EVOL Page 19

  I have flashbacks as this stranger smiles, not knowing that those eyes look a hell of a lot like an “almost” of mine. Like someone I’d almost lived happily ever after with.

  “You okay?”

  “Uh, yeah.” I straighten. “Thanks. Don’t think I would’ve landed gracefully otherwise.”

  He chuckles and it’s sexy, but my heart is a little too vulnerable to give way to that power.

  I offer him a smile and thank him once more before squaring my shoulders and heading inside. I left the door unlocked on the way out, so I’m not surprised when I walk right in, bottle held to my side like an afterthought.

  Sabrina’s laughing at something as she passes me to get to the kitchen. She pauses and looks at me with a frown. When I shrug, she waves me to follow her into the kitchen.

  “Got your shitty Jäger?” she asks, reaching into the cabinet to get another bag of chips out.

  “Yeah. Saw a guy who kinda looked like Gavin out there.”

  She stops her movement and I don’t know what I’m going to be faced with when she turns my way. I get my answer a moment later and I see the exasperation on her features.

  “Still, Denise?”

  I’m full of shrugs tonight.

  “Seems like an ‘always’ type of deal.”

  She doesn’t say anything and everyone in the parlor laughs loudly about something. I wait until it dies down to speak again.

  “Gonna tell me I need more time?” I set the bottle down, its thud dulled by the paper bag when it hits the counter. I don’t say anything else as I unscrew the top and take a sip straight from the bottle.

  Sabrina twists her lips in disgust at my antics.

  I offer her the bottle and she shakes her head.

  “More for me.”

  “I’m not disappointed, if that’s what you’re thinking.” She opens the bag of chips—BBQ—and starts eating them, leaning her hip against the counter. “I know you invested and went through shit. I just wish it’d been with someone a little better. Maybe more empathetic?”

  “I wouldn’t care if you were, to be honest. Only he and I really know the ins and outs of what we did.” I take another sip before screwing the top back on.

  “No chaser these days?”

  “Guess I stopped being weak?”

  “Thug life.”

  She smiles, and it could be all in my head but it’s kinda sad.

  “You okay?”

  More laughter from the next room and I’d rather join them and be catapulted back into my original mood than deal with whatever’s going on in this kitchen between the two of us.

  But the look on her face stops me.

  “I didn’t know how you felt. I couldn’t understand but I understand so much better now.” The voice that’s usually so strong is cracking under the pressure of whatever she’s holding back from me.

  And I fill with dread because I’m almost certain I know what it is.

  Still, I ask her what she means.

  “I haven’t known how to tell you . . .”

  “Just say it,” I snap. And then I close my eyes because I don’t want to be angry. I just want to be a blank slate, absorbing the shades of truth she paints my canvas with.

  Silence. So much silence between us mixed with laughter in the parlor. Someone’s turned on some music and I just want to disappear.

  To run from this room and Sabrina’s truth.

  “I’m pregnant,” she whispers, her lip trembling. “About sixteen weeks.”

  I feel my heart fall to my feet as tears fill my now open eyes.

  “I wanted to tell you before but . . .” She grips one of my shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

  I shake my head and attempt a smile. Smile through your broken heart because you’re supposed to.

  “Please,” I tell her as I wipe my eyes. “Don’t be sorry. This is nothing to apologize for. We should be happy. And I’m so . . . fucking happy for you.”

  I nod over and over, even as tears continue to fall.

  “I’m sorry.” She pulls me in for a hug.

  I pull back after a moment and put on a brave face.

  “Good thing you moved in here,” I offer a weak chuckle. “You’ll need the space.”

  She nods, and her chuckle is far sincerer than mine.

  “Don’t keep anything from me anymore. I want to be part of this.” I sniffle. “I want to be here for you the way you would if it were me.”

  “Of course. It’s you and me until the end, shorty.”

  “Not anymore,” I say, and I kiss her cheek. “Can’t wait to spoil it.”

  “Peter wants a girl.”

  I tilt my head and shoot her a confused look.

  “That’s a first.”

  “He’s insisting he wants a daddy’s girl.”

  I grab the bottle of Jäger and nod.

  “Purely selfish motives. I respect it.”

  I tuck the bottle in the crook of my elbow and Sabrina lifts a brow.

  “Just gonna get some air.”

  “Don’t take too long,” she says to my back as I start to walk away. “You’re supposed to be doing Jäger bombs with Pete and I know some of the guys in there are curious about you.”

  “Cute,” I say over my shoulder. “Be back.”

  “I love you most,” she shouts behind me.

  “Impossible,” I whisper.

  Once I’m outside on the stoop, I feel like I can breathe again. I purge the thought of pregnant Sabrina and her beautiful life upstairs and only focus on myself and my bottle.

  Just as I take a swig, the door behind me opens.

  With the bottle tucked between my knees in its brown paper bag, I ready myself to politely greet a stranger.

  I look up and it’s the man who kept me from bruising my ass or breaking my face.

  “Need more help?” he asks, his keys jingling in his hands and that sexy smile doing things to me in my vulnerable state.

  Those fucking eyes.

  “Getting drunk? No, no. Pretty sure I’m a pro at that.” I cringe when I hear my words. I sound like a fucking drunk.

  “I didn’t mean it like—It’s cool. Not here to judge you.”

  “At the risk of sounding like a complete asshole, why are you here, then?”

  “Well, I was planning on grabbing a drink with some friends, but I figured since I saved your life and all, I’m owed a drink.”

  He gestures to the bottle in my hand.

  “Hardly. You probably just saved my shoe,” I mutter with a smile. “And my pride.”

  “Good thing we’ll never know,” he says as he moves to sit beside me, jacking up his pants like a grown man does. That move alone makes me feel a little light, like I could just . . . let my feelings carry me away.

  I unscrew the top and take a big gulp. I already feel the warmth in my chest from what I’d had upstairs. When I offer him the bottle, he examines it with a grin.

  He looks like the kind of guy who’s always smiling.

  I like it.

  “I gathered you did. Not too many people drink Jäger straight.”

  He shrugs and takes a swig while I try to keep myself in check.

  No more thinking things out loud, Denise.

  He’s staring at me and I’m wondering if I’ve done it again when he passes the bottle back.

  “Just move in?”

  Ohhhh, questions, I think to myself with a smile before I take a sip.

  It’s losing its burn which means I’m losing my sobriety.

  “My sister.” I gesture toward the second floor. “Moved in a month ago.”

  “Do you visit often?”

  I pass the bottle back to him.

  “Odd question to ask a stranger. I might think you’re trying to stalk me.”

  I’d never seen someone smile into a Jäger bottle but this man made it happen.

  “Could be,” he wipes the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, “that I’m trying to find out the likelihood of running int
o you again. And maybe after running into each other a few times, I could take you out.”

  I snort as I take the bottle from him.

  “You don’t even know my name,” I tell him. “Don’t know if I’m a psychopath.”

  Close.

  He’s still smiling.

  “It’ll all come in time.”

  I’m sure it will.

  I went out and made memories on my own.

  To prove I didn’t need anyone.

  Least of all, you.

  Day 375 Post-Gavin

  I’d never met an Efrain before. It was a name that you pronounced thoroughly. No slacking over letters here.

  Efff-rahh-eeen.

  I rolled the r just for him, especially when he insisted I just call him Effy.

  One day, we were just sitting on a stoop, drinking Jäger out of a bagged bottle, complete strangers. The next, we’re getting breakfast and texting all the time.

  I’m sitting at my desk typing when my phone buzzes.

  Efrain: Dinner plans?

  Me: Nothing solid.

  I can’t decide if I like him or not. If I want to invest or not.

  I can’t decide if I want to let another man in and watch as he wreaks havoc on my life, making himself a home out of me.

  Because you can’t build a home from the rubble of someone else’s life.

  I close my eyes against the memory of those words.

  I was the all-or-nothing girl. I gave my everything to everything I did. I was entirely too empathetic for my own good and I had to remind myself that what I was willing to do for others would likely not be returned to me.

  Efrain: Well, if you end up free, I’d like to take you on a proper date.

  Why?

  What could he want from me?

  I pick up my phone and start dialing without thinking.

  As soon as it rings, I start to regret my decision but once she answers, I take a deep breath and get it over with.

  “I’d like to see them.”

  The other end of the line is quiet for, maybe, ten seconds.

  “Are you sure?” Sabrina asks.

  “Pretty sure. I think . . . I need to start forgiving people. Start having faith and seeing the best in people again.”

  “Well, I can come grab you now, if you’re free.”

  I stare at my notebook for a second.

  “Fuck it. Sure.”

  I have nothing going on right now, other than writing. And while that’s something I need to get done, it most certainly could get done another day.

  When Sabrina pulls up outside, I’m shocked to see her car.

  “No more sporty Sabrina?” I ask as I climb into the sedan.

  She shakes her head and pats my knee.

  “This doesn’t make me an old boring bitch, right?”

  And right when I think I’ve lost her, she says something to remind me she’d always be the same.

  It takes ten minutes to get to Yiayia’s house. When we pull up outside, I can see her peeking out her window. The moment we make eye contact, she snaps the curtain shut.

  All of a sudden, I’m not so sure this is a good idea.

  My yiayia is a proud Greek woman. She raised five children and buried three of them. And then she buried her husband.

  I missed every funeral, even my mother’s.

  Because, while my yiayia’s pride was often something to be celebrated, it often led to the worst decisions.

  When it was time to bury my mother, I’d already had this great animosity toward that entire side of my family for letting Sabrina and I struggle the way we had. It was too late for a real relationship to be had, now that my mother was gone. Besides, those people hadn’t been there for her, either. It was a miracle they’d paid for her funeral.

  The front door I’m looking at is one that I thought I’d never willingly come to. Sabrina is standing next to me, taking a deep breath. She knocks on the door and we wait.

  The heavy door is pulled open with a creaking sound and my Uncle Basil hugs Sabrina before turning to me.

  “Long time, no see little one.” He pats my shoulder and we step inside.

  “Where’s Yiayia?” Sabrina asks, cutting right to the chase.

  “Out back in her garden. She said to send you back,” he tells us in his thick Greek accent. My yiayia’s brother had always been kinder than she.

  Sabrina leads the way out while I look around, taking in the floral décor and the pictures on the wall. There’s a recent picture of me on the mantel and I fight the urge to pinch Sabrina.

  Traitor, I think to myself. But I’m here to make amends, so I have to put thinking like that behind me.

  “Yiayia!” Sabrina rushes to her and when the old woman smiles, hugs her, and rubs Sabrina’s stomach, I want to vomit. “Denise is here.”

  At the sound of my name, she looks past Sabrina and stares at me a moment.

  And then she marches across the grass and pulls me into a tight hug.

  “So sorry. So sorry,” she tells me around her accent and her tears. “So beautiful.” She pulls back and pushes the hair from my face before peppering me with loud kisses. I stare beyond her at Sabrina with wide eyes, but the useless woman is crying.

  “I should have done more,” Yiayia proclaims. “She was sick and . . .”

  I’m worried in her old age for the amount of emotional stress going on here. I lead her to a lawn chair and tell her it’s okay.

  There were some things in life I just wouldn’t understand. And I had to be okay with that.

  I only ever write about you.

  Later That Day

  Sitting across from Efrain at dinner isn’t as awkward as I thought it’d be. When you’ve loved and figured that no one will ever amount to that, the doubt almost becomes a third wheel. Tonight, I left the doubt at home and came to the date with nothing but positivity on my mind.

  We’re talking about dreams of ours and, for the second time in my life, I open up about mine.

  “I kind of always wanted to be a writer. But I don’t think I have what it takes, not really. I’m a little too flighty to actually buckle down and do it.”

  I was looking at my fork, fidgeting with it the entire time I rushed through that little spiel.

  “It’s only a dream until you actually start doing it.” Efrain dips his head down to try to catch my eye. “So, start.”

  It sounds so simple. As if something so terrifying can simply go away at his command. And while I appreciate his words of encouragement, I feel so misunderstood.

  Tell me something no one else in the world knows.

  In that moment, I only remember Gavin’s response to my wistfulness. And I miss him so much that, if I closed my eyes, I could feel what it was like to sit beside him.

  Would anyone ever be able to understand that?

  Recognizing an aura?

  I try to ignore my feelings and listen to Efrain as he talks about his carpentry work.

  He’s a nice enough man, and I’m having a nice enough time.

  But who wants to live their life by that standard?

  How strange that I could wake up in the morning and not wonder about this beautiful man. He isn’t the first thing I think about in the morning, nor the last person on my mind before I fall asleep. Whatever this is between us, it’s very tame in comparison to the passionate tryst I’d been entangled in.

  I don’t know if this is a good thing, but it certainly feels safer.

  “How’s your food?” he asks. I’m halfway through and I think, this is right about the time I’d swap plates with Gavin.

  “Chicken’s dry,” I say with a smile. Efrain nods, chewing his steak with a thoughtful expression.

  But he doesn’t say anything, and the entire date feels like an itch that I just can’t scratch, no matter how far I reach and how close I get.

  “Anything on your mind?” he asks after a moment.

  Never too sure about date etiquette and just how honest I should be, I shrug.


  “Maybe one day you can show me something you’ve written?”

  And just when I was about to write him off, he says something to make me feel a spark of . . . something. I couldn’t call it.

  “Most of it is about a previous relationship of mine.” Liar. It all is.

  The chewing slows, then stops as he swallows.

  “Bad break-up?”

  Snorting is so unladylike, but Efrain only smiles when I do, waiting for my answer.

  “You don’t know the half of it. I lost a lot of me in that.”

  He brings his napkin to his face and wipes his mouth before answering.

  “Happens to the best of us.” And the way he brushes it makes me wonder if anyone had ever bested him.

  Moments with Efrain are close, so damn close to perfection. He’d say the right thing and play the right song and I’d play right along.

  But then I’d remember . . .

  What it felt like when it was real. And not just a bandage covering up an old wound. Or a good time masking my ever-present heartache.

  Welcome back, old lover.

  Did you come to return the pieces of my heart that you stole?

  Or have you lost them along the way?

  Day 381 Post-Gavin

  “Denise?” Efrain says my name again. My eyes haven’t left Gavin’s face but he’s looking away, in Efrain’s direction.

  When I pull my gaze from the man in front of me, I notice a few things:

  Efrain isn’t empty-handed, a bouquet of daisies in his hand. His face is confused, but Gavin’s look is of shock.

  Gavin is here, asking for forgiveness before Efrain and I have had a chance to really give this a shot.

  And this is where my road forks and I have to make a decision.

  Having the both of them in front of me, my very real past and my potential future, forces me to face the similarities and differences between them.