Page 11 of Raging Inferno

Chapter Four

Getting Back on The Horse

I love my sister. Really, I do—just not right now. I should be in bed, curled under the new quilt I won from this ridiculously talented woman named Diane. However, instead of a quiet night binging on Netflix and Halo Top ice cream, I’m sitting in Jose Tejas, eating my weight in guacamole. It should be noted that I don’t even like avocados.

Dipping another chip into the creamy dip, I glare across the table at my sister, Amber. Not only did she drag me out of the house, but she also finagled my mother into babysitting my son for the weekend. I shouldn’t really make it sound like my mom needs to be swayed to watch Christopher. She offers all the time, I just never take her up on it. It’s part of being a single parent. One minute I’m bitching about not having time for myself and the next I’m crying because I feel guilty over not spending every waking second with my kid.

I swear there are days when I give myself whiplash.

“For the love of God would you please wipe that look from your face,” Amber groans, lifting her margarita to her lips. “And while you’re at it, stop looking at your phone or I swear I’ll take it from you.”

Rolling my eyes, I curl my fingers into a fist and refrain from reaching for my phone. She’s right. Since we were seated fifteen minutes ago, I’ve checked my phone a half a dozen times expecting to see a text from my mother declaring a state of emergency. I reach for my glass and gulp the frozen raspberry margarita like its water.

“Now, that’s what I’m talking about,” Amber boasts, pointing a finger as I down the rest of the slushy drink. “That’s my sister. I knew she was still in there somewhere.”

Placing the empty glass back on the table, I grab a napkin and wipe my lips as I roll my eyes. She makes it like I used to be this crazy broad who hammered down drinks like it was her job when the truth is, I can barely hold my liquor. She forgets all the times we went out, and she had to hold my hair back as I threw up on the side of the road.

“I’ll order us another round,” she offers, waving for the waiter.

“I’m good.”

“No, the night is young and we’re just getting started,” she argues. The waiter notices Ambers flailing arm and she orders us another round.

“I agreed to dinner, and that’s it,” I remind her. “I’ve got a lot of things to do and I might as well take advantage of Christopher being with mom.”

“Yeah, I bet,” she says sarcastically. “Let me ask you when was the last time you said fuck it, I’m doing me.”

“When you’re a mother, you don’t get to say that.”

“You’re a mom, Melissa a fantastic one to boot but, you’re not fucking dead.”

Here we go.

I guess I should’ve prepared myself for the usual tongue lashing my sister delivers every time we’re together. I don’t know why I foolishly thought I’d be off the hook. She’s made it her mission in life to torment me.

Okay, so maybe that’s a bit harsh.

Amber doesn’t mean to torture me. She’s trying to get me laid is all. I suppose her heart is in the right place but mine is still stuck in a church, waiting to marry a man who has been gone for nearly five years. Part of me wants to lie to her and tell her I’ve already moved on, that I found some poor unsuspecting stranger to scratch the itch. Maybe then she’ll stop hounding me.

“Chris would want you to be happy, Melissa,” she says. At the mention of his name, I’m jolted away from my thoughts.

“Who says I’m not happy?”

“He wouldn’t want you to just exist,” she continues, ignoring my response. “It’s been five years.”

“Four years and ten months,” I correct, drawing out a breath.

Attempting to avoid her sympathetic stare, I glance around the restaurant. I know she means well and I’m sure if the roles were reversed I would be encouraging her to move on with her life too. But, the truth is I am terrified. When you planned on loving one man for all your days, it’s hard to fathom letting another take his place. It’s finally admitting all those dreams we shared, the life we were building—it all died with Chris. It’s learning to let go of what was and finding the courage to seek what will be. It’s accepting that every ending is another beginning and as terrifying as that may be, my sister is right.

Chris would want me to live.

He’d want me to find love again.

He’d want our son to have a man in his life he could look up to, someone to teach him all the things he never will.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I turn my head once more and to my surprise, I find Jimmy Casale’s soulful brown eyes staring back at me. He doesn’t make an attempt to break eye contact and I take him in from across the room, watching as he rakes a hand over his salt and pepper hair. A smile flickers across his lips and something deep inside me churns.

I like his smile.

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