For Me, It’s You

1. Este

ESTE

M y best friend Mallory stomps into my house, dumping a handful of mail onto my center island before she strides over to me. “Hey, girl. How you doing? I could really use you back at work, you know.”

I open one eye. I’m perched on the couch beneath a quilt, down for the count with a nasty sinus infection.

The curtains are drawn, and all the lights in the house are turned off.

There’s only one position where the pain quells, and it requires that I become a human pretzel.

Rounds of antibiotics prescribed by my general doctor have been no match for this beast.

It’s starting to affect my ability to do my job, which is being an assistant to my best friend Mallory, a realtor, and her office manager extraordinaire.

“Listen, boo. My cousin is an ENT. Let’s schedule an appointment to ensure nothing serious is going on.

I need you back at work, and that boozy benefit is coming up.

You promised you’d come help me find a lovah !

” She glares at me, lying incapacitated on the couch.

“Oh my God, I didn’t tell you yet! I had to fire the girl at the front desk for having sex with her boyfriend in the bathroom instead of answering the phones.

So now I’ve got Donna on the phone, and she’s not happy about that.

Drama, drama.” Mallory harumphs. “I know that office work isn’t your passion, but you need to get better, because I need you! ”

Normally, I might say “I told you so,” since I’ve been begging Mallory to fire her for months, but the pain is too overwhelming, so I pull the quilt over my head.

Mallory is the best friend a woman could ask for. When my husband died overseas in the military, I went to work for her after several years of being a stay-at-home mother and author.

My eyes dart over to the last family photo hanging above the fireplace.

Cole is looking at me in it, not the camera, but somehow, it turned out better than all the rest. That had been the last year of his life, when things were good again after many lousy years.

Not a month later, he was violently stolen from me.

I hadn’t even had a chance to hang the new portrait by then; Mallory did that for me back when I still couldn’t get out of bed.

“Or you could get up and open up a new document on the computer and finally put some words on the page,” Mallory goads me.

“You know that hasn’t happened in three years.

” I sigh. When my husband died and my world ended, I lost my inner muse.

Suddenly, I couldn’t string words into sentences to continue writing my bestselling self-help books, which was annoyingly ironic—a self-help author who couldn’t help herself.

What a cliché. There were so many times I sat down at my laptop and begged words to tumble out, but it was a fruitless pursuit.

The dystopian romance series I’d been writing under a pseudonym had been left incomplete when my muse died.

I tried writing in other genres, but it didn’t make a difference.

I became a whiz at the first and second chapters that ultimately went nowhere.

My characters hadn’t left me alone, though—they still haunt my dreams and waking moments, begging to continue their journey after the end of the world.

Maybe I had to tune them out when my world ended, primarily to focus on my daughter, Reed, and rebuilding what was left of our lives.

There’s something so painful about being a writer who can’t write.

“Every day is a new day,” Mallory says sunnily. “By the way, your commentary about the receptionist was sorely lacking. I expected an ‘I told you so’ at minimum. Do better.”

Mallory throws herself at the end of my couch, pulls my feet into her lap, and ducks beneath the quilt I’m using to gaze at my face.

“She deserved to be let go months ago. Girl, I don’t have time to be sidelined like this. I’ve got Reed to think of, too. You know I need to stay busy and be active.”

“Reed is doing fine. Didn’t you say her therapist said she’s ‘stable’?” Mallory squeezes my foot. “I just texted my cousin, and she’s going to get you in tomorrow at ten. We’re going to make you feel better by this weekend.”

“Ugh, this weekend. Like I need another reminder.”

Mallory has been bugging me for weeks about some boozy benefit that helps local veterans.

It’s a cause I care about, so I won’t miss it, but it also sounds exhausting.

Unfortunately, I’m tired from being sick for so long.

Six weeks of pain, headaches, and a runny nose have wiped out all my enthusiasm for life.

“After a seven-year relationship being obliterated, you know how badly I need to meet a dashing young veteran to rebound with.” Mallory reminds me as though I’ve forgotten about her recent breakup with her longtime boyfriend.

She’s been crying to me for six weeks, and now she’s ready to move on.

“He needs muscles. I’m not going for another scrawny guy, okay?

That’s mandatory. If he can’t pick me up and throw me on the bed, I’m not into it. ”

I roll my eyes. “Even I could bench press you on a good day.”

“Is it so wrong to want to be thrown around the bedroom by a hot, muscular dude?” Mallory chortles and sends me an eye roll.

“Ben had his redeeming qualities. He could fix your computer.” I shrug. “And your car. Had that whole gearhead thing going on.”

Cole never used to do those things for me.

Even when he was home, I was stuck with most of the responsibilities, while he played video games and zoned out.

We’d spent years drifting apart, living more like roommates than partners when he was home from deployments. The memories sting, even in retrospect.

Mallory offers me a pointed look. “Yeah, but it’s not worth it to stay with the wrong guy. I gave him plenty of chances. The same way I know you gave Cole chances.”

I sigh. “It sucks being lonely, especially when you’re married to someone. Though things were better toward the end.”

“Well, you’re never alone. You’ve got me and Reed.” My friend smiles at me.

“Anyway, honey, I have to get back to the office, but I dropped off a homemade quiche for dinner. Just pop the slices in the microwave on fifty percent power for forty-five or fifty seconds.” Mallory reaches for my hand beneath the quilt and squeezes it.

She’s too good to me. I consider her more a sister than a friend, or at least, what I imagine a sister would be like.

My parents never gave me a sibling. Sometimes I wish they had.

And then I had done the same to Reed, never giving her one either.

Sometimes, timing sucks, and we learn to live with the what-ifs.

“Thanks, Mal.”

The next day, I’m diagnosed with a maxillary sinus infection, which is more severe than a regular old sinus infection, and Amy, AKA Dr. Harbinger, the ENT, prescribes me a strong antibiotic that should kick it out once and for all.

She also gives me a stronger painkiller than the over-the-counter ones for the facial pain.

The doctor promises I should be in decent shape for the boozy benefit on Sunday, but recommends I take it easy on the “boozy” part.

No fun. I’m already going kicking and screaming for Mallory’s sake, and now I have to lay off the alcohol?

“Got another offer on the Holland Creek property,” Mallory tells me casually as she covers me up on the couch after the appointment.

“I know you’re not ready to make any big moves, but this offer is all cash and significantly above the price I would list it for.

It could be a nice nest egg to put in the bank account with all your grandparents’ insurance money. ”

I know it’s stupid of me to hold on to the property that’s not making me a dime, but the nostalgia is too great to part with it yet.

My grandparents have only been gone for a little over a year, and it feels too soon.

God, I still miss them so much. They had been there for me the year after Cole died more so than anyone else, even my parents.

“Just think about it,” Mallory begs as she walks to the freezer and grabs an ice pack for my face. I cover my sinuses up and put an end to the discussion that I’m not ready to have.

But I don’t give it any further thought. Not with pain thumping, hot and angry, through my cheekbones, or as I finally drift off into a restless sleep minutes later.

Today is the boozy benefit for veterans, and it’s way too early in the morning.

I’m phoning it in, looking more athletic than I feel wearing purple athletic shorts, a gray racerback tank top that shows off my matching purple sports bra, and a black headband to keep my hair out of my face.

I’ve braided my blonde hair down my back, but the wispy baby hairs at the front of my face refuse to be held down by the strongest-hold hairspray.

“It’s so unfair that I can’t come to the veteran relay day. I’m so good at that stuff,” Reed whines from her position on my bed, her Kindle in hand.

“You’re not twenty-one,” I remind her. “And hey, if it makes you feel better, I barely want to go. I’m doing this purely for Mallory, who kept both of us fed all week and splurged on the house cleaning team that tidied up after our messy butts yesterday.

” That had been a happy, if not slightly embarrassing, surprise at the crack of dawn on Wednesday morning.

I’d felt so truly spoiled by my best friend and boss that I could definitely put on a cute outfit and play silly games at McNamara Park today.

“Ask me what I’m reading,” Reed suggests, as she holds up her Kindle with a little smile. She wiggles it around with a suggestive eyebrow waggle that immediately makes me suspicious.