Chapter 19
19
GUY ‘FOSTER’
My phone rings loudly, pulling me out of my sleep. I fumble around blindly, searching for it under my pillow until I finally find it.
‘Hello?’ I croak, my voice rough from just waking up. The daylight streaming through the window tells me I’ve been out for a while. How long did I sleep? All the walking – er, healing (Eve’s words) is wearing me out. I don’t even remember going to bed last night.
Matty’s familiar voice comes through the phone, easing my mind. ‘How ya doin’, bud?’
‘Oh, you know, just living the life as I’m glued to my ex’s bed while she waits on me hand and foot.’
‘I hope you’re a better actor than rider if you expect her to believe you don’t secretly love every moment of being there.’ He bellows a laugh into the phone.
‘That is our secret,’ I remind him. ‘Also, one wreck doesn’t make me a bad rider.’
‘I suppose you’re right. Well, I worried this might blow up at first but it’s been five days at her place and you’re still alive; that’s a good sign.’
‘That’s because our conversations have been surface level at best. And she has a “no flirting in the apartment” rule which stifles my usual ways.’
‘Probably for the best.’
‘She’s definitely playing it safe.’
‘As should you, considering your physical condition. Do you feel like you’re healing?’
‘Yeah. My ribs still hurt with a lot of movement but we’re getting somewhere, I think. She’s got me walking miles around the building multiple times a day – I think that’s doing the most.’
‘Good, good, so you’re in good hands with Eve. I’m glad.’
‘I am in gorgeous hands and since her rule is “no flirting in the apartment”, that’s motivation for leaving it and allowing her to guide me on walks with her hand in the crook of my good arm, like old times when we’d flutter around the city together.’
‘You’re reliving old times via flirtatious conversations in the hall? Interesting. Have you broken out the news that y’all are still married?’
I choke on absolutely nothing.
‘No,’ I finally reply. ‘Timing hasn’t been right for that.’
He chuckles lightly. ‘I bet not.’
The thought of telling Eve those words feels like gazing into an abyss, knowing that once I fall into the truth, there may be no coming back. No rescue. No salvation. I’ll possibly lose this woman forever. It’s a bottomless pit of anguish, the kind that breaks you from the inside out and leaves you hollow for the rest of your days. And I did it on purpose – refused to sign the divorce papers, that is. The last thing I wanted was to lose her, but after she left me so coldly, the immature side of me sort of wanted to pay her back for that, so I ran the divorce papers through my shredder. When I never received anything from her or her lawyer again, I assumed it was done. However, Matty asked about it last year, and when I admitted what I’d done, his wife did some research. They had me over for dinner one night just to announce that Eve and I were still married – for four years at that point. How that happened, I’ve no idea, but at some point, Eve deserves to know.
‘You need anything?’ Matty asks.
‘I’m glad you asked,’ I say, glancing down at the ridiculous neon leggings on my bottom half. ‘Yes, I do. I’m currently wearing Eve’s very gay neighbor Phil’s wardrobe which today consists of pink leggings, and a shirt that has Ryan Gosling’s face on it with the words “Hey, girl”.’ This gets a big hearty laugh out of him.
‘Yeah, it’s hilarious. Please, please tell me you can bring my shit?’
‘Only if you send me a photo so I can prove to the guys you’re still alive – in the leggings and Gosling shirt.’
I groan into the phone. ‘Seriously?’
‘What’s a trip across the country worth to you?’ he teases.
With that, I tap into the camera app, turn the screen and snap a selfie of myself, texting it through to him without inspecting it.
He bellows a laugh, far too amused by my appearance.
‘You know, anyone else might be offended by this,’ I say when the laughing has gone on way too long.
‘It’s funny,’ he says. ‘Your fans are going to love it.’
‘My what ?’
‘And post,’ he says, laughing to himself.
‘Post where?’
‘On the insta thing,’ he says.
‘Matty! Damn it. That wasn’t a photo I wanted getting out.’
‘Sorry. Anyway, we’ve sealed the deal and I’m booking my plane ticket now. What do you want?’
‘Grab me everything out of my top two dresser drawers.’
‘Top two dresser drawers.’ He repeats my words. ‘I’m jotting this down. What else?’
‘My pillow?’
‘Pillow. Anything else? Want a couple trophies to make the place feel like home?’
He’s kidding, but I’m game. ‘Sure, throw ’em in. It’ll be fun to see Eve’s reaction to that. Ohhh, you know what else she might like? Top of my closet, right by the door, is a blue shoebox, taped to the hilt like it’s a Dybbuk box holding in a demon, and on the top are the words “Never Open”. Bring it.’
‘Is this box going to get me strip-searched at the airport, Fost?’
‘No, it’s just… sentimental,’ I reply. ‘Her sister isn’t thrilled I’m here and said I love bombed Eve when we met, insinuating that I didn’t actually love her, and this box will prove I did.’
‘Do,’ he corrects me.
‘The jury is still out on that. Just grab the box, please?’
This box – despite the fact that it looks like a bomb – holds pieces of my heart by way of tokens of Eve’s and my shared adventures and whispered promises. I have a feeling she too wonders if what we had was actually love, and I want – no, I need – to prove that it was.
‘I’ll get the box,’ Matty says. ‘Don’t tell me you’re attempting to woo this woman again?’
‘Maybe I am,’ I say. ‘Whether I can magically sweep this woman off her feet for a second time or not, we at least deserve some closure from our time before.’
‘I have a feeling if you fuck up twice, it’s over over. You ready for that?’
‘I wasn’t ready the first time. But I think reminding her of who I am – who we were – might help. Don’t you think?’
‘I suppose so,’ he says suspiciously. ‘Alright, then. Ticket booked, I’ll be there in a couple of days, bud.’
‘Thanks, Matty.’
We exchange goodbyes, and I’m left staring at the ceiling. If dreaming about each other during this serendipitous coming together is all this is meant to be between Eve and me, then the box Matty’s bringing will have no impact on us.
‘Pardon me, sir,’ Eve says with an accent I can’t quite place – Australian, English, Irish, Pirate? Somewhere in that zone.
‘Yeah?’ I say without opening my eyes.
Morphine is good, y’all. Why I need it sucks, and I’ll stop when I no longer do, but I can see why it’s become a problem for humanity. ( Don’t do drugs, kids .)
‘I’m almost ready to serve dinner,’ Eve says in her terrible accent. ‘Would you like it here or in the dining room?’ She motions toward her tiny kitchen.
A small round wooden dining table and two chairs in different styles and colors sit across from each other against the wall. It’s barely big enough for two microwave dinners.
‘Um—’
In an instant, her demeanor changes, and she reverts to her usual American self.
‘Also, a gentle reminder from Nurse Eve: you were doing really well at my coaching so I didn’t want to ride you about it, but I haven’t seen you up moving at all this afternoon.’
I chuckle softly, unable to hide my amusement. ‘I did sleep away a lot of the day, didn’t I?’
‘You did.’
‘Also, how many different personalities will I be encountering tonight, Miss Cassidy?’
Her broad smile is parenthesized by a charming dimple on the left cheek, which never fails to capture my attention. Her happiness is genuine, and she is enjoying herself immensely this evening. I bet Phil brought wine again.
‘You have control of that remote,’ she says.
‘Yikes. That’s a lot of pressure.’
‘I wish you all the luck. Anyhow… do you feel like taking the adventurous route and hiking your injured butt to the kitchen, or would you rather watch your friends on TV and have a cozy dinner in bed?’ British Eve is back with her witty and playful tone.
Yes, I’ve been watching the tour I’m supposed to be on, via the Red Bull channel. Jeff is coming in first in every single one, and each one irritates me a little more. Time to click this off.
‘I’ll take option one, please,’ I say, matching her energy because I know I’ll ruin her night if I don’t. She’s really trying here, and the least I can do is not be ‘grumpy-in-pain’ guy or ‘talk-about-the-past-and-confess-my sins’ guy.
She extends a hand my way to help me out of her bed. ‘Slowly,’ she reminds me, pulling me into the sitting position, her warm hand resting on my shoulder, providing a comforting support. This part – really every part – is getting easier but if she wants to help, I’m not going to say no. I like her.
‘Whenever you feel ready to stand up, use your knees and lean on me for balance,’ she advises.
‘I never expected you to treat me like?—’
‘A friend?’ She finishes my sentence as I get to my feet. Her hands are lying gently on each bicep and her gaze is on me.
I nod. I was going to say ‘a boyfriend’, because that’s really all I know around her, but she capped that.
‘I guess I expected you to be a little… rougher.’ I laugh, even saying the words.
She smirks. ‘If you act up, I plan on whacking you with this cane. Maybe that’s what you’re feeling?’
‘Maybe it is.’
She keeps a hand on my shoulder as she balances me. ‘You good?’
‘I’m good,’ I say, reaching out to take my cane from her, even though I don’t really need it any more. She was right, walking even short distances a few times a day has me much steadier on my feet than I was. But I also like her fawning over me, so the help is nice. I gesture for her to proceed, and she walks to the stove.
As I follow, the aroma of something delicious fills my nostrils, and I can hear the sizzling sound coming from a pan in the oven. She cooked again?
‘Have you always been this good of a cook?’ I ask, not remembering more than scrambled eggs and toast in our past.
Eve gazes at me, bewildered, as if my question has taken her aback. ‘I, uh—took some cooking classes with someone a couple of years ago and caught the bug.’ The topic of this mysterious ‘someone’ has her suddenly shy.
‘That’s good for me, then. Given that I’m usually on the road, the most convenient option is drive-throughs,’ I explain. ‘I live on fast food or free food at events.’
‘Yum,’ she says with a grimace, setting the plates on the table. She takes the bright blue chair, leaving me with the magenta one. ‘This is way better than fast food. I had to do some digging for this recipe, and you just got lucky enough to end up here on one of the two nights a month I make it.’
‘What is it?’
‘Escargots,’ she says with a sweet smile. She eagerly pierces one with her fork. Her expression turns to pure delight as she chews.
‘You’re a little grosser than I remember.’
She nearly snorts laughter.
‘Seriously? Snails?’ I ask, poking my fork around my plate. No way she’s not messing with me.
‘It’s a very popular food,’ she says. ‘You’d know that if you didn’t eat at Burger King every day of your life.’
‘I prefer McDonald’s.’
She rolls her eyes playfully.
‘Fine, fine,’ she chuckles. ‘Stick to your fast food, Mr Gourmet.’ She dabs at the corners of her mouth with a cloth napkin, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she reaches for her nearly empty wine glass. ‘But you’re missing out on a whole world of flavors.’ She stabs at another ‘snail’ delicately. ‘Try it, just this once. For me?’ Her expression is pleading, her lips quirked in an endearing grin.
I sigh dramatically, feigning reluctance as I pick up my fork and reluctantly poke at one of the snail shapes. As I lift it to my mouth, she watches intently, a mix of amusement and anticipation in her gaze. With a deep breath, I close my eyes and take a bite.
This little liar. The cheese-filled tortellini explodes on my tongue, surprising me with its richness and complexity. Opening my eyes, I meet hers, now gleaming with triumph.
‘Well?’ she asks eagerly, almost unable to hold back her laughter.
Our gazes meet and if that smile didn’t melt my heart, I could probably find words to say that are more flattering than ‘Wow, it’s familiar and amazing. You make this twice a month?’
The night we spontaneously got married, we wandered into a tiny Italian restaurant where the server convinced us to make us a special ‘wedding night’ meal. This was that meal. Is that why she still makes it? I mean, she did say she had to dig for the recipe; that’s something, isn’t it?
‘This is the first time I’ve made it. I had to email the guy who owns that restaurant for the recipe. I thought it might be fun to relive something while we’re both awake, and food seemed safe.’
She wants to relive something while not dreaming? I set my fork on my plate and rub my chest.
‘Are you alright?’ she asks, suddenly concerned, reaching out to touch my shoulder.
‘I’m fine, just been experiencing some unexpected stabbing pain lately,’ I explain. No way can I tell her – yet – that those pains are in my heart.
Regret is painful. Like physically so. I know for a fact there is nothing wrong with my heart as it’s recently been inspected – but it hurts. I took her for granted and failed to show her the appreciation she deserved, and in the five years we’ve been apart, I’ve tried absolutely nothing to get her back, yet here I sit in her kitchen, eating a meal she cooked for me willingly, that reminds us both of a memory she’s probably tried to forget.
‘I’m glad it’s not snails. Honestly, I think you made it better than the original.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah.’
She smiles sweetly. ‘I guess you weren’t all I fell in love with that night.’
I stare at her, stunned by her words. This is the first time she’s mentioned loving me. ‘Are you flirting with me, Jellybean? In the apartment?’
She laughs, shaking her head and turning her attention back to her meal. ‘No. Just allowing myself to remember something I’d previously forced myself to forget, that’s all.’
‘Did you really forget me? Us?’
‘I tried,’ she says with a shrug. ‘But it never really worked. Once a year Facebook would remind me, and I’d spend the next three hundred and sixty-five days attempting to block it from my mind, but truthfully’ – she looks up from her plate at me – ‘and I promised myself I’d never say this out loud – but my heart would never let it go.’
‘“It” as in me?’
She nods, tucking her hair behind her ear nervously, a hint of vulnerability crossing her features. ‘Yes, you. Us. Everything we had and everything we lost. It’s funny how memories never truly fade, isn’t it? They linger in the corners of our minds, waiting for a moment of weakness to resurface.’
‘To be fair, you should know you’re not the only one who tried to bury those memories away.’
Her eyes reflect a mix of emotions – nostalgia, regret, and a hint of longing. ‘I thought time would make it easier, that distance would fade the memories, but then you were wheeled into my trauma room and I realized some connections are just too strong to sever,’ she murmurs.
I reach out and cover her hand with mine, the touch familiar yet tinged with the weight of unspoken words. ‘I tried but never could forget either,’ I admit quietly, feeling the heaviness of our shared past hanging between us like a veil.
She squeezes my hand, a silent acknowledgment passing between us – just like when I was in the hospital.
She pulls her hand from mine gently. ‘This seems like a slippery slope…’
I nod. ‘A little bit.’
The mood shifts, and I can almost feel her anxiety as she pokes at her nearly empty plate. ‘I’ll just start the dishwasher while you finish up and then we’ll go for a walk,’ she says, suddenly fluttering around the kitchen. The sound of running water from the sink fills the air as she starts to rinse the dishes and fill the dishwasher.