2. Myles
TWO
MYLES
Three hundred and fourteen days.
Three hundred and fourteen days have passed since Valentine’s Day, yet the Cara-sized hole in my heart is still raw, still aching.
Three hundred and fourteen freaking days since my world turned upside down. Much like the Earth, I feel as if my whole world is tilting on its axis. But all I really want is to feel grounded and stable.
When Cara and I said our vows eighteen years ago, I'd never expected I'd be without her. If I'd only known that she wouldn't be here...
I huff out a breath.
Three. Hundred. And. Fourteen. Days!
And all the shoulda, coulda, wouldas in the world won’t bring her back to me, to us… to Phoenix and me.
But I miss her so much!
Cara would have been in her element at this time of year, just like she’d been for the last eighteen joyous Christmases.
Being a professional chef meant that even at home she’d cook up a beautiful storm of varying cuisines, everything from Greek, to French, to Caribbean, and everything in between.
And I was the happy husband who reveled in my wife’s love and care, never more so than during her favorite time of the year.
And, of course, I was her able assistant, making myself handy whenever she needed me.
Even after Phoenix was born seven years ago, and she wanted her career to take a backseat to our family, Cara never lost her passion for cooking.
Big, over-the-top Christmas feasts had become our family tradition.
Cara’s family was, of course, always on the guest list. And being a sports agent, I obviously had known many athletes, so Cara insisted they and their families also have an open invitation to all of our Christmas celebrations.
She didn’t believe anyone should be alone at Christmas.
You’d think after eighteen Christmases as a firsthand witness to my wife’s culinary prowess, I would’ve been able to come up with a decent meal to celebrate the holiday. But instead I’m a fish out of water, floundering in the kitchen and making a mess of things.
My eyes scan the modest kitchen, a sharp contrast to the top-of-the-line appliances we’d had before Cara was taken from me.
The U-shaped layout is a good choice for the small space since it accommodates a lot of cabinets, and you can never have too many of those.
The apartment is small, which I've come to appreciate.
It was getting too hard for me to live in the large house Cara and I had bought in the hopes of someday having a large family.
Both Cara and I had been only children. She wanted a big family to bring noise and joy into our home.
And I was the lucky guy who wanted nothing more than to give the love of my life the world.
I guess that's yet another dream of mine that will be left unfulfilled.
It didn’t make sense to keep the house, so I sold it not long after Cara died and moved to this apartment complex in the city.
This allowed me to take the year off of work and focus on learning to be a single parent.
More than anything, though, I wanted to move out of the house that was supposed to be our forever home because I couldn’t stand to be there without her.
The last three hundred and fourteen days have been rocky, to say the least. It’s been a life full of change.
Phoenix and I have withdrawn from the world, for sure.
And going from having a demanding, competitive career to being a full-time parent is a huge shift.
I have a lot of regrets, so many things left unsaid and undone.
I am, however, definitely grateful for the things I’ve learned over the past three hundred and fourteen days.
Unfortunately, none of those things was learning to cook.
I used to be the happy helper, content to bask in my wife’s love and her home-cooked meals.
This Christmas, it’s up to me to get the cooking done.
I huff out another breath.
Enough about me contemplating the life that was and never will be again.
I won’t let the Madden family’s traditions fall apart.
Keeping things simple while still including all of Phoenix’s favorite foods is the plan.
The sliced ham with roasted vegetables and the creamy macaroni and cheese are done.
But I forgot to defrost the turkey! So, change of plans.
I’ll have to rustle up some roasted chicken with brown gravy and hope Phoenix won’t be too disappointed.
I still want to add one or two more dishes after I put the chicken in the oven.
“Dad?”
Shoot. Phoenix is home. The banging on the door means he’s probably been knocking for a while. He knows not to bang on the door, because we don’t want to disturb our neighbors. I was apparently so lost in my memories, I didn’t hear him.
I’m sweaty, and I'm not done cooking. Swiping my phone off the counter, I check the time. Where did the time go?
With a sweeping gaze around the kitchen, I take in the dishes that are stacked a mile high in the sink, the clutter on the counter, and the four burners alight on the stove. So many things still left to do! Nooooo. I’m not ready. In my head, I say this in a perfect imitation of Kevin Hart.
“Coming, son,” I call out to him. When I open the door, my boy runs into my open arms.
As George and Cynthia walk through the door, their presence fills the room.
“Good evening, Myles, and Merry Christmas.” Cynthia, with her warm smile that could light up a room, possesses a timeless beauty. Her emerald eyes twinkle. She's not trying to defy aging, but she seems to have made a pact with it, embracing the wrinkles as markers of the laughter and happiness.
“Merry Christmas, Cynthia, George.” I smile.
“Merry Christmas, son.” George’s posture, though slightly stooped by time, speaks of a life well-lived and shared with his loving wife.
We greet each other with hugs and kisses, warm like the Caribbean sunshine. But beneath the warmth there’s this weight of sadness, like an unseen force of gravity, pulling down on our hearts and reminding us that someone precious has been lost.
“Thanks for bringing Nix home.”
“You’re welcome,” my mother-in-law says.
“Bye, Grandma. Bye, Grandpa.”
“Bye, Phoenix,” they chorus. Cynthia ruffles my boy’s curls while George gently bops him on his button nose.
And with smiles, they both spin on their heels and leave.
My arms tighten around my son, and he buries his face deeper into my midsection. “How’s my little man?”
“Good, Dad.” Phoenix raises his head, staring at me with espresso-brown eyes the exact same shade as his mother’s. I know he’s trying to gauge how I’m truly feeling. “And you?”
One thing I love—one of many—about my son is how protective he is of me, and how concerned he is about my feelings. Ruffling his curly, dark-brown hair, almost identical to the shade of his eyes, I say, “I’m doing great. But I messed up with dinner, so we’re having chicken instead of turkey.”
Phoenix smacks his lips together. “I’ll eat anything you cook, Dad.” Then, his eyes become guarded, troubled.
My heart hammers in my chest. Sinking to my knees so I can look at him right in the eye, I ask, “What’s wrong, son? Talk to me. You know you can tell me anything.” I smile to reassure him.
“I saw Grandma crying, and Grandpa was sad all day.” When I don’t respond right away, he says, “Dad?”
Clasping his hand in mine, I lead my boy to the living room. I sit with him by the softly-glowing Christmas tree, its lights casting a warm, flickering embrace around us.
"Nix," I say, my voice trembling. "I need to talk to you about something important."
Nix's eyes cautiously meet mine. "What, Dad?"
"Remember, son," I begin, my hand gently squeezing his tiny one. "This Christmas is different."
He furrows his brow, confused, before understanding quickly dawns.
I take a deep breath, struggling to find the right words. "It's the first Christmas without your mommy."
My son’s eyes well with tears. He whispers, voice cracking, "She's in heaven now." Nix sniffles, his lower lip trembling. "Why, Dad? It isn’t fair. I’m not ready for her to be gone."
I hug him tightly, tears filling my own eyes. "I know, son. I’m not ready for her to be gone, either. But sometimes the people we love very much have to leave us, whether they want to or not. And it hurts."
He buries his face in my shoulder, his small frame trembling with sobs.
I stroke his hair, fighting back my own tears. "You remember how much your grandparents loved Mommy, right?"
He raises his head and nods, wiping his tears with the back of his hand.
"This is Grandma and Grandpa's first Christmas without their daughter, and it's really difficult for them," I say, trying to explain it to him gently.
"They miss her just like we do, but it’s a little different for them.
" I rub my son's back softly to console him.
"She was their little girl. They raised her, loved her, and watched her grow up to become your mommy. They love you; you're their only grandchild. But it’s hard for them. They love spending time with you, but they can’t help missing your mommy at the same time. "
Nix looks at me with wet eyes. "We should make next Christmas special for them, Dad. Mommy would want that."
I smile through my tears, grateful for my wise-beyond-his-years son. "That's right, Nix. And we’ll definitely do that. Next Christmas will be a tribute to your beautiful mommy." I plant a kiss on his forehead.
We make our way to the kitchen. Nix hops onto the stool and watches while I prepare the chicken. I can tell he’s tired, but it looks like watching me work is soothing to him.
After combining the thyme, salt, pepper, and paprika, I spread the spice rub on the outside of the chicken and in the cavity. Then I place the bird in a shallow roasting pan.
Pointing to the strips of bacon, I say, “You think you can help me arrange them over the breast portion of the chicken?”
My son giggles. Yes, the word “breast” tickles him, like I knew it would.
Cara and I never shied away from teaching him the real names of body parts—no weird monikers for our boy.
But certain words still make him laugh. It warms my heart to hear that beautiful sound.
And it seems to cause a chain reaction, because I’m also chuckling now.
That’s another thing I miss about my wife; she always had a way of bringing a smile to our faces, no matter what kind of day we’d had.
All too soon our laughter dies, highlighting Cara’s absence even more acutely.
When Phoenix finishes with the chicken, I put it into the oven to roast. “Good job, son.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“You want to go play with your video games for a little while so I can tidy up and take a quick shower?”
Phoenix’s eyes light up. “For real?”
Smiling, I say, “Mmhm. We’ll eat when I’m done.”
No sooner than the words leave my lips, Phoenix is already scampering off to the living room.
Turning down the burners, I begin making the kitchen more presentable.
It’s times like these where I really miss my wife’s influence; she ran the kitchen like a well-oiled machine.
She used to say the only dishes we should need to wash after our meal are the ones we used for eating and serving that meal.
Her mantra was “clean as you go.” But me?
I just go… and pay the price later with a sink full of dirty dishes.
It’s those little things… the seemingly insignificant little things I miss about my wife. The little things I’ll never get to experience again and again. All I have now are the memories.
I’m not sure how long it took, but I finally finished tidying up. Before heading to the bathroom, I make sure Nix is doing okay.
I huff out a breath as the water cascades over my body.
Thoughts crowd my brain as I soap my body with Cara’s favorite scented soap.
How long will it take me to get used to her absence from my life?
There are so many milestones Cara wanted to be here for that she’ll now be missing.
Having more kids. Going on family cruises.
Our kids heading off to college. Enjoying being empty nesters.
Helping with our grandkids. Our retirement. She was going to miss them all.
The shrill beeping of the smoke alarm jolts me from my musings.
I can hear Nix’s frightened wails above the sound of the alarm.
A surge of fear rushes through my entire body.
What the hell is going on?
With my heart galloping out of my chest, I grab the towel from the rack and dart out of the bathroom. Feet slipping on the tiled floor, I wrap the towel around my waist and rush out into the hallway.
Looks like I’m never going to pay back all the bad karma I’ve racked up in my life.