a four-letter word.
[Emily]
The next morning, I decide to take out my irritation on the ugly, overgrown, no-good dying bushes in the backyard. With earbuds in and music blaring to drown out my thoughts, I vigorously saw at the base of the first juniper shrub. I use a mix of hacking and slicing to remove the offending bush. My arms are sore, but I enjoy the burn. I yearn for the ache in my chest to disappear.
Earlier this morning, I’d found a letter next to a small container with daisies just outside Nana’s screened-in porch.
Emily,
I’m sorry. It’s not what it seemed, and yet those are the weakest of words. You drove off before I could explain myself, defend myself.
You talk about fairy tales, then make me believe in them. Tell me, how can the underdog win in these stories?
It’s hard to believe in happily ever after when the future looks cloudy and the past is a shitstorm of regret, but I know one thing I’ll never regret is the chance you’ve given me and my baby girl.
I pick you.
He picks me. I feel mocked by his words. He didn’t pick me when someone else’s lips were plastered to his.
This is why I’m not good relationship material. I expect monogamy, and that just doesn’t seem to be a thing.
Still, I can admit the note was kind of sweet, as were the daisies, and I know I overanalyzed the symbolism of three flowers in the glass jar, thinking they represented Jess, Katie, and me. There is no three of us, though. There’s them and me. I know my place—and it’s not here.
I throw my all into hacking at the base of the bush. It’s almost as bad as pulling weeds, which I finished doing weeks ago, and the garden looks pretty decent except for these shrubs. I have other concerns, like painting the inside of the house, but today, I need sunshine and to dispel all this pent-up energy.
Did the other night mean nothing to him? He brought me the radio. He made love to me on the couch. Was it all a game to him? More sympathy because I lost Nana?
I don’t need sympathy sex.
A final whack at the bush’s base delivers the blow I need before I give the lower trunk a hard kick, and the upper portion of the bush falls over. I stare at the hole I’ve created and realize the roots remain encased in the soil, and unfortunately, those roots are entwined with the roots of the bush next to it. I pick up the old rusty spade I found in the garage and stab unsuccessfully at the earth. I don’t consider myself out of shape, but this type of physical labor is beyond my strength. However, anger fuels me onward until something tickles my arm, and I almost jab myself in the foot with the shovel. I brusquely brush at my skin, thinking a bug landed on me, only to look up and discover the man next to me.
“Jesus,” I snap, tugging a bud from my ear.
“No, Jess.” He laughs but humor fails me. Instantly, I turn away from him, returning to my unproductive work on the ancient roots.
“Let me help you,” he offers, his voice lowering.
“I got it,” I mutter, jabbing at the dirt only to have the shovel vibrate again.
“Efficient. I get it,” he huffs. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” His voice rises as do his arms. “She came at me too quickly for me to stop it, but you saw me push her away. You saw me. Why would you leave like that?”
“I don’t need to be caught in the middle!” I holler back at him, peering at him over my shoulder. “I don’t need this.” I want to yell, I don’t need you! but that would be a betrayal of my heart.
“Emily, please. We aren’t together.”
“You’re right, we aren’t,” I snap, turning to face him.
His jaw clenches as he glares at me. “I meant Sami and me. I told you I broke it off.”
“And why would you do that, Jess, when you know I’m the temporary one?” My heart sinks at the admission. I’m the one who will leave.
Might.
Should.
I can’t stay.
He stares at me, his face falling into an expression I can’t read.
“Did you read the note I left you?” his terse voice questions.
“Yes, I did.” I pick you. But does he really?
Jess crosses his arms and looks off toward the Mueller’s house. “This is why I don’t date,” he mutters.
I gasp. “Because