I glanced down to see Dalton’s name taunting me, and I grabbed it quickly as a shudder of excitement raced through me. “Hi,” I breathed into the phone.
“Hi, yourself,” he said back. “What are you doing?”
“Just sitting here.” Literally.
“Are you tired? Shit, did I wake you?” He sounded concerned, and I wanted to lie to him but couldn’t.
“It’s okay. I like talking to you.”
“Just talking?” he teased.
“Yep. I’m only using you for your incredible phone conversation ability.”
“Figures. Usually girls use me for my huge—”
“Hey!” I cut him off, not wanting to hear what I thought he was going to say.
“I was going to say personality. They use me for my huge personality.” He laughed. “I miss you.”
My heart leaped into my throat and decided to live there forever as something in my stomach did handsprings over and over again. “I miss you too. Thank you for the roses. And for making my bed. But not for eating all my cookies.”
“You can punish me later. And you’re welcome.”
I stretched on the couch, reaching my arm above my head and pulling the muscles in my back. “I’m so tired, but I really want to see you,” I admitted as my boss’s warning played in the back of my mind.
“You want me to come over? I don’t have to stay long. But if you want to just talk on the phone, we can do that too.”
“Really? You’d just stay on the phone with me?”
“For hours.”
“Get over here.” I laughed. “But I’m warning you. I’m changing into my pajamas and I’m getting ready for bed.”
“Already trying to lure me into the sack for round two,” he said, clucking disapprovingly into my ear.
“I’ll lock the door and not answer,” I said with a playful warning in my voice.
“No, you won’t. Have you eaten?”
“Kristy brought me a sandwich. I only ate half, but you probably need more food than half a sandwich for dinner, huh?”
He grunted. “Yeah. I’ll just eat on the way.”
“I’d offer to cook, but I’m in desperate need of a trip to the store.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you soon.”
“’Bye.”
After ending the call, I ran around the house, making sure it was still clean and that I looked presentable. I got ready for bed, but I didn’t wash my makeup off. Even though I was pretty sure that Dalton would still adore me makeup-free, I wasn’t ready to take that step with him yet. A girl with no makeup on always felt a little vulnerable; it was a universal truth. They didn’t call it war paint for no reason.
Dalton walked right in without knocking, clearly making himself comfortable already, not that I minded. “Hi!” he shouted as he opened the front door.
“In the living room.”
“Please tell me you made me more cookies.” He peered into the kitchen and sniffed the air.
I had. Because I’m a complete sucker for him already. Again.
“You’re the best,” he said as he grabbed one off the cooling tray and bit into it. “I seriously love you—” His eyes grew as wide as mine at his words. “Your baking. I love your baking skills,” he said in an awkward attempt to backtrack.
“You can thank my mom. She taught me how to bake, and it’s her recipe.” I smiled at him but my heart was racing, still trying to process what he’d almost said.
“Speaking of, how’s your mom doing?” he asked, sounding genuinely interested. He moved onto the couch next to me, threw his arm around me, and pulled me close.
I smiled as I thought of her. “She’s doing really well, thanks for asking.” I nuzzled against his chest, reveling in the fact that it was comfortable instead of hard like a rock.
Death had a weird way of bringing people together. When my dad first died, neighbors brought us meals, stopped by at all hours, and checked on us every single day to see if we needed anything. But it was during those first few weeks, months even, that my mom and I could barely see past our own grief to truly appreciate what they were trying to do.
So many meals got tossed in the trash before we could eat them. It wasn’t that we were ungrateful, it was simply that we were unable to navigate through the fog of sorrow that had settled over us to do simple tasks like feed ourselves. Everyone gathered around us when we weren’t ready for it, crowding us at a point that we needed to be left alone. Meaning well, they tried to lift us up when all we wanted was to stay on our knees.
By the time the fog started to lift and I realized that I needed the help and support of others, it was too late. Everyone had moved on. Daily visits had turned into weekly ones, which eventually turned into none. It was just the way life went. Everyone else had moved past our grief because they didn’t have to live in it. Our tragedy was no longer their front page news.
I never blamed anyone for it, I simply wished it had been different. People surrounded us when we couldn’t see them and left us alone when we needed them most. And that was when the true loneliness crept in, reminding me that my grief was mine alone to bear and work through. Although for the most part, I tucked it away and tried to be strong while my mom fell apart.
My grief saddled me, though, and I wore that heavy burden like an oversized cloak I couldn’t shed. Until Dalton came along, that is, and I allowed him to peel back the layers.