ELEVEN

EM

 

∞ Now ∞

This day sucks. Every year, without fail.

When Halloween approaches, I brace myself, begging out of any social engagements I'm invited to. I don't wear a costume. I don't go to any parties.

But I do my best to spend the surrounding days in a wine-soaked haze.

Unfortunately, that's not in the cards this year. Five days after the rest of the country embarks upon a costumed frenzy, trick-or-treating and partying, I hand a customer the pair of earrings she's purchased and give her a tight-lipped smile before she heads out the door.

Mom and I have danced around each other all day. From the corner of my eye, I watch her drift aimlessly around the shop, my eyes peeled for any sign of tears. I never know when something will blindside one of us and send us tripping down the emotionally fraught path that's memory lane. Especially today.

I mean, God, just think of my shadowbox. Just a single picture of Dad where I hadn't expected to find it had knocked the wind right out of me. I hadn't been able to send Nikki away fast enough. If she'd stayed and pushed as everyone seems wont to do, I knew I'd break down.

Anything can be a trigger. An old movie on TV that Mom had once watched with Dad. If she hears the wrong song on the radio. If we run into someone we used to know—someone who doesn't know.

As for me, I determinedly concentrate on small, mind-numbing tasks. It's how I keep myself taped together. Straightening displays, ironing out wrinkles in the tablecloths that shouldn't be there. If I lose my concentration, I'll get sidetracked. And being sidetracked isn't something I can afford. My mind will wander dangerously close to days when Dad was here. To days when I'd cringe with embarrassment over an old nickname instead of experiencing that pang of remembrance.

Mom clears her throat from the corner. "Honey, I'm going to head home for the day." Her voice is suspiciously thick, but then she continues. "I just don't think there's anything else for me to do here."

I prohibit myself from looking back toward the stock room, where I know tons of inventory wait. She'll feel guilty if she remembers and it's a perfect project for me to take my mind off of things.

Besides, Mom needs the day. To do whatever it is that puts her back together every time she breaks.

And me? I'll stay busy. I'll avoid. It's how I've been able to sidestep breaking this long.

"Sounds good, Mom," I say.

I run a finger over a nearby vase as she leaves me alone with the shop and my unwelcome thoughts.

The vase is dusty. Perfect. Something else to do. For once, my internal dialogue isn't tinged with sarcasm. I move behind the counter to retrieve the lemon-scented cleaner and dust rag when the bell over the door tinkles.

I look up to see Cole stepping into the shop.

God, not today.

He smiles when he sees me, but it has the same tight-lipped quality as the smile I'd given my last customer. "Busy?" he asks.

"Do you see anyone else in here?" I retort. I take a savage swipe at the counter with my rag.

"Listen." He scratches at the back of his head, clearly uncomfortable. "Do you want to grab lunch or something?"

My hand stutters over the knick-knacks I'm dusting. "Mom's not here. She's home for the day. I have to man the shop." I lift a decoration to clean beneath it.

"Em." His hand on mine stays me. I freeze, unable to look up at him. "Flip the sign for an hour. It's a two-person operation. You have to eat sometime. And I thought maybe you could use a break." His voice lowers into that deep register that makes obnoxious butterflies start flapping around my heart. "I know what today is. I was there."

I hadn't forgotten that either. Finally, I force my gaze from my dusting to study him. He looks nervous. Like he's afraid I'll tell him to shove it up his ass and get out of my store. He shifts his weight, but his eyes are soft as he waits for my response.

My stomach does that funny little leap I'm slowly growing reacquainted with where Cole's concerned.

What could it hurt? I put the rag down. "You know what? A break sounds good."

∞

"I hate you a little bit," I say as the waitress places a basket in the center of the table and hops away. Cole's brought me to a restaurant called Uncertainly. There's a big piece of artwork on the back wall with the saying "Life is uncertain; eat dessert first."

Rather than be presented with a basket of bread at the onset of the meal, we receive a basket of sweets: chocolate covered pretzels, raspberry truffles, toffee, squares of cakes, and soft peppermints. It's a calorie-counter's nightmare, but a sweet tooth's dream.

It's also comfort food and I need that right now. I reach toward the basket of temptation and bite into a chunk of toffee with a loud crunch.

"Hate," I say emphatically as deliciousness swarms my senses. "Mountains and mountains of hate. This is cruel and unusual torture."

Cole's expression is simultaneously amused and distracted. "I think it only counts as torture if you're actually trying to use your willpower and resist temptation." 

A peppermint melts on my tongue and I let out an uncontainable sigh of enjoyment.

He fidgets in his seat.  "So… how are you handling everything today? You at least seem to be enjoying the food."

I didn't come here to examine my messy, buried feelings. Instead, I sidestep the question and swallow the sweet with an audible gulp. "I know. I am. It's too good. I think I've died. I'll have to run for days to burn this lunch off, but I think maybe this is what heaven is like."

I watch his eyes for the minute giveaway that tells me he's resigning himself to these surface-level questions. Maybe in another era or on another day, he'd push me. But not today. Today, he lets me slide.

"I'm touched," he drawls. "It's heaven and I'm there? I never knew you were so sentimental."

I don't respond, eyeing a square of pound cake. I shouldn't. I really shouldn't. The temptation of the comfort food is basically sinful. "Then again, maybe it is hell."

"Rude. I don't see any ceiling-high flames in the vicinity. And the last time I checked, I hadn't sprouted devil horns." Mock-frowning, he pats down his hair searching for them.

I quell the smile tip-toeing onto my lips and a little bit of the tension weighing on my shoulder lightens with his lame attempt to make me laugh. Desserts and laughter are the key, sin or not. I lift the pound cake to my lips and relax more with each bite of the soft, buttery taste.

And maybe it's the fact that Cole didn't push. Or maybe it's just that… I find Dad on my mind more than usual these days.

I won't break if share. Just a little.

"I'm okay," I say. "But I miss him."

Cole's gaze softens. "I know. And it's okay to let yourself feel that, you know?"

My heart hops.

I thought I told you to stop that, I scold myself, receiving little more in response than an inconsiderate shrug from that rebellious corner of my mind.

Cole's right. It's okay to let myself miss Dad. Especially today.

I nod. "Yeah. I know."

There's a silence over the table again, but it's not like the lunch we had before Nikki mandated that we plan her wedding. That one was awkward. Rife with things unsaid. This silence… it's like it's speaking for us. Memories rippling through the air. Feelings swimming through the empty space.

We don't have to talk. It's all there in the moment.

I know what he wants from me. And a part of me really wants to give it to him. He's one of those people. The kind that stay with you. That you can't forget, no matter how hard you try.

If it's this hard just to forget about him, though… I can't imagine trying something more. Can't imagine losing him in a real way. Even the possibility is enough to make me pull back.

So I clear my throat. I lean away from the table and look away to break the connection. "Cole, we're—"

"—Let me guess," he interrupts me, shaking his head in disappointment like I've let him down somehow. I swallow down my sinking heart and the guilt that comes with it. "We're not going to do this."

I blink. Am I that predictable? "Well… yeah," I admit after a minute.

"That's okay, too, Em." Cole leans back, calm, and steeples his fingers to rest against his chin. "I'm here. I've been here, and I'll be here when you're ready. If you decide you're ready."

My mouth opens soundlessly.

"Can I ask you one thing, though?" He leans toward me, elbows on the table. "What are you so afraid of?"

"Afraid?" I sputter. "What is there to be afraid of? You? I don't think so."

"Yeah. Me," he says intently, holding me steady in his gaze. I resist the urge to look away. "I think I'm exactly what you're afraid of."

The waitress smoothly removes the basket of small bites from the table and replaces it with two plates of chocolate cheesecake drizzled with raspberry sauce. Apparently, we're forgoing meals of substance entirely. But I'm not complaining. Searching for an out to this conversation, I lift a bite to my lips. It's rich with promise on my fork.

He's good enough to drop it, but not without a last laugh. "Sure. Just eat your cake, Em."

I swallow, letting the taste of the cheesecake dissolve on my tongue. If nothing else, at least Cole's managed to distract me for the day. Because, staring into his eyes, Dad is the last thing on my mind.