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It was so fucked up because, in so many ways, I wanted the carpet stained a bit. I wanted a little wear and tear to show some signs of life in a house that was built with so much love and meaning behind it. I wanted to make it a home. In my mind, I could never leave it, but in reality, I couldn’t live fully in it… not yet.
I’d recently read in a book properly named A Love so Tragic that “just because the person died doesn’t mean the love does.” Those words had never been truer for me. And that’s how I’d lived for the past few years: in love without the object of my affection. Death had taken him away but what I felt for him remained. At first, it was a type of safety net for me, a way of keeping the promise to myself that I would never forget him. I made a conscious effort every day to remember every detail of our relationship. It kept Grant and I close, yet he was impossibly far away. Now, it was a ritual I cherished. The emotions that went along with remembering how it felt to be with him and to surrender to that type of love came with a pain so intense, it resonated with my breaths, and bliss so unique, it was impossible to explain.
I’d found something so rare with Grant Foster. It could never be replicated or replaced. Our life together was small in measure, though in my lifetime, it remained the most important piece. I hadn’t thrown my career or goals away when he died, and of that fact, I was proud. But as I lay on the deck, the thought occurred to me, as it did often, that I wouldn’t ever be whole unless I resumed the other part of living, the part that included a personal life, and one without Grant. It seemed a daunting feat even years later.
Unable to face the truth I’d presented to myself, I gave up on my pursuit of sun and took up residence on my bed, sorting through my Kindle, looking for a distraction. Medical journals, romance…erotica. I browsed through the smut-filled pages as I thought of the sex toy Jules had given me for my birthday. She’d shoved it in my locker at the hospital with a large bottle of Maker’s Mark, my favorite poison. The toy was still wrapped in plastic, and for a brief moment, I entertained the idea of self-gratification. If I thought I’d had a dry spell before Grant came and went, I was in an all-out drought at this point.
My phone buzzed with a picture from Dallas: a roadside sign showing they had just reached Shreveport. I knew she’d sent it so I wouldn’t worry, but I couldn’t help the fact that it only made me feel a bit shittier. All thoughts of sex dissipated. Suddenly feeling more restless than ever, I made a quick decision and pulled out my tablet. I clicked the links to locate my online piggy bank. I’d been saving in the account since I was seven. My father had started it for me and told me it was good practice for investing later on. I’d never touched it. I’d only added money as the years went by. I’d never needed it. But now, with all my earnings tied up in school, the house, and the center, I didn’t have much to spare. It took me a good thirty minutes to remember the password, and when I saw the balance, I jerked back in surprise.
Live a little.
This is an emotional purchase. There isn’t a damn thing wrong with your SUV, woman. Walk away, Rose.
After seeing the balance in my ancient piggy bank, I’d decided to go car shopping, and not exactly the kind of car shopping that a sensible doctor in debt for the next twenty plus years would do.
As soon as I was behind the wheel, all I could hear were those three words.
Soft leather cradled me as I breathed in its delicious scent. I trailed my fingers along the dash with reverence as the sales person did their best to sway me.
“I’ll take it,” I interrupted as the surprised rep eyed me behind the wheel with admiration. My confidence shot to new heights as I threw caution to the wind and bought my dream car. I signed on the dotted line and arranged to have my SUV delivered back to my house. And I wasn’t finished.
I celebrated with a belly full of rich pasta and a glass of wine at one of the hundred new restaurants that had popped up in Dallas while I’d been in a career coma. Though I cringed the whole time, I went shopping and bought clothes that could never resemble scrubs. I threw bags consisting of new designer jeans, two new dresses, and t-shirts that I could never afford to stain or replace in the back of my new convertible.
I stopped in a salon and got a Brazilian blowout and wax. The wax ended up being less adventure, more nightmare, especially after the lady who greeted me declared, “You so very hairy.” I twitched liked I was being electrocuted as my calloused, unattended feet were scrubbed raw and my toes were painted to match the color of my new car. Once pampered, if you could even call it that, I treated myself to a massage and facial. At twenty-eight years old, aside from the week before my wedding that never took place. I’d never given myself a day like that and instantly regretted it. I’d been a tree-climbing tomboy in my youth, an introvert in college and medical school, and at the moment, I had no idea who I was outside of being a surgeon. I knew that I’d always admired women who took pride in their appearance. Suddenly, I no longer had an excuse not to become one of them. But my newly polished outside had nothing to do with who I was now on the inside. For years, I’d felt broken to the point where who I’d become was the last of my worries. Only concentrating on getting through the day-to-day, self-discovery was the furthest thing from my mind. I loved food and rap music, but neither of those was a hobby.
I was in serious need of a life, one that existed outside of Dallas Memorial. My growing family and the center had managed to keep me busy in my off time, and though I was dedicated to them now more than ever, I was lacking. I’d often thought of leaving it all behind, exploring places I’d only seen
in movies or read about in magazines. And though the idea appealed to me on some level, my feet were cemented in a dream that started long ago. Deciding that my trip to the city and a little self-indulgence was a good first step, I smiled, grateful for what I had because it was a hell of a lot.
Later that day, I pulled into the center just as the sun was setting. I sat idling in my new car as I watched the workers trickle out of the massive building and pack up. Jack’s bike was still there so I knew he must be exhausted, but for some reason, instead of checking the progress on the clinic, I decided to keep the day for myself. I reached into my purse, gripped Jack’s aviators, and walked over to his bike, placing his borrowed shades on his seat. Getting back into my convertible, I reached behind the passenger seat to pull out my new sunglasses and put them on with a smile.
I pulled up to my dimly lit house and listened as the ducks greeted me as they followed me into my driveway. “You guys shit on this one, and we’ll be having duck for dinner tomorrow,” I scolded, knowing it was useless. I put the top up and made my way inside with my bags.
After an hour of looking through everything I’d bought, I decided days like the one I had today were way too expensive. Still, I couldn’t help but linger on a metallic blue bra and panty set I’d purchased on impulse. I may not be ready today or tomorrow to share myself in that way, but when I was, I would look the part. I slipped on the satin and stood back, evaluating the way I looked. What curves I had were accented by the fabric that now felt like a second skin.
Expensive underwear is worth it.
My skin felt amazing from the massage and was glowing slightly from the small amount of sun I’d gotten. My long red hair felt like silk on my shoulders and looked polished and… beautiful. I looked down at my ruby red toes, admiring the day’s handiwork. It was the first time I’d felt beautiful in years. I was glowing, and my reflection confirmed it.
I walked over to my closet and pulled out the only pair of heels I owned and slipped them on, feeling the burn start in my calves as I wondered how women wore them every day. I may never be one of those women, but right then, I felt sexy in my attempt.
Discarding the pumps, I pushed my shoulders back. “I can still do sexy.” I beamed at my reflection, my confidence at a welcomed high.
“Jesus Christ!” I heard a voice boom behind me through my open bedroom door that led to the back patio. Jack stood with palms toward me, fingers spread. “I came to give you the cart keys back. Fuck… I can’t… when I saw you in nothing but your underwear, I didn’t know if I should announce myself or turn back, but I was already halfway to the door and if you saw me leave without saying… You do know that your house is made mostly of windows, right?”
I was slightly shocked but thankful he was so flustered at the sight of me. It felt like it had been one-sided, nervous sexual tension since he showed up. There was no way I would be able to hide the heat in my cheeks, but I didn’t run for cover. I felt too good in my own skin and too high from the day’s events. I grabbed a t-shirt from the bed, slipping it over my lingerie-clad body while I spoke, leaving my legs bare. “Let’s just make peace with this and maybe say you should call or text before you come down to the house, okay? I’m well aware I live in a house made of windows. I designed it. I’m also aware there are almost two miles between me and anything close to resembling civilization.”
Composed now, Jack moved his hands up to hold the door frame, the keys dangling from his fingers, a picture of perfect temptation standing outside my house while somehow still managing to invade my bedroom. He didn’t bother to hide his roaming eyes as he took me in, a sexy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I see more of Seth in you every time you open your mouth.”
“But not when you take a good look, right?” I said coyly.
Are you flirting? You are flirting, Rose!
Walking over with new confidence, I grabbed the keys from his hand, not bothering to mention I had several sets and a spare cart of which I was sure he saw in my driveway. “Goodnight, Jack. I’ll lock up. I can handle it. I’m a big girl, I promise.”
“I have no doubt about that,” he said shamelessly. “Can I ask you a question?” Jack asked, placing a booted foot just inside my bedroom, teetering on the step up it took to get inside.
“Sure.” He was just inches away. I could see every detail of his chiseled face, his eyes, nose, lips, and chin. All of it appealed to me, all of him. There was an evident pull between us, and I could see just how much it was affecting him with the way he looked at me, though his demeanor reeked of confidence.
