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“You’re… uh fifty.”
“Fuc—”
“Aden! Little ears!” We both turn to look at Jack who has fallen asleep watching Trolls.
“You’re telling me I’m fifty-years-old?” he hisses.
“Well, yeah. That’s not old you know. George Strait will be like seventy. He may already be. You have a lot of good years left in you,” I tell him, trying to make him feel better. I really have no idea how old he is. I’m guessing he’s closer to forty than fifty, but I think he’s definitely past forty, I didn’t mean to offend him. I was just rounding up.
“How old are you?”
“Me?”
“Yeah, Hope. If I’m fifty, then how old are you?”
“A gentleman is never supposed to ask a woman how old she is, Aden. It’s considered rude.”
“How old are you, Hope?” he asks again, and there’s not a doubt in my mind that his voice has a warning quality to it now.
I really should have gone with forty.
“I’m twenty-six,” I tell him with a frown.
“You’re twenty-six,” he repeats in a whisper. “You’re twenty-six and I’m fifty and you don’t see a problem with this?” he growls.
“Age is just a number. We get along great…well we did... Until….”
“I don’t want to know. I’m leaving before you can tell me something else and make me want to slit my wrists,” he mumbles, and then, just like that, he turns and leaves, leaving me to stare after him and wonder what I can do for his pretend birthday tomorrow.
Well that, and wondering just when I’m going to reach the point that I tell so many lies I can’t keep them straight and they all explode…
Right. In. My. Face.
thirty
aden
“This was nice, Hope.”
I look at the woman sitting on the sofa across from me and she’s still a mystery. I’m married to her, supposedly, but for the most part nothing about our relationship seems like we’re married. I’ve been here a week now, and tomorrow the motel opens for business and I feel like… a visitor. I definitely don’t feel like I’m married and as cute as Jack is and as much as I care for him… I feel like I’m on the outside looking in at the two of them. I can see everything I’m supposed to be a part of, everything I kind of want… and yet I don’t feel a part of them.
I have so many questions, so many things that I want answered or explained. I haven’t pushed it. Primarily because every time I do, Hope’s answers scare the hell out of me. I know it’s way past time that I get some real answers, however. I had planned on sitting down with Hope and getting the answers to those questions tonight. Then, I showed up and she had dinner fixed and a homemade birthday cake—chocolate, which was amazing. I know money has to be tight. I know this because in the week that I’ve been here, Hope is cleaning houses for people in town to supplement our income, and yet, she took time out of her busy schedule—not to mention money out of her budget—to make me a special dinner of steaks, salads and baked potatoes to go with the birthday cake.
The fact that she’s cleaning houses and paying the bills, while I’m doing nothing, makes me feel like shit. I’m starting to pray I never get my memory back. I don’t want to wake up and be that man again. The old man who gets drunk and hangs on the side of a woman like Hope, taking and taking and giving nothing back.
I’ve thought about walking away. I’d be doing Hope a favor. One thing stops me. It makes me a selfish bastard, but it’s the truth.
I remember her.
I don’t mean that I have memories, but I have…feelings. I can remember how she tastes, the sounds she makes during sex, and the smell of her…. Fuck. The scent of vanilla is driving me crazy. When she’s looking at me, it’s… familiar. When she says my name, I know in my heart I’ve heard it before.
So, I’m still here. Because I can’t just walk away. Which means I’m going to have to get some answers soon. Things are going to have to start changing because… I can’t keep going like I am. I feel like I’m in a dark room, blindfolded, and unsure of the first step I need to take.
“It’s not over yet.”
“It’s not?” I ask surprised.
“Jack’s asleep so I thought…since it’s your birthday and all, we could watch something besides cartoons on the television.
“What are we watching?”
“I have a horrible confession, Aden. I don’t watch movies.”
“What?”
“Don’t laugh but… I hate television and movies. I’m a reader. I read. That’s what I do.”
“I see, and you’re telling me this… Because?”
“The last movie I watched was an old DVD that I got at the flea market for a dollar. I loved it though and sometimes I watch it after Jack goes to sleep.”
