Page 19 of Tear Me to Pieces
Way worse.
Myra shrugs. “I can eat them, but I don’t love either one.”
She watches closely as I gently slide the contents of the first pouch onto a plate. After adding a couple wedges of the lemon I cut earlier, I pass it off. “It’s nothing fancy, but since you said you’d be home late, I figured it made more sense to keep things simple.”
Myra takes the plate. “It’s way fancier than what I would have made myself.”
“What would you have made yourself?” I’m curious to hear her answer, considering all that was in her fridge when she left for work was condiments and a pack of string cheese.
Myra gives me another little smile. “A delivery order through DoorDash.”
I’m struck by the mental image of Myra sitting here all alone, eating lukewarm take-out, while the rest of the neighborhood lives the lives they always dreamed of. I may not be living the dream, but I’m also not surrounded by everyone who is day in and day out. It’s too painful. Jabs at the sore spot I still carry, and I can’t fucking handle it.
It says a lot about Myra that she can.
“Does that mean your DoorDash driver is going to wonder what happened to you this month?” I’m trying to gauge how often she’s here alone. Eating dinner by herself.
I’m also trying to make it clear I’ll be handling her meals while I’m here.
“They might.” She goes to a drawer and pulls out two forks, passing one to me. “I’m sure I’ll make up for it next month when you go back to work.”
The reminder sits sour in my stomach. I usually can’t wait to get the fuck out of town, but I’m already dreading the day I have to leave. Hating that she’ll be here alone again.
Sure she’ll have a completed family room when I’m gone, but that doesn’t ease the sting of knowing she’ll be the only one enjoying it.
Myra pokes the tip of her fork tines into one of the shrimp from her plate and slides it into her mouth. As she chews, her eyes roll back and she lets out a soft sound that hits me in places it shouldn’t. “This is really good.”
“I’m glad.” What I’ve made her isn’t fucking fine dining, but the collection of potatoes, shrimp, fish, and asparagus is one of my favorite meals. I eat it at least once a week because it’s easy to put together and hard to fuck up.
Myra wanders around the piles I’ve made in her house, looking over the stacks of two-by-fours and reels of wire. “This doesn’t look like stuff Christian took out of houses.”
I was hoping she wouldn’t call me out so quickly on the stretching I’m doing with the parameters she gave me, but I can’t say I didn’t see it coming.
And I’m sure as hell prepared for it.
“It’s not.” I trail behind her, watching Myra’s expression as I offer up my explanation. “This is stuff left over from the renovations Christian and Tate did to their houses.” I let out a little breath when Myra takes another bite of her food.
She wouldn’t keep eating it if she was pissed at me, right?
Myra peeks at me over one shoulder. “This is a lot of leftovers.”
“It is. Christian was glad to get it all out of his way.” That part isn’t as accurate as the rest of it—Christian’s warehouse is fucking huge. This stuff is a drop in the bucket to him. “If you’re interested, I also saw the materials for a complete half bath while I was looking through stuff.”
Myra sighs. “Yeah. Christian told me about that.” She turns to face me but her eyes don’t come to my face. “But he’s already given me a whole kitchen and the bathroom off my bedroom. It didn’t feel right to let him give me another bathroom.”
Myra confirms my suspicion that she doesn’t feel like part of the family my brothers and I created. Honestly, I don’t know how much I’m a part of it right now either. Everyone—with the exception of one, but he’s basically fallen off the face of the earth—is at a different place in their lives. They’ve got wives and kids, and I don’t.
But I’d still let Christian give me as much shit as he wanted to.
“I get what you’re saying, but there’s not much else he can do with it.” I shrug, hoping she can’t see how much I’m hoping she’ll bite on this opportunity. “If you don’t want it, he’ll probably end up donating it to one of the places that sells used building materials.”
I know damn well the only reason Christian still has it sitting there is because he’s hoping eventually Myra will take it. It matches the cabinets in her kitchen too well, and the quality is too high to ditch it. He’s hanging onto it for a reason, and I’m staring right at her.
Myra presses her lips into a considering line and hope blooms in my gut. “But then I’m taking away from people in need.”
“Christian sends so much stuff to that place, I promise they’re not going to miss one little bathroom.” I keep my tone light and easy. “And I’m positive they won’t put in the effort to make the tiles usable. They’ll just toss them in the dumpster.”
Myra’s lips twist to one side. “Putting in a bathroom is a lot of work.”
