Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Emersyn’s done everything.
Cooked.
Cleaned.
Mowed.
Laundry.
“That’s good. I think.” She clears her throat and sits at the table.
I sip my coffee and lean against the counter, giving a shrug. “It’s work.”
“It’s a…” she bites her lower lip, maybe weighing her words for a beat “…logical choice. Since you have a job.”
“Sure.” I stare past her, out the window, for several seconds. “I retired the grieving husband. I cut the anchor. It doesn’t matter how unfair I think life is; I can’t change my reality. It’s just me and time. It’s moving forward without me. And I’m … stuck in the middle, suffocating. I feel like I’ve been dragged for miles.” I close my eyes. “Everything hurts, but I’m still alive. Everything hurts, but she’s still gone.”
Her gaze remains affixed to her toast like a safe zone.
“I go to the grocery store … because I’m tired of family and friends leaving food on my doorstep. And …”
She risks a glance up at me before I continue, “… the other day, somewhere between the bread aisle and the refrigerated section, I realized I’d put ten things into my cart without thinking about her.” My eyes close for a brief second. “And I felt terrible. I felt like a parent who left a child behind because they were too distracted. How did I let myself get distracted by things so insignificant like tomato sauce and peanut butter?”
“I’m not staying with you,” she blurts out so quickly, it takes me a second to register her words. Emersyn’s nose crinkles while she brings her toast to her mouth, taking rabbit-sized nibbles. Eyes wide.
I haven’t missed the way her gaze tracks me, the way she stiffens in my presence. Is she tiptoeing around something?
“You’ve helped,” I say, trying to relieve her palpable anxiety. “Just being here and not being like my family … not looking at me like my family looks at me … it’s helped. Thank you.”
Emersyn blinks several times and fumbles her words before managing a clipped, “You’re welcome.” She clears her throat. “What I mean is … it’s been my pleasure. Well, pleasure isn’t the right word … I’m just saying, it is I who should thank you for letting me continue to stay here since Suzie …” She bows her head and pinches the bridge of her nose.
“She died,” I say, just before sipping my coffee. Who knew two words could gut me all over again?
“What time is your flight?” Emersyn manages to glance up at me again.
“Eleven.”
She nods.
“Where are you going?”
“Orlando. Dallas. Back to Atlanta.”
“Will you be home for dinner? Uh …” She shakes her head. “That sounds so …”
“No,” I say.
“Me neither. I’m going to meet up with some … one.” Her gaze averts to the window.
“A date? That’s good.” I dump the rest of my coffee into the sink and put the mug into the dishwasher.
“A date,” she repeats my words like she’s deciphering what that is.
“Enjoy your date.” I head toward the door to the garage.
“Have a safe flight.”
“Thanks.” The door closes behind me, and I pause, taking a deep breath. “I’m going, babe,” I whisper before my feet take reluctant steps to my car. “I’m … going.”
Over the next month, I take all the flights I can get. I feel closer to Suzanne when I’m flying. And when I’m home, I feel nothing but a big void because she no longer resides in all the places I’ve been used to seeing her.
The jungle.
Our bed.
The garden.
The fucking empty vanity stool in the bathroom.
It’s weird having Emersyn here. It’s not like it was with Suzanne. It’s not like it’s ever been with any roommate I’ve had before. We don’t see each other that much. We both work a lot. When I’m home, I jog and visit my parents. Emersyn spends her free time taking photos or staying holed up in her room editing them. Occasionally, she burrows into the corner of the sofa, like she doesn’t want to take a full cushion, and works on her computer. Suzanne used to love watching her tweak the images in Photoshop. She said it was soothing, the epitome of satisfying.
Sometimes we cross paths in the kitchen. If I’m around, I’ll make us dinner, but Emersyn wolfs it down and escapes to her bedroom with Harry Pawter. Tonight, I want her to stay.
“Want to open a bottle of wine with me?” I ask as she stands to take her plate to the dishwasher.
She pauses, eyes wide like she needs to verify that I’m talking to her. “What do you mean?”
Chuckling, I shrug. “I mean, do you want to have some wine? With me? Tonight? But if you have a date or something else to do, that’s fine. Just thought I’d ask.”
“O-kay.” She’s been giving me the deer-in-the-headlight look a lot. I think she’s tiptoeing around me, afraid that I’m nothing but a broken man taking in the stray.