I’m a sweaty mess today. Wearing rolled up sweats and a beat up, hot pink tank top, I know I look like a hot mess. But, stepping out into the hot sun of the early summer, I feel new and alive. Scanning the small flowerbed to the side of the front stoop, I see that it’s overgrown with weeds and decide that it too needs be fresh and new.
Hell, I’m filthy already. What’s a little more dirt?
Crouching down on the lawn, I start ripping and tearing at the overgrown weed garden. After ten minutes, my nails are caked with dirt; sweat is dripping down my face and my shoulders burn both from the sun and the strain. But I’ve made progress and I’m excited to get a few flowers to plant.
After tossing the weeds into the pail, I wipe my dirt-covered hands on my sweats. Lifting my arm to wipe a drop of sweat from my face, I catch a whiff of myself and oh dear Lord do I stink. The girls will all be home in a little bit so I’ve got just enough time to shower in peace before the battle over the bathroom begins. One bathroom. Four girls. That’s never fun.
Before turning to walk back inside, something across the street catches my attention. I should say someone, actually. I don’t know how I missed it before, but that’s Bryan’s car parked in the small dirt lot. Just as my heart lodges in my throat and my stomach crashes down to the floor, Bryan catches sight of me.
Of all freaking days.
By some magnetic force, instead of walking back into the house, I am pulled to him. He must feel it too, because instead of getting in his car and driving away, he crosses the road walks right up the small walkway that leads to where I’m standing.
“Hey,” he says tentatively as he rakes his hand through his hair. It’s grown longer since I’ve seen him last and a few strands fall back into his eyes even after having pushed them away.
“Hi.” My voice is shaky and uneasy. I hate that.
I raise my arm to my head to block the blinding sun that’s beating down on us from behind Bryan, then I remember that I’m a smelly mess. Swiftly dropping my arm to my side, I hope he didn’t just smell that.
“So you moved, huh?” Bryan scans the front of the house and nods in approval. It is a cute place, if I do say so myself.
“Yeah, just last week actually.” Out of nervousness, I wipe my hands on my pants once more. His face is cast in the shadow created by the sun glaring from behind him so I’m forced to squint in order to see him.
“It’s nice,” Bryan states blandly.
“Uh huh.” Oh God, this is going nowhere and fast. This conversation, if you can even call it that, is jilted and awkward. We haven’t talked in three months, but it shouldn’t be this difficult to talk to the person you once loved.
The person you still love, in my case at least.
Needing to fill the void of silence that is threatening to swallow us whole, I say, “So,” as I shrug my shoulders lamely.
He shrugs his. “Well, I should get going.” Just as he turns to move away, I grab for his arm. I forget about my dirty hands and my stinky pits. I need to talk to him. I want to talk to him. I know that I can’t let him get away.
Staring down at my filthy hand wrapped around his tanned forearm, his face takes on a resigned look. I wonder if he feels it – that fiery crackle of heat that has existed between us since we first met.
I feel it.
Extending my arm to the small porch, I ask if we can sit and talk. He simply nods and we arrive at the steps in three short strides. Thinking back to just a few weeks ago when I saw him through the window at the lab, I remember wanting to ask him a million questions. But now, sitting here on my front steps, our legs almost touching, my fingers still vibrating from just having touched him, I can’t remember a single one of them.
I opt for the topic that I think will make him the most happy. “How is Emmie? Is she excited about the summer?”
His lips tip up in the corners and his tense shoulders relax as her name comes out of my mouth. “Emmie’s good. She loves the summer. Her birthday was just the other day and she went on and on about her party for days.” Then his lips turn down and then tension is back. Hanging his head low into his hands, he sighs agitatedly.
“What’s wrong, Bryan?” My fingers itch to be laced through his; my hands are almost shaking with the need to rub comforting circles on his back.
“It’s the divorce. That’s all.” The abrupt curtness of his words tells me that things have not been going well.
“I’m here for you.” He lifts his face from his hands and looks at me strangely. “I know we haven’t talked in forever and I know that things didn’t end well, but I can be your friend. We can talk. I hate seeing you like this, Bryan.”
The strange look that was in his eyes morphs into something that looks a lot like longing. “No, we can’t be friends, Melanie. I can’t get over how you didn’t trust me.” He shakes his head and sighs loudly. “You know after we broke up, Courtney came after me again. I still didn’t want anything to do with her. When I said something to her about texting you, she came clean – told me it was an old picture. I think she felt like if she told the truth, she would have a chance of getting back with me. But, I still can’t wrap my head around how you couldn’t trust me. I still can’t … We can’t be friends.” He stands from the steps and turns to leave.
“Wait!” I call out when he’s at the edge of the lawn.
Walking up to him, I only hope that he’ll accept what I have to say. “I understand if you don’t want to be friends. I just want you to know that I’m here for you if you need me.” He nods and it makes the next words get caught up in my throat. “Just before you go, there’s one thing I need you to know. I never meant to hurt you. I’m so sorry for immediately thinking the worst with the text.” I start nervously fidgeting with the hem of my shirt and stare down at it like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.
What looks like anger and sadness swirl together across his face. He simply says, “Yeah, I’m sorry too,” before tipping his head to the approaching mailman. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I mumble but quickly realize that he’s already too far to even hear me. All apologies about what I didn’t do are lost to his retreating back.
“Here you go,” the cheerful mailman says as he hands me a large padded envelope and a few flyers.
“Thanks.” When I’m at the door, I turn back to look in Bella’s parking lot and see Bryan in his car staring at me from across the street. When he sees me looking at him, he coolly slides on his sunglasses and pulls out of the lot.
And out of my life.
I didn’t get the chance to tell him the things I wanted to say. He deserves to know about Tyler and what didn’t happen. I want him to know about my new perspective on life. I think he’d be proud of me for all of my changes. As the dust of his departing car settles, I wonder if I’ll ever have the chance to say those things to him.
After a much-needed shower, the girls pull up with some Chinese take-out and a box; yes I said a box, of wine. Jack left today, and based on the puffy redness to Cammie’s eyes, I can tell she needs some girl time. When she puts down her bags, I pull her into a big hug.
“Oh come here, Cam. It’s going to be just fine.” I try to calm her down as I hand her a mug of wine.
Taking a big gulp of it, she says, “Yeah, I know. Just a little sad, I guess.”
“Well, we’re here to distract you for the night,” Lia chimes in as she waves a DVD of Magic Mike in front of her.