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I move quick to the pile and clear my head with manual labor.
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Thelight is dim in the living room so I have to move to the kitchen where the moon glimmers out the window and the low hanging lights are enough to help me fasten clasps on the chains of new necklaces.
Quiet blankets the house and the hum of the fridge puts me into a trance as I work. I still have no clue what I’m using for pendants, and I don’t have the energy to start any rings. They’re tedious and I don’t usually bust out the lathe unless I’m extremely stressed out and need to hyper focus on something. I kept a bunch of scrap wood to use from the greenhouse project, but I need to find some scrap metal or stone for inlays.
The clasp work is quick and two separate lines are prepped before my tea is cold. When I first started in the basement of my aunt’s place in Surrey this would take me hours. Days even once Millie was born and I had no time to even think between feedings and diapers.
A text comes through from Xan startling me with a harsh buzz.
Xan: I feel bad about the last couple times we’ve spoken. can we talk?
Me: sure
Xan: Meet at the creek in 20
I suck my bottom lip between my teeth, biting down nervously on the skin. That phrase holds a lot of meaning for me and I can’t stop my brain from going there. Weaving between the trees, ducking below branches, moving toward him like we were magnetic and didn’t need the light to find each other. I can feel him, each heartbeat a drum guiding me closer to him.
Feelings that intense leave footprints on the soul, ones that even time can’t wash away.
With a slow breath I respond to the text, saying I’ll be there.
I make my way through the house to the family room where Dad props up in his recliner, his white cast glowing in the dim light of the TV. The volume is almost muted, and the closed captions scroll along the bottom of the screen. I’m pretty positive my father prefers to read the shows rather than listen to them.
“Hey, Dad,” I say quietly, and he peers over his reading glasses at me. “I’m going to go for a little walk okay.”
His expression turns to quizzical, his gaze untrusting, but he simply nods and goes back to his show. There’s tension knotting up my shoulders and I roll them back, wondering why he didn’t push for details.
Because he knows where you’re going,I think as I slip on my running shoes and grab a sweater from the coat rack. I’ve never met anyone who hated Xan as much as my dad did.
Maybe Dad finally moved past whatever grudge he has for Xan. I pause in the doorway, studying him with a furrow in my own brow. Suspicion holds me in place. That knowing, clawing, twisting of my gut tells me something I don’t understand is going on.
I silently slip through the door, knowing that even if I ask him, Dad wouldn’t tell me anything. I have my own mysteries to solve first. Like how on God’s earth I’m ever going to build a relationship with Xan that doesn’t include this thunder in my chest, and lightening in a few other places...
