Page 28 of Dandelions and Smoke

Beside us, Emma hums an “aww”.

“How was your day?” he asks.

It’s a routine we’ve kept up every day since a conversation last month led me to open up about how one of the nicest changes from living with my mother, to living alone, to now has been coming home knowing he’s here. I explained that growing up, there were days I didn’t think my mother even realized I came home at all, or cared either way. Having someone here to ask me about my day and knowing I’ll get a big hug has been something I didn’t know I was missing or even wanted.

“My day was great until our best friend,” referring to Billy, “decided it was a good idea to send his boss to help me with my car, then my car stopped working, and my brother decided to get all growly.” I chuckle, pulling away.

“What’s wrong with your car?” he asks, his brows crashing together.

“Nothing you can fix right now,” I say gently before pushing them both out the door. “Go have a great night with your girl.”

After practically pushing him out the door, they finally drive away, leaving me alone with the quiet. Except the silence only makes the noise in my mind louder. The thoughts I’ve been pushing into the background creep forward until I’m forced to either start moving or stay completely paralyzed.

Since the energy that’s running through my veins has turned restless, I start moving. The dishes in the sink are still dirty, so I start there, but considering it’s been a few days since I last cleaned them and they’re piled up, this job might be better for the dishwasher. Except that, because of all the extra shifts Blake has been picking up at the Turtle Bay Tavern, he must have forgotten it was his turn to empty it.

I’m trying my best to put it all away, but this kitchen wasn’t made for short people. With a frustrated grunt, I find my handy-dandy step stool. The same one that Blake bought me as a joke the first time he noticed I have a hard time reaching the top shelf, and, to my benefit, has helped me more times than I wish to admit.

Once I’m finally able to see the world through the eyes of someone not so vertically challenged, I notice the insides of these cabinets are filthy. I’m not surprised. A blanket of sadness wraps around me, pulling at my heartstrings. Sara was the homemaker, but she’s not here anymore, so now it’s up to us.

I see the way Blake misses his mom every day. Sometimes I catch him staring at the chair she used to occupy in the kitchen, the same one neither of us ever sits in, choosing to leave it vacant, like she’s still here with us. I sniffle, not noticing I’m crying until a tear rolls down my cheek. I guess I still miss her, too.

I decide that if it’s up to us, then it’s up to me. Earning my place means being useful, so I empty the cabinets, item by item, onto the counter. Starting with the dishes, I move on to the cups, and eventually the cans of food. The expiration date on most of these cans reads ‘expired’, so with a huff, I jump down, pull over the garbage can, and toss away anything that’s truly no longer edible.

Growing up poor, I know that an expiration date is more like what someone would call guidelines than actual rules. However, anything pushing past the two-year mark is questionable at best, and we could use a fresh start. Sort of like Chief and me. Friends, I told him, as if he could ever see me as a friend after all of this, but he did agree. Or at least I think he did.

Replaying the conversation in my head, I overanalyze every word, every syllable, every microexpression on his face until it becomes obvious to me that, while I offered him friendship as a way to move forward, he placated me. When I asked him what he wanted, he deflected, meaning I have no idea where that leaves us at all. The truth settles in my stomach like a lead weight.

If that’s what you want.

As if I have any idea what I want anymore.

I thought I did.

I sink to the middle of the kitchen floor, surrounded by the evidence of how desperately I’ve tried to think about anything but Chief Garrett Mason. My gaze drifts over the mess, unsure how it got this bad while I was trapped in my own head. I know I should clean it up, but every ounce of energy has drained from my body, leaving me frozen beneath the weight of the chaos I’ve created, both around me and inside my mind. Guilt settles over me like a weight I can’t escape.

Why am I like this?

A knock at the door pulls me from my spiral. Before I’m able to find the motivation to push myself up off the floor and answer it, the handle clicks and slowly turns. Through the small window in the door, I catch sight of Ainsley and Tris waiting on the other side.

I’m supposed to see them later.

They’re working until close today.

I glance at the clock on the microwave, my brows furrowing before shooting to my hairline. They’ve been off for at least an hour. Somehow, I’ve lost half my day.

“Hello?” Tris says as she swings the door open, halting when her eyes land on the mess surrounding her.

Ainsley steps right into, and then around, her.

“Good Lord, suga’,” she huffs. “What was it this time?”

I look up at them with a wide grin that conflicts with the watery pools blurring my vision.

“The dishes,” I chuckle, a tear rolling down my cheek. “I was trying to wash the dishes.”

I’m not embarrassed by how loudly my emotions show. I’ve accepted who I am a long time ago. I only hate that when I find myself at the bottom of these spirals, it’s like I have no control over how I got here. The girls are well-versed in my habits by now, and neither one of them has ever cast judgment or made me feel as though I’m too much. Which I’m grateful for, since I have no problem silently berating myself and doing plenty of that without the help of others.

After Chief’s first visit to the cafe sent me into a hiding panic, I channeled that frantic energy into reworking the entire inventory, taping alphabetical sticky notes to the tea collection before moving on to the spice rack. I was so hyper-focused that no one could pull my attention away from it. Instead, as if they knew I needed something to occupy my thoughts, they left me to it. They covered the tables and picked up the slack left by my absence without ever making me feel guilty for disappearing into my project.