Page 51 of Naughty-ish

My mouth pops open, but Nick disappears from view again, the door to my home softly clicking closed at his exit.

Never about me?

All those odd jobs Nick did. All the time spent with me and my kids. Did he need us? Was this never about me needing help, being pitied or a charity case, but simply, possibly, that he wanted to feel needed. He wanted to be near us. Near me.

The confusing thoughts mingle with my already frayed nerves, and I collapse to the couch once again, crying like I haven’t cried in a year.

Somehow, this heartbreak feels so much worse.

My DO list is done.

+ + +

It’s late when I hear the sharp slam of a truck door in the driveway. Laying flat on my back in my bed, I stare up at the ceiling.

My parents took the kids for the night as I told them I had some last-minute shopping to do, and I wanted to wrap presents without the kids home.

I’ll tell them the truth tomorrow.

Day One again.

Rolling on my side, I stare at my window, where I wouldn’t be able to see Nick’s house anyway. Still, he’s over there.

Is he alone? Is it my business?

I didn’t need him, as I’d abruptly declared earlier.

But I wanted him.

What Nick offered was more than mowing my lawn, hanging up lights, and snuggling before a fireplace. His gift had been him. His friendship. His presence. He’d been in his best form, doing things for me, but he also sensed what I needed.

Support. Kindness. Love.

What had I done for him?

I recall asking him last summer if he was okay, sensing a kindred spirit in his stoic sadness. Thinking back, I recall his reaction, then compared that to his reaction to my snow globe gift.

Perhaps, no one’s thought of Nick’s feelings in a while. Maybe no one’s given him such a thoughtful gift, one full of memory and meaning. It could be that something’s lacking in his life, which is what called me to him in the first place.

And for all the things he’d done for me, hadn’t I done something in return? He mowed my lawn. I bought him a plant. He trimmed bushes. I’d made him a casserole. He played catch with Nash or let Eloise make chalk drawings in his driveway. I’d give him cookies.

We’d been doing this dance for months.

For some reason, Dr. Suess came to mind. That saying about Christmas not coming from a store. Maybe Christmas meant a little bit more.

Nick was that more.

And just maybe . . . I’d been more to him as well.

Chapter 12

Over the weekend, I hear Nick tinkering in his yard. The buzz of a saw. The whirl of a drill. The sharp clap of a power hammer. It’s like the Universe wants to remind me he’s right next door. But despite my deeper feelings toward Nick, I’m still angry and confused.

By Monday, the first official day of my kids’ winter break, and my first day of unemployment, I’m irritated. Or maybe I’m just overwhelmed. My mind is pulled in a million different directions.

Eloise and Nash deserve this time off from school, but I’m already concerned about when the new year starts, and I don’t have a job.

I’m broken again, feeling a bit defeated, and mustering enthusiasm for the holidays is exhausting. Pretending I’m okay for my kids zaps my energy.