DUST TO DUST #2
“Is this because of the other day?” he asks, glancing over the rim of the loupes resting on his nose. His kind, gray eyes seem all the more understanding when they’re magnified behind his dental glasses. “You know what you saw was only natural, but I am sorry.”
Natural is an understatement. The sight of Bill’s natural, naked backside as he scurried out of the kitchen will, unfortunately, be burned into my memory forever.
“No, Bill. It’s not that. And I don’t want you to apologize. It’s your home. I should have warned you.”
“For as long as you want it, it’s your home, too, sweetheart.”
He’s always been like this. Terms of endearment are Bill’s love language and no amount of masculinity could keep him from showering the people he loves with any and all of those monikers.
“Thank you.” The room grows quiet, us both concentrating on the task at hand, monitoring Gus’ vitals, and checking the rest of his mouth for signs of resorption in other locations.
It’s a common ailment in elderly felines, and Gus is close to twenty.
So, that he’s suffering from it isn’t surprising.
When we’re bringing the procedure to a close and Bill hasn’t spoken again, I know he’s waiting for me to open up.
To tell him exactly why I’m having a hard time keeping my hands steady and my head on straight.
Though I’m sure he could guess. Patience and support are Bill’s specialty, and have been since he became stepdad to a preteen who’d bottled up grief and escaped it with busy work, more sports than he could handle, accolades, and pursuits that left him feeling empty.
In the last ten years, Bill’s been a confidante, an encourager, a prayer partner, and someone who always speaks the truth to me.
Hard truth, in love, but the truth no matter what.
It’s why, when we hand Gus over to the lab tech for observation and begin to clean ourselves up, I let everything spill out.
“I have plans tonight. With Emory and Molly. It’s why I can’t focus.”
In one hundred and four minutes, to be exact. I’m spending the night with my favorite girls… and their favorite girls.
Bill nods, clearly unsurprised. “You’ve been spending a lot of time over there recently. A lot of nights.”
“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “But it isn’t what you think.”
On the nights Emory lets me make dinner and help her with farm chores or her latest home renovation project, and after Molly goes to sleep and we’ve talked late into the night, she asks me to stay.
Always on the couch. Usually alone. But no longer in the barn or hiding across the country from her and my missteps.
Emory is letting me in. Into her home and her life with Molly.
Slowly, sometimes painfully, though never with that bed and bacon mac and cheese combo I will forever be dreaming about.
But she is allowing me closer and closer, nonetheless.
“I trust you, buddy. I know you make good choices… aside from the mishap with the fake fiancé.”
“She was real.” I can’t help but roll my eyes.
“Yeah, but she wasn’t the one for you,” he responds pointedly, drying off his hands and placing one on my shoulder. “Have you told Emory your plans yet? Filled her in on your recent investments?”
“Not yet. I… I want to.”
“Maybe you’ll take some advice from an old man who learned first hand what it is to love a widow and to love her child?”
“Yes, sir.” I nod, feeling the weight of his gentleness, and that profound love he speaks so freely about, pressing down on me.
Even in my thirties, years after he became a constant in my life, I still feel protected by this man.
Safe and loved. Unjudged and accepted. And though I’ll always miss my dad, equally so, I’ll always thank God for bringing Bill into our lives. “I’d appreciate it.”
“Jordan, you will never regret a minute… a day… or any number of years it takes romancin’ those two, if it means you get to spend the rest of your life with them.
” He pulls me into a hug, cocooning me into his strong arms. “Take things slow, pal. But you know better than most that life’s too short, so don’t take forever overthinkin’ everything, either. There’s a balance.”
“What if she’s never ready? What if…” I speak the thought that’s resonated in my spirit each time I see Emory and remember how we’re connected, “What if I’m never ready? What if I can’t forgive myself for how I feel about her?”
“Son”—his voice grows somehow more tender than before—“I’m not sayin’ it isn’t messy, but who wouldn’t argue love is a little messy now and again, regardless?
James was a good friend to you and a great husband to Emory, from what I can tell.
What happened to him and his family will always be a tragedy.
But it doesn’t mean God can’t redeem that story and make it into something wholly new and immeasurably worthwhile.
And it certainly doesn’t mean that you should recuse yourself from being a part of that story—of that love—because of a sense of loyalty to a friend who’d want nothing but the best for you.
“It’s delicate. There’s some time investment there and nuances most people won’t understand, but”—he kisses my temple and smells my hair; the guy is an anomaly, but I’m more than thankful he’s mine—“it sure is worth it.”
The pep talk, the tears in his eyes, and the way he makes out with my mom immediately after in the hallway of our animal practice has me racing out the front door as soon as the work day ends, more than ready for a quiet night with my girls.
The drive to the farm takes no longer than usual, but it feels like a million miles between me and the lavender pastures I’ve grown addicted to.
Though if I’m honest with myself, it isn’t the land that keeps bringing me back.
It’s the woman waiting on the front porch steps, barefoot, dressed in curvy jeans that are cuffed at the bottom and a loose-fitted T-shirt, tucked at the waist. It's the uniform she wears every day, but I’m just as mesmerized each and every time I see her in it, all the same.
Tonight, she’s twisting her hair between her fingers with one hand and holding a wine glass in the other, and I’m transported back to that classroom, seeing her for the first time almost fifteen years ago and wanting to know every single thing about her.
I park my bike in slow motion, careful to check the way I’m so obviously drooling over her before taking off my helmet and leaving it behind on the seat.
“Hello, Dr. Love,” she says, standing on her tippy toes at the top of the stairs. Almost as if she wants to run down to greet me but is holding herself back.
So I do us both a favor and jog up them, taking the stairs two at a time, and press a kiss to her cheek before I can think better of it. “Hey, Red. You look beautiful.”
She’s the one blushing, now, tucking her strawberry blonde hair behind one ear and staring at her painted toes. “Thank you.”
I think my talk with Bill gave me more confidence than I was ready to give him credit for, because in a move bolder than I’ve taken, thus far, I slip my finger under Emory’s chin, tilting her face towards mine.
I want to see her. All of her. The good and the difficult and every single, hidden but gorgeous dip and curve behind the mask she wears for everyone else.
“You’re always beautiful, Emory,” I whisper, lips so close to hers I can smell a hint of wine on her breath and lavender on her skin. “Every day. Every minute. I see you, and I can’t look away.”
She leans closer and our noses skim against each other.
I feel her sweet breath against my lips, and when I think I can’t possibly take another moment of the torture of not kissing her, she jumps away.
Her bright, green eyes gaze back at me, surprised and a little scared, and to my absolute horror, a small glint of moisture appears in them. “I’m sorry, I—”
“No. No, I’m sorry.” Immediately, I back up further, stuffing my wayward hands in my pockets and shrinking into myself.
I don’t know how I misread the situation.
We haven’t defined any of what’s happening between us.
Spending all our time together. Me sleeping on her couch every night, playing house with her and Molly.
But something about Emory waiting on the steps for me to come home had me playing out my favorite fantasy.
The one where it’s all real, and they’re mine forever.
“I shouldn’t have—”
She sets her wine glass down carefully on the banister and steps closer, slipping a shaky hand against my chest, pressing down each finger one by one. “You should have, Jordan. I just…” She closes her eyes, and a tear falls down her face, but she doesn’t reopen them.
I wonder if she realizes Molly does the same thing at night, just before bed, when she wants to talk about more serious topics but can’t look me in the eye.
“I want… I want you to— I want this—” She opens her eyes, tears shining in earnest. “But it’s… It hurts. I don’t know when it won’t hurt, Jordan.”
Not the words I want to hear from a woman—this woman—after getting as close to kissing her as I ever have. But I’m not interested in pressuring Emory into doing anything she isn’t ready for.
Holding hands. Kissing. Taking up residence on this farm until she kicks me off or lets me stay forever… I’ve got nothing but time, and like Bill said, she and Molly are more than worth it.
“When you’re ready. Okay, Red?” I kiss her forehead, a sweet release for the affection I want to show her. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Her fingers curl into my shirt. She rests her head on my chest, and I feel more for her in the silence between us than I did thirty seconds ago when I was ready to claim her mouth with mine.
I want her. All of her. Forever. I’ll happily wait however long she asks if it means she stays in this place, against my heart, until she’s ready for what comes next.