8. Tilly
Chapter eight
Tilly
A knocking at the front door grows louder, nearly overpowering the whiny voice of Bella Swan begging Edward Cullen not to leave her in the forest alone. Clad in fluffy dinosaur slippers with a piece of raspberry chocolate truffle cake, I open the door to Shantel standing on my front porch.
“You look a wreck.” She pauses, taking in the state of my messy bun and the Curious George pajamas I haven’t changed out of in two days. “And I mean that in the nicest way possible.”
“Thank you for lavishing such compliments on my attire,” I deadpan and keep the door cracked. If she thinks that about my appearance, she’d pass out if she saw my living room.
Whoever said there’s beauty in the breakdown lied.
Sometimes it takes more effort than I have to even change my shirt, let alone clean the house. I’ve been told it’s normal to fall into these spells, but I thought I was getting better. All it took to set me back was for Archer to show up again and throw a wrench in my plans by telling me about the bakery.
“Come on, Til. Let me in.” Shantel holds up a grocery bag. “I brought Dutch Bros. and frozen pizza.”
Pizza. The secret passcode to enter. Damn she’s good.
“No judging.” I inch the door open .
“Scout’s honor.” She salutes me in a definite not Scout’s honor, and I laugh, ushering her in before Mrs. Jackson across the street senses I’ve opened the doors. I am not ready for her to come pester me again about joining whatever neighborhood club the widows of Alamo Heights have formed.
Her sharp intake of breath shows me just how far down the rabbit hole I’ve fallen. I take in the state of my living room, the stack of cups, the crusted over plates filled with food I couldn’t force myself to eat, the pile of clothes in the corner.
My internal messiness has spilled over to my surroundings.
“Umm,” she starts, opening and closing her mouth like she’s unsure what to say. “How can I help?”
The tension inching my shoulders to my ears releases, and I hang my head and rub away the tears prickling my eyes. “Honestly, I don’t know.”
She points to the couch. “Finish Depressing Moon while I pop this pizza in the oven.”
I fall to the cushions and press play on my comfort movie. She busies herself with cleaning while I struggle to focus on the scene in front of me. My life is a mirror image of the main character sitting on a chair staring out the window as months pass. The hole inside my chest didn’t just tear open when Archer told me Jessie bought my bakery.
It exploded.
Every defense against the sucking tendrils of grief I’ve cultivated disappeared in the snap of a finger, and the remnants of what I had—of what I lost—came barreling in, knocking me back to the moment I woke up with Jessie’s stiff arms around me.
By the time the ding of the oven sounds, my living room is clean, the dishes are done, and the smell of pepperoni, sausage, and Canadian bacon wraps itself around me like a warm blanket .
“Shower, then pizza.” Shantel turns off the TV and hitches her thumb over her shoulder.
Grumbling, I rise and shuffle toward my room.
“You’ll thank me when you smell better,” she yells down the hall.
Inside the master bathroom, I stare at the random bottles of cologne, aftershave, and lotion I’ve yet to be able to part with. Sometimes a scent is enough to trick my brain into thinking Jessie’s going to walk through the door at the end of the day.
I know it’s time to ‘get back out there’ but moving on in life isn’t as easy as it sounds. I pick up a bottle of his cologne and hold it to my nose, inhaling the scent as if it’s his life force. My throat aches, and I clench my jaw as my eyes brim with tears.
On my side of the sink, a new pair of pajamas, aloe-infused fuzzy socks, and a stress-relief body wash are laid out for me. I slip into the shower and let the hot water beat down on my neck. Two days’ worth of shame and sadness slip away, swirling down the drain with the last of my self-control. Tears and snot mix with water as I crumble to the shower floor, arms wrapped around my knees, crying into the crevasse of my thighs.
Why me? It’s the same thing I chanted over and over again when the doctor told me there was no way to stop the unimaginable from happening.
It was just our luck of the draw.
I scoff.
Luck is finding a ten-dollar bill in your car console, or realizing you finally caught your favorite TV show before it’s midway through.
It’s not having an aneurysm.
Dying before you even knew you needed to say goodbye.
“Tilly?” Shantel’s voice floats through the door. “You okay in there? ”
“I’m fine,” I croak. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
Grabbing Jessie’s body wash, I lather the wash cloth and spread my favorite scent over my body. Bergamot and spice fill the steamy air as I shut off the water and towel dry. My eyes land on the pajama pants Shantel bought me, but without thought my hands reach for the faded Hawthorne Heights shirt Jessie loved. It reaches the tops of my thighs, so I grab a pair of shorts to wear under it and slip into the comfy socks.
I clasp my bracelet back onto my wrist, eyes snagging on the marquise diamond ring sliding down my finger. Jessie picked the perfect jewelry, a testament to how well he knew me. If not for the thin ring guard keeping it secure, the weight I’ve lost would prevent me from wearing it.
“Feel better?” Shantel asks when I plod into the now spotless living room.
I survey my surroundings. How did she complete all that within an hour when I haven’t been able to complete one task for two days?
“I do. Thanks.”
Shantel plops onto the sofa and pats the seat beside her. “Sit.”
I oblige her request but sit on the far edge with my legs pulled to my chest so we’re not touching. She smiles, but her eyes are filled with pity.
“Why are you here?” I ask.
“Because you need me.” She shrugs, gaze bouncing around the room. “Why else?”
“I know you’ve got something to say, so just say it.”
She pouts and crosses her arms. “You know me too well.”
I tilt my head, urging her on. “What’s wrong?”
“Archer needs your help at the bakery.”
Instantly my throat closes.
He kept Jessie’s gift a secret from me.
They all did .
In the moments when I needed to feel close to him, to remember I still had a portion of him with me, the bakery could’ve been my solace.
It wasn’t listed on any of his will documents. Jessie was the financially smart one and paid all our bills. I never had any need to look through our financials, nor a reason to touch the life insurance money left over after his funeral.
Now not only do I have to deal with the influx of grief and frustration I was going through trying to get a loan for something I apparently already have, but also with the fact that Archer is leaving too. I’m not sure why, but thinking about it gives me indigestion.
“What do you want me to say?” I ask. “Y’all kept this from me for almost two years!”
Shantel blanches at my raised voice and throws her hands in the air. “You stopped baking. Archer went back and forth on what to do with the place because we never thought you’d get back to that person who came alive in the kitchen. Just…please go check it out. He’s done a lot of renovating.”
“I bet it looks like a dungeon, not a bakery.”
A pillow hits me in the face. “It’s beautiful. But he needs you to show him where you want things hung.”
“I’ll show him where he can hang himself,” I mumble. Shantel wields another pillow and I throw up my hands. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop.”
My mind pushes forward like a freight train carrying all the questions I refuse to speak out loud.
Why is he doing this? He doesn’t care about me or my feelings. He made that clear at his sister’s wedding when he instigated and egged on his friends to give my desserts a bad review. He never had a problem telling Jessie he didn’t want to do something, so why is he working on a bakery for a woman he can’t stand to be in a room with more than once a week?
His gentle face when he stood outside of my car and begged me to stay pops into my mind. It was the face of the Archer I knew back in college. The one who asked to be my partner in Chemistry. The one who brought me my favorite caramel macchiato on the nights we all stayed up cramming for finals. I saw the caring man I used to call a friend come through the person I’ve learned to put up my defenses around.
A fluttery feeling wreaks havoc on my stomach, but I push it away. He may have finally told me about the bakery, but it doesn’t make up for the way he’s pushed me away or his dishonesty over the last year.