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“Maybe that’s easier than facing the truth.”
“The divorce?”
“Not so much the divorce, but the ending of her marriage. You grieve for the end of a relationship, so maybe she’s just in the next stage—denial.
“Did you grieve for me?”
“Fuck.” I jerk away from the cutting board, shaking my hand in reflex. My finger stings, and I examine the soft pad of my pointer, where the knife nicked my skin. A small bubble of bright red blood lingers on the tip.
Jack drops the spoon against the side of the pot and moves over to me, taking my hand to examine it.
“It’s just a small cut. It’s fine.” I pull away from him, grabbing a tissue from the box beside my sink.
“Oh, so that dramatic fuck was your response to my question?”
“Uh, no. No.”
“Then let me look.”
He takes my hand again, moving the tissues away. A few drops of blood dot the tissue, but it’s nothing serious.
“See, it’s fine. Just caught me off guard.”
“I don’t think that’s the only thing that caught you off guard,” he comments and I nod, avoiding his gaze.
“You’re probably right. I was just surprised. Let me grab a Band-Aid and I’ll finish helping you.” I escape to the bathroom, the scent of my Epsom salts still lingering in the air. The lavender soothes me, and I breathe deeply as I search the medicine cabinet above my sink.
Did I grieve Jack? Suddenly everything from that time period seems fuzzy. I doctor up my finger and take a few deep breaths before returning to the kitchen, where somehow Jack has everything set up. All of the toppings are in a set of cute little bowls I’ve never used, the caramel and chocolate separated in my Crock-Pot to keep warm, and the apples are sliced and on skewers.
“It’s so beautiful, Jack. You’ve really outdone yourself.”
He’s standing beside me, not touching me but close enough that electricity is humming between us. One move and I’ll get zapped.
“Let’s dig in.” He motions for me to go ahead, and I grab a plate and add a few of each type of apple. He follows suit and we make our goodies.
“I can’t pick just one. I’ve got to try them all.” I smother some in chocolate, some in caramel, and add random toppings over them.
He trails me to the sofa, and we each take a cushion. I tuck my legs underneath me as I sit, then pull my blanket from the back of the couch. Once I’m settled in, I survey my choices.
“Where do I start?” I glance over and he’s doing the same.
“I’m going with a caramel marshmallow.” He carefully takes the end of one of the skewers.
“I’m going with the chocolate and nuts.” I moan as the sweet and salty flavors mixed with the tang of the Granny Smith apple hits my tongue. “Oh my god. This was a fan-fucking-tastic idea.
“I agree.” He nods, then takes another bite of his. “Delicious.”
“So, I’m going to answer your question now.” I sit up straighter, ignoring the butterflies in my belly. I shouldn’t be nervous. This is Jack. Regardless of how we’ve changed or aged, he’s still the best friend I’ve ever had.
“My question?”
“Did I grieve for you?” I remind him, and he pauses midbite for a few seconds before rearranging so that our bodies are turned toward each other. He bites into his apple again, the wet crunching the only sound for a moment, and then I take a deep breath.
“I did grieve for a bit,” I start. “That led to me going to therapy. But then it’s like I packed everything about you and me into a box and locked it up in the back of my mind. I would peek in there sometimes, but it was too painful. So most of the time, I just stayed away. But when I saw your picture on the dating app, it was like… everything exploded, and it all came back. That’s what made me want closure, I suppose.”
“I’m sorry that it all came back to you like that, but I’m not sorry that you hijacked the date.” He takes one of the apples from my plate and pushes it to my lips.
I open willingly, biting half of the caramel-marshmallow goodness off. He sets the other half back down. “And I know what you wanted was closure, but I’m thankful we’re not closing the lid on us for good just yet.”
