Page 115 of Townshipped
I’m not even safe to drive.
How did I go from being a man who lived on my own, relatively content with my life, to a man who doesn’t feel like he even knows how to make it through a day without this woman?
I’m overcome by an inexplicable need to be near her. A need to see the way her eyes go glossy when Ty says something sweet, to watch her smile light up her face, to hear her raucous laughter with the inevitable ending snort fill my house. I need to kiss her and to have one more chance to memorize how right she feels tucked against me and how her mouth tastes like heaven—how looking in her eyes after a kiss feels like coming home.
I’ve never felt like this for anyone. It’s an all-consuming preoccupation with no end in sight.
I park out front of Satterson’s Automotive and walk in the large opening to the bay where Duke’s at work on Mable’s PT Cruiser.
“Dead man walking,” Duke shouts out from under the racks where the black car with flames down the sides hovers over him.
“Isn’t that what they shout at an execution?”
Duke rolls out, looking up at me from his supine position on the creeper seat. “Yeah, you’re right. I don’t know what they shout when an actual zombie walks through town. I never got intoThe Walking DeadorTwilightorHarry Potter.”
“Zombies, vampires, and wizards. All different things.”
“My point exactly,” Duke says.
He sits up and nods at me to emphasize his logic.
I press my fingers to my temple. Duke might actually confuse me out of my chronic state of numb grief.
“I haven’t been oblivious,” I defend. “And I don’t like everyone in town watching me like some freak show at a circus while I try to rebuild a life around nothing.”
Em was everything.
Without her, life isn’t like a puzzle with a missing piece, it’s like someone spilled their drink over all the pieces, making them swollen, misshapen, and torn—completely useless.
* * *
Tonight,like every other night after the kids are in bed, I sit on my couch staring at the empty space across from me. Only days ago, Em sat in that spot curling her legs up underneath herself while we chatted, laughed, and then shared comfortable silence.
Would I have changed anything knowing she was going to be ripped away from us so soon after her arrival? It’s a pointless question—a hindsight choice.
I might have had her stay with my mom so the kids didn’t get so attached. Otherwise, I wouldn’t trade one minute of her three weeks here. Then again, how could she have stayed with my mom and had the consistency she needed to heal?
It’s a moot point.
I can’t rework the past—as much as I may want to rewind, delete, and have a do-over.
Am I moping?
Oh, you know it. I’ve turned moping into a sport. I’m going for the gold, the world record, the most mopiest of all mopers. I’ll be the mope-fest mascot—the king of mope. If there were an eighth dwarf, I’d be him: Mopey.
I grab my Kindle so I can stay up with a book until I’m exhausted. Only when I’ve worn myself down will I be sure to fall asleep, passing out from sheer exhaustion.
I’m about to start reading when I hear at least one car coming up the driveway. Maybe two. It’s eight o’clock. Who would be here at this hour? Doors shut and a series of low whispers and giggles carries through from the driveway. What is going on? I walk to the front door. Granger stands next to me, tail wagging. Some watchdog.
I open the door to Laura, Lexi, Jayme, and Shannon, standing on my porch, faces beaming. Laura’s holding a pizza box.
“We brought you a mobile breakup party!” Laura whisper-shouts.
“A what?”
“You need a breakup party,” Shannon explains. “We know you and Em didn’t officially date. But you’re definitely going through the same aftermath as any breakup, so … here we are!”
She gestures across the porch toward the other three women.
