Chapter 11 – Grant #2
“Nah,” she said. She took the water glass that was dangling precariously from my hand and replaced it with whiskey.
“Sit here for a few minutes. I’m going to turn on some bad TV.
You’re going to eat mac & cheese until you barf, and then you’ll probably pass out.
If you wake up early and want to escape, that’s fine.
If you want to show up at the office tomorrow and pretend this didn’t happen, that’s fine, too. But you’re safe here, E.G.”
“Safe, yes,” I breathed. Finally, someone understood. “That’s why I came.”
She tilted her head and smiled softly. “I figured.”
I hated her fucking smile. I hated it.
“That’s okay.”
Wait, did I say that out loud?
She stood up and put my drink on a small round table situated on the side of the couch. Then she reached for my sneakers.
“Don’t do that,” I told her.
What I meant to say was that I didn’t need to be treated as if I was a child.
“Sorry, you want to put your feet up on my couch, you take your shoes off. Also, if you tinkle on this couch, I will kick your ass.”
“Fuck you, Flowers.”
“Back at you, Bossman.”
She turned the TV on and made me watch something called The Great British Bakeoff. I did put my sock covered only feet on her couch. I ate, what she told me was a whole box of mac and cheese, whatever that meant, and I ended up crashing out as she predicted.
I did not throw up or piss myself. Because I was a grown man.
It was after three am when I finally woke up, sober. Also, as she predicted, I was ready to sneak out. However, I couldn’t, because I couldn’t leave her door unlocked.
“Shit,” I muttered, running my hands over my face to wipe away the remnants of sleep.
I pulled on my shoes and stood up. Quietly, I made my way to the small kitchen, found a glass in one of the cabinets, and filled it with water to hopefully drown the stale whiskey taste in my mouth. By the time I finished, I did in fact need to take a piss.
The bathroom was across from her bedroom. I was less quiet as I flushed, put the seat cover down – because I wasn’t a total asshole – and washed my hands, hoping she might hear me and wake up on her own accord.
The door was slightly ajar and I wondered why she did that. Left her door open at all. When I peeked inside, she was sprawled out on her stomach, her arms stuffed under her pillows, her hair a mess around her head.
Allison used to sleep on her back and I thought it was insane. Every night she would finagle her hair into a loose braid, put no fewer than fifteen different lotions on her face, before getting into bed, on her back, her head nestled into the down pillow.
I used to tease her that she slept like a vampire.
I waited for the rush of grief, but it was no longer September 28th now, and I needed to get out of Flowers’ space now.
“Flowers,” I whispered into the dark bedroom. There was a window above her bed, with a half-moon letting in a partial glow. She wouldn’t need to turn on the light.
She didn’t stir.
“Flowers,” I said, a little louder.
She jerked then, her senses alerting her to my presence, and in a move worthy of a Tom Cruise action film, she immediately rolled to one side of the bed, hopped to her feet and dug out from her pillow a small canister.
Instantly, I held up my hands. “Hey, it’s just me.”
But her chest was pounding and her eyes were wide and for a second, I thought she didn’t know who I was.
She thinks I’ve come to hurt her.
“Flowers, it’s me,” I said, more authoritatively. “Put down whatever that is in your hand.”
She had this body tremor, but then she lowered her hand and stuffed what I assumed was mace back under her pillow.
“What the fuck, E.G.?”
“I’m leaving,” I said quietly. “You need to lock the door behind me.”
She wore a t-shirt and loose shorts. I could see her legs, and for whatever reason, they looked way more naked than they did when she wore a skirt or dresses. Of course, her thighs were on display and that was never the case in a skirt.
I never thought I’d wish she was in a pair of black leggings.
“You had to wake me up for that?”
“Your door needs to be locked. I can’t do it from the outside without a key.”
Next time, I would make sure I had one.
Next time? What the fuck are you talking about?
“Follow me,” I told her as I left her bedroom, breathing easier the second I did, and walked the short hallway back to her living room to the door. “Lock it behind me,” I said as I stepped outside. “And…”
Suddenly, I was at a loss for words. How did I thank her for what she’d given me?
Solace. Peace. Shelter from my grief storm.
She shook her head, her eyelids still a bit heavy. “You don’t have to say it,” she said. “Never happened. Night.”
She closed the door behind me and I waited outside her door until I heard the lock turn.
Then I made my way down to the street to wait for the Uber, which at this early hour, was over ten minutes away, but I wasn’t about to do to Ricky what I’d done to Flowers.
At least the Uber driver was already up.
The car pulled up and I got in the back seat. The driver said nothing, for which I was grateful.
The day was over. It was September 29th and I could move on with my life.
I would go home, workout, shower, and make sure I was in the office before Flowers arrived.
I thought about maybe doing something nice for her, a thank you coffee or donut.
Instead, I did exactly as she suggested and pretended the entire day never happened.