Page 14 of Dibs
My thoughts about Beck are rapid fire, wondering what she’s doing. How she’s doing. If she’s packing. Will she need help moving? Will she move back to her parents’ house? What’s next?
The doorbell rings around five, and I jump up to grab it in my flannel pants and bare chest. Beck stands there, hands in her pockets, with red-rimmed eyes.
“What’s going on?” I pull her into the house.
“Fuckface is at the apartment packing his stuff, taking his sweet ass time,” Beck tells me as she sighs and rubs her eyes. “Don’t worry, he didn’t catch me crying. As soon as I saw himon the Ring camera, I put my sunglasses on and acted like I was just about to leave, anyway. Don’t want him thinking I’m sitting home alone on a perfectly good Sunday.”
“Good, then don’t. You can sit on my couch and cry if you need to.” I wrap my arms around Beck, and she briefly lets me hold her before she shrugs me off and jumps onto my couch, pulling her knees up to her chin.
“I’ve got old episodes of Project Runway on the DVR. We could just numb our minds for a while. Or I can make you some dinner while you watch? I’ve got a frozen teriyaki chicken with stir-fry vegetables that would reheat fast enough.”
“Not hungry.” Beck’s face is drained of color, and she nibbles her lower lip as her eyes move from mine to the paused video game on the TV screen. She doesn’t respond regarding the TV show, so I flip to my DVR and pull her to my side, begging my thoughts about how beautiful she looks to go away.
I spread a blanket out over both of us, and we spent the next three hours half-comatose, killing our brain cells by binge-watching Project Runway. I’m not judging, but I hate when Beck is devoid of life like this. She’s usually such a big personality, so bright, boisterous. Today, she’s a zombie.
I take her feet in my hands and give her a foot rub before the pizza I finally ordered out of pure starvation arrives. Beck leans her head forward and rests it on my shoulder as I move my hands up her sculpted calves and then tickle the back of her knee. She smiles just wide enough that I’m glad I took the chance, but I back off and return to her feet as she makes little groans when I dig into the sore spots. I can imagine some other fun ways to make her moan, but I tell my inner dude to shut up. Today is about giving Beck what she needs, not my hormones.
After we scarf pizza, Beck stands up and sighs. “I'd better go. Thanks for tolerating my company. I know I’m not the most fun right now.”
I’d tell her I more than tolerate her, but she’s already walking out and jumping into her Durango. All I can do is wave as she squeals her tires out of my driveway and races down my street.
She’s not herself, and it kills me.
9
ASPYN
Three days without more than a couple of hours of sleep has me losing my mind. Despite what a buffoon my ex is, I miss having another warm body in the house. I jump when the refrigerator makes ice in the middle of the night, and I startle at all the strange noises whose incidence seems to increase when there's no one else around. It is too quiet. Maybe I can get a dog, since Sean never let me before.
I do all the things I love: taking long baths with a glass of wine, dancing in my kitchen to my favorite songs, going for long runs outside, and reading a sexy romance book. But despite everything, I still feel alone.Amalone. I miss work and my clients, but everyone needs some time to heal. I told my workplace I had COVID, which bought me five days off work, exactly the period I have allowed myself to mourn my demolished relationship.
I wander aimlessly around the house, occasionally throwing things into a box or two I’d pulled out of the garage. My parents’ house is furnished, but my bedroom there has remained unchanged since I was fifteen, when I redecorated it with pink and white everywhere. Now I mostly detest pink for décor,opting instead for neutrals and splashes of turquoise and blue, and decorating with macramé, ocean scenes, and photos of our friends and family.
Except...there is no “our” anymore, and the photos hurt to look at. I removed all the ones with Sean in them and moved a smiling photo of Tara, Deacon, and me to the bedside table. We’d had it taken at a roller rink, where my ass spent more time on the ground than on the skates, but I’d still had an amazing time.
Deacon texts every day, and I’ve replied a few times, but mostly keep to myself. Grief is an ugly thing, and I don’t want to feel on display for anyone. There are some high points, though. Sean was gone by the time I got home from Deacon’s last week, so at least I hadn’t been forced to run into him again. Most of his personal effects are gone, along with his mountain of scrubs from the closet, which has been one slight relief. Not having to clean up after him has also been nice.
I sit on the sofa in pink fuzzy socks, scrolling through my texts, my phone buzzing in my hand with beautiful beach photos from Tara’s honeymoon. Then, Deacon texts, asking if I want to get out of the house. Seconds later, Marissa messages to apologize if it came off that she was “pushing me at the bartender” and promises to be my cheerleader whenever I’m ready to move on.
As I doze off a short time later, I hear the doorbell chime. Sighing, I bang my shin on the paddle-board coffee table I intend to take with me to my parents’ place and throw the door open.
“You don’t call, you don’t write...” Deacon stands there, one hand on his hip, the other holding up a bag of greasy fried chicken from our favorite local place. “I don’t know if you’re eating and can’t let you waste away. I can come in with the chicken, or you can just take it and promise me you’ll eat.”
A smile pulls at my lips as I reach for the bag, whip around, and call over my shoulder, “I hope you remembered the biscuits.”
“Doll face, after ten years, I’ve learned a few things about you. How could I ever forget your obsession with biscuits? I ordered a half dozen, so you can have as many as you want.” Deacon reaches into the cupboard for plates while I retrieve forks and knives. We spread our food out on the kitchen table.
I sit down with a huff. “I’m sorry I haven’t been answering all of your texts. I haven’t really felt up to talking to anyone.” I gesture to the food. “So, thanks for this.”
Deacon’s gaze softens as his ocean-blue eyes stare back into my hazel ones. He holds eye contact tenderly and then reaches across the table to put his hand over mine. “Hey. You’re grieving. I get that. I needed to see you and make sure you’re okay.”
“Yeah, I’ll be okay eventually.” My voice is determined. “I won’t let that man ruin my life. Unfortunately, I’m not sleeping well alone, constantly spooked by noises that were normal a week ago. So weird.”
“Let me take the couch tonight, see if it helps. I have my gym bag in the trunk with clean clothes in it, and I don’t mind.”
“You gonna protect me from the refrigerator making ice?” I laugh, peeling off the crispy skin on a piece of chicken and shoving it into my mouth, closing my eyes in enjoyment.
“If the need arises.”
