“Did you ever think about doing anything with it? Your talent, I mean? Oh, you could go on one of those ‘be the next big name designer’ TV shows or something like that.” Lia takes my wisecrack in jest and just laughs at me.
As she’s wrapping a glass bowl in newspaper, she replies to my question. “Actually, I have thought about doing something about it. It turns out with just a few extra classes, in addition to my fashion design degree, I can also be a certified interior designer.”
Cammie squeals with delight, her face beaming with pride for her cousin. “Omigod, Lia. That would be perfect for you!”
Not that I didn’t think it wouldn’t be, but I know that with Lia’s touch our apartment is going to be much more than that. It is going to be a home and I can’t wait to move in there. The three of us spend the rest of the afternoon packing up the suite getting lost in the memories and excited about the future.
Moving sucks. Jack and a few of his friends helped us with all of the boxes, and since the apartment is furnished, we didn’t have too much heavy lifting, but still – this sucks. We’ve spent the last few days cleaning everything. Counters, floors, rugs, windows. I mean the place was sort of clean when we came to see it a few weeks ago, but then the shit must have hit the fan – or the old tenants threw one huge-ass party.
We’ve only been here for about a week or so, but already it feels like a home. It also helps that it is actually a home. We’re renting a small single-level home. With four medium-sized bedrooms, a large living and dining room combo and a fairly new kitchen, it’s nothing like the suite and everything like a real house. With a lot of elbow grease and Lia’s decorative touch, the place is finally done. I fold up the final empty box and tie up the last garbage bag and take them down to the curb where the other garbage is piled high.
I’m a sweaty mess today. Wearing rolled up sweats and a beat up, hot pink tank top, I know I look like a hot mess. But, stepping out into the hot sun of the early summer, I feel new and alive. Scanning the small flowerbed to the side of the front stoop, I see that it’s overgrown with weeds and decide that it too needs be fresh and new.
Hell, I’m filthy already. What’s a little more dirt?
Crouching down on the lawn, I start ripping and tearing at the overgrown weed garden. After ten minutes, my nails are caked with dirt; sweat is dripping down my face and my shoulders burn both from the sun and the strain. But I’ve made progress and I’m excited to get a few flowers to plant.
After tossing the weeds into the pail, I wipe my dirt-covered hands on my sweats. Lifting my arm to wipe a drop of sweat from my face, I catch a whiff of myself and oh dear Lord do I stink. The girls will all be home in a little bit so I’ve got just enough time to shower in peace before the battle over the bathroom begins. One bathroom. Four girls. That’s never fun.
Before turning to walk back inside, something across the street catches my attention. I should say someone, actually. I don’t know how I missed it before, but that’s Bryan’s car parked in the small dirt lot. Just as my heart lodges in my throat and my stomach crashes down to the floor, Bryan catches sight of me.
Of all freaking days.
By some magnetic force, instead of walking back into the house, I am pulled to him. He must feel it too, because instead of getting in his car and driving away, he crosses the road walks right up the small walkway that leads to where I’m standing.
“Hey,” he says tentatively as he rakes his hand through his hair. It’s grown longer since I’ve seen him last and a few strands fall back into his eyes even after having pushed them away.
“Hi.” My voice is shaky and uneasy. I hate that.
I raise my arm to my head to block the blinding sun that’s beating down on us from behind Bryan, then I remember that I’m a smelly mess. Swiftly dropping my arm to my side, I hope he didn’t just smell that.
“So you moved, huh?” Bryan scans the front of the house and nods in approval. It is a cute place, if I do say so myself.
“Yeah, just last week actually.” Out of nervousness, I wipe my hands on my pants once more. His face is cast in the shadow created by the sun glaring from behind him so I’m forced to squint in order to see him.
“It’s nice,” Bryan states blandly.
“Uh huh.” Oh God, this is going nowhere and fast. This conversation, if you can even call it that, is jilted and awkward. We haven’t talked in three months, but it shouldn’t be this difficult to talk to the person you once loved.
Needing to fill the void of silence that is threatening to swallow us whole, I say, “So,” as I shrug my shoulders lamely.
He shrugs his. “Well, I should get going.” Just as he turns to move away, I grab for his arm. I forget about my dirty hands and my stinky pits. I need to talk to him. I want to talk to him. I know that I can’t let him get away.
Staring down at my filthy hand wrapped around his tanned forearm, his face takes on a resigned look. I wonder if he feels
Extending my arm to the small porch, I ask if we can sit and talk. He simply nods and we arrive at the steps in three short strides. Thinking back to just a few weeks ago when I saw him through the window at the lab, I remember wanting to ask him a million questions. But now, sitting here on my front steps, our legs almost touching, my fingers still vibrating from just having touched him, I can’t remember a single one of them.
I opt for the topic that I think will make him the most happy. “How is Emmie? Is she excited about the summer?”
His lips tip up in the corners and his tense shoulders relax as her name comes out of my mouth. “Emmie’s good. She loves the summer. Her birthday was just the other day and she went on and on about her party for days.” Then his lips turn down and then tension is back. Hanging his head low into his hands, he sighs agitatedly.
“What’s wrong, Bryan?” My fingers itch to be laced through his; my hands are almost shaking with the need to rub comforting circles on his back.
“It’s the divorce. That’s all.” The abrupt curtness of his words tells me that things have not been going well.
“I’m here for you.” He lifts his face from his hands and looks at me strangely. “I know we haven’t talked in forever and I know that things didn’t end well, but I can be your friend. We can talk. I hate seeing you like this, Bryan.”
The strange look that was in his eyes morphs into something that looks a lot like longing. “No, we can’t be friends, Melanie. I can’t get over how you didn’t trust me.” He shakes his head and sighs loudly. “You know after we broke up, Courtney came after me again. I still didn’t want anything to do with her. When I said something to her about texting you, she came clean – told me it was an old picture. I think she felt like if she told the truth, she would have a chance of getting back with me. But, I still can’t wrap my head around how
“Wait!” I call out when he’s at the edge of the lawn.
Walking up to him, I only hope that he’ll accept what I have to say. “I understand if you don’t want to be friends. I just want you to know that I’m here for you if you need me.” He nods and it makes the next words get caught up in my throat. “Just before you go, there’s one thing I need you to know. I never meant to hurt you. I’m so sorry for immediately thinking the worst with the text.” I start nervously fidgeting with the hem of my shirt and stare down at it like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.
What looks like anger and sadness swirl together across his face. He simply says, “Yeah, I’m sorry too,” before tipping his head to the approaching mailman. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I mumble but quickly realize that he’s already too far to even hear me. All apologies about what I didn’t do are lost to his retreating back.
“Here you go,” the cheerful mailman says as he hands me a large padded envelope and a few flyers.
“Thanks.” When I’m at the door, I turn back to look in Bella’s parking lot and see Bryan in his car staring at
