I don’t want any of it in my house. In fact, throw out every last thing in there.”
“Really. The ketchup and shit?”
“All of it, Landon. I don’t want it.” I don’t know why the food is putting me over the edge, but it is.
I just want to start fresh. I don’t want to have to wonder if the last person to use the mayonnaise was Stella. I can’t have her memory haunting me at every turn.
Landon takes two full trash bags bursting with casserole dishes and condiments outside to deposit in the trash bin. I open the refrigerator, and it’s completely empty. Somehow, that fact brings me a small sense of relief.
“Let’s go somewhere to eat,” Landon says when he comes back in. “The Tigers game is on if you want to go to a sports bar.”
I don’t want to go sit in a bar and watch a baseball game, but I don’t really want to stay here either. So, why not? It can’t make me feel worse. “Okay,” I relent. “I guess I could use some food.” Now that I’m showered, dressed, and standing upright, I realize how hungry I am.
“You think?” Landon chuckles.
The burger tasted delicious going down, but now, it’s sitting in my belly, causing it to ache, as indigestion blazes up my esophagus. “Damn, my stomach burns.”
“Well, when you don’t eat for a week and then inhale a giant plate of grease, that will happen.”
“Thanks for coming over today.” Despite my original annoyance, I know I needed someone to be the catalyst to get me out of the funk I was in. I am by no means completely okay now. But it is astonishing what a shower, some food, fresh air, and human interaction will do for you.
“Anytime, buddy,” Landon answers quickly, his eyes watching the game on the screen.
I’m grateful that he isn’t making a big deal out of it.
We watch the game in silence for a while.
I sip my glass of water. “What do I do now?”
“I’m not sure, Jax. I honestly don’t know what to tell you. I’m guessing, you just take one day at a time and see where it leads you.”
“One day at a time,” I repeat. It sounds so cliché, but it makes sense. The thought of the future in general is overwhelming, but I can focus on one day. The concept of tomorrow might cause anxiety to flood through me, but the reality of today is manageable.
“Yep, and today, we watch the Tigers,” Landon comments.
We continue to watch the screen before he speaks again, “Oh, and when we get back, we talk to Mom.”
“What?” I question.
“I sent her a photo of your empty fridge. She’s there right now, stocking it.”
“Why did you do that?”
“Because it’s Mom. She needed something to do, some way to help. And let’s face it, you need food.”
“Yeah,” I relent.
“Plus, she wants to see you. She’s worried about you. No more ignoring your family—that’s my other advice. One day at a time, and stop ignoring your family.”
“Who knew you were so chock-full of wise knowledge?” I huff out a dry chuckle.
“Yep. I do what I can. I do what I can.” Landon tips his beer bottle to his lips.
Sitting in this bar and watching a ball game feels almost normal, and it gives me hope that, someday, I will feel okay again. Someday, the pain will subside, and I can live my life…eventually.
Lily
Sirens wail, the sound getting closer until a large fire truck speeds by. It’s a beautiful May morning and a rarity because Charlie and I were able to snag one of the few outdoor tables at our favorite coffee shop.
I stare at my laptop as I zone out. The morning air blows my hair while the prominent background noise of New York City barely registers in the far corner of my consciousness. The constant chaos of cars, horns, and people has faded, taking a backseat to my thoughts.
My eyes are focused on my computer screen, but my mind is zeroed in on Jax. It has been two weeks since he dropped me off at my car outside the restaurant where we’d celebrated the life of his deceased wife.
It is still so strange to refer to anyone as Jax’s wife. Jax has—had a wife…who wasn’t me. The concept is so foreign. I know it’s reality. I witnessed their marriage firsthand. But it is still unbelievable.
I haven’t heard from Jax since he left me at my car. I have sent him several texts since returning