Page 35 of The Ghost of You

I look back at Anna. Half expecting her to be gone after dropping off whatever is in the dish but instead she is picking up my mail and moving it.

No, she is going through it. Throwing away magazines and whatever junk is sitting there.

I walk up to her and grab her arm. “Stop.”

She looks up at me, “I am just cleaning up a bit Noah. You can let others help you out sometimes.”

I stumble back as she says it. Not sure what she means. Well, I know what she means but how she knows. Mason wasn’t at family dinner last night so I know it wasn’t him.

I glance back at her, and she is staring at me. “Look, Noah, I don’t know anything about you. But I was here that night I used your shower. I might have snooped around a bit.”

My eyes go immediately to the drawer where Claire’s picture is and I know I’ve turned into a ghost. But she continues like she doesn’t even notice.

“There were empty beer cans and dirty plates out. There are no pictures out. No décor, nothing to make this feel like a home. Hell, you live in a half-finished house. I know you aren’t some eternal bachelor. I think you’re just lonely.”

Well if she didn’t hit the nail on the head.

My microwave beeps reminding me that it went off earlier.

“That your dinner?”

For the first time in a while I am embarrassed. I am a thirty-five-year-old man who is eating leftovers from his parents. I walk to the fridge and grab a beer, slamming it before grabbing another.

Anna watches me cautiously but continues to clean off the table. When she is done she picks up a giant bag from the floor I hadn’t noticed she was carrying earlier and pulls out a glass bowl filled with salad and unwraps garlic bread from a towel.

The smell of homemade food has me salivating. The only homemade food I’ve been eating besides sandwiches is from my mom.

Anna scoots past me and opens the microwave, setting the dish on the plywood. She then goes about opening cabinets until she finds plates and glasses. I just stand here dumbfounded while she tries to find silverware. I finally point to the pantry where it’s currently sitting until I finish the cabinets.

She sets the table and pulls out a bottle of red wine. “Do you like wine? It’s okay if you don’t. You can drink beer.”

“Uhh—yeah wine is fine,” I say as I set my half-full beer down. “I don’t think I have a corkscrew though. Maybe with the other serving utensils.”

She pulls one out of her bag. “It’s okay. I came prepared.”

She opens the bottle and pours wine into two pint glasses.

“Sorry I don’t have better glasses.”

“We’re just going to drink it anyway,” she says with a shrug.

This woman is like no one I ever met before.

She finally pulls the aluminum off the casserole dish and it proves my nose wasn’t lying to me.

She made me lasagna.

I could kiss her. It is my favorite food. And I only ever eat it when Mom makes it for my birthday.

“Take a seat, Noah.”

I feel like I’m dreaming. Why on earth is this woman doing this for me? I don’t deserve any of this.

I guess I said that last part aloud.

“You made me feel something I hadn’t felt in years. I may never be able to communicate that feeling, make you really understand it, but I need to thank you somehow.” She pauses as she’s about to cut into the lasagna. “I needed to thank you for everything, Noah. The water, the shower, the music. You made me feel a—you made me feel happy.”

I don’t think that’s what she was going to say judging by the color in her cheeks. But I am happy I put it there. I guess it’s time I try to find words again. “I’m glad, Anna. We all deserve to be happy.”

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