Page 114 of Goodbye Again
I shrug. “Me too.”
“Well, come in,” she says, leading us through the house, then through the back sliding glass door. The patio table is set for four, draped in a blue paisley tablecloth and littered with citronella candles. A bottle of white wine and a pitcher of lemonade sit in the center next to chips and dip, baked beans, and potato salad. “Have a seat. JP will be home soon. It was spirit week at school, and he was running late after tying up a few loose ends.
“No worries. Audrey, this is beautiful out here. You didn’t have to do this,” I remark, and she waves a hand at me and pours us each a glass of wine.
“This makes me feel normal. I need as many moments of that as I can get before...” her voice trails, and her brow furrows as if she just realized whose company she’s in.
I open my mouth to speak but am interrupted by the sound of the sliding door behind us.
JP steps out on the patio, looking like he just got slimed on Nickelodeon.
I stand as soon as he closes the slider behind him. He’s wearing a tired smile and green slime on his blue t-shirt and shaving cream on his ear. I cock an eyebrow. “I can’t tell if you had the best day or the worst.”
He shrugs as he evaluates his appearance. “I’m a kindergarten teacher. Fundraiser fun...” he holds out his shirt with slime smeared into the fabric.
“And the shaving cream?” I ask, pointing toward his ear.
He smiles and touches his lobe. “End of the year table cleaning.”
I grin. “That does not clean the tables.”
“Yeah, but it’s fun, and it was my favorite part of the end of the year when I was in grade school.” He swipes a paper towel off the dispenser next to the sink and wipes the shaving cream off his ear, before turning to meet us in the living room.
He scoops me into one of his perfect hugs. Tight around my waist and shoulders, his body flush against mine. It’s the kind of hug I can’t help but relax into and linger in. I inhale deeply, fully ready to nuzzle into his arms and as soon as I do, I panic and pull away.
“JP, do you remember my fiancé, Donavan?” I gesture to Donavan and he stands just as JP slips past me to shake his hand.
I’m dizzy as I watch the interaction and I wish I could blame it on a contact high but I haven’t even had a sip of wine and Audrey’s only been sucking on a lollipop.
“Good to see you again,” Donavan says. I swear his voice is an octave lower and an internal wave of panic swoops through me. Sometimes, when Donavan is intimidated, he does this thing where he stands taller and lowers his voice. It’s usually whenhe’s in the midst of a business deal and not talking to someone as wholesome as JP, but I sense it happening.
“You too,” JP responds, unperturbed. “I’m going to fire up the grill and throw some burgers on, does that work for everyone?” The consensus is an unnecessary yes and when he returns from the kitchen to grab the meat, seasoning, and cheese, Donavan is standing at the ready to be his sous chef. “Who wants cheese?”
Everybody says yes, though dairy doesn’t sit well with Donavan. He’s determined to go with the flow tonight and for that, I’m thankful.
“How’s teaching these days?” Donavan asks, sipping wine and stuffing one hand in the pocket of his khakis.
JP inhales sharply before answering. “Busy. But kids keep every day entertaining. I’m happy to be able to spend more time at home this summer.”
His eyes flit to Audrey and she smiles at him. “I’m not. We’re going to be so sick of each other by the second week,” she jokes, lightening the insinuations dancing all around us.
“I’d imagine it’s hard to balance everything.” He nods once. “Pretty spectacular you’re still having us over for dinner. We sure do appreciate it. I can’t remember the last time we cooked out. When push comes to shove, Julia would rather grab some Taco Bell because she’s stuck in her college years.” He lets out a long, obnoxious laugh.
JP just shrugs and flips a burger. The sizzle cuts through the quiet awkwardness of the night. “I can’t remember the last time we cooked out either. We either order in or eat freezer meals.”
Donavan chuckles, though nothing is funny. “Same. Julia is an excellent cook but she’s too busy doingdoctorstuff to be home to do it.” He throws air quotes around the word doctor and JP’s expression stiffens. He didn’t like that comment.
“It’s a tough job. I’m sure she’s exhausted when she gets home,” JP reasons, while Audrey chimes in, saying, “I couldn’t do it. I’m dying and I still find half the stuff she has to deal with depressing.”
“Depressing yes, but it’s not like she sees any of the real trauma like real doctors,” Donavan jokes. But no one finds it funny. My cheeks grow hot with anger and embarrassment. “I’d worry so much more if that were the case.”
JP slams the grill closed to melt the cheese. “Thank God for that. I mean, if she did, she may need to see a therapist.”
A sarcastic defense of me and my work. He’s a good man.
Donavan laughs. “True that,” he says, throwing back the last of his wine. “Though we all could use a little therapy.”
“Definitely,” Audrey adds, rising from the table. “I’ll be right back.”
