watching me—waiting for what I’ll say next, what I’ll do.
So, I do what I do best.
I leave him with another smile and exit the bedroom.