It wasn’t either of them, just some new email notifications. I bit back a sigh and clicked it open anyway.
“Something up?”
“No.” I scrolled through, swiping and deleting. “Junk mail.” My finger lingered on the newsletter from the little downtown hardware store. I’d gotten hooked on that particular one, each of their suggested projects filling me with inspiration while Mitch and I had transformed my house. We never did build those bookshelves. I squinted at the subject header. “Huh,” I said. “There’s a sale on paint.”
Emily huffed a laugh and picked up her coffee mug. “That’s the last thing you need right now.”
“Yeah.” But my mind churned as I clicked off my phone and put it back down. Because an idea had taken hold. A way to show Mitch how much I wanted him in my life. For real this time. And paint might actually be the way to get there.
Twenty-Three
It took a couple weekends to get everything the way I wanted it, especially since I was on my own this time, but eventually I got it done. After a quick stop on the way home one Friday evening, I pulled into the garage and tapped out a text to Mitch. Can you come over? I need you. My breath froze in my chest at the truth in those last three words, and I hoped he could tell through the magic of text messaging how much I meant it. Before I could wuss out I hit Send.
I had no idea how long I’d have to wait for an answer. Our last text conversation hadn’t gone that well, after all. He could have blocked my number by now, and I wouldn’t have blamed him. I clutched my phone as I went into the house, and when it buzzed I felt the vibration all the way up my arm. I can’t do this, April. I told you. I’m not sneaking around with you.
There was that magic of text messaging: the hurt I’d caused pulsed through each word on the screen. God, I’d really fucked this up. All I could do was hope he’d let me try to make it right.
I put my purchases in the fridge, then leaned against the kitchen island to answer his text. No sneaking. I’m parked in the garage so you can take the driveway. Please? It won’t take long. Just need your opinion on something.
He didn’t answer right away, and my heart sank. I stared at the words I’d just typed. Too desperate? Did the “please” sound like I was begging? Ugh. When staring a hole in my phone didn’t make him text back I let it clatter to the counter and pressed my palms against my eyes. I had my answer. And I didn’t blame him.
Oh, well. It had been worth a try.
I got a cider out of the fridge, popping it open before wandering into the living room, where my new roommate snored lightly on a pile of blankets on the couch. I sat down next to him and touched his head lightly, hoping I wouldn’t startle him. His hearing wasn’t the best, and he was still getting used to living with me.
“Did Emily already take you out, Murray?” He nuzzled into my hand and thumped his tail in response. I’d gone to the shelter with Emily and Simon as promised. While they both fell in love with a wriggly black Lab puppy—no tiebreaker needed—my attention was drawn to an elderly black-and-white Jack Russell terrier snoozing in a nearby kennel. He was almost ten, the shelter person had said, and he was here because his elderly master had died. She shook her head in sympathy, because who was going to adopt a dog that old?
Me, apparently. I adopted a dog that old. Emily was thrilled, and promised to come by in the afternoons to take him out while I was at work. I’d named him after our grandfather—another old man who was a little hard of hearing and preferred naps—and we’d settled into a happy coexistence. He liked lots of blankets on his side of the couch, carrots, and snuggling against my hip while I read or watched television. We took slow, meditative walks in the evenings and on weekends, where I did a lot of thinking and he did a lot of sniffing. It was a promising beginning to a relationship, and the house didn’t feel as empty with Murray in it with me.
Now I scratched his head and leaned back against the couch, sipping my cider and looking at the freshly painted walls. Had this been a good idea? The more time that went by, the more I doubted myself.
All my senses went on high alert when, somewhere between ten minutes and three years later, headlights shone through my living room window as a gargantuan red pickup truck swung into my driveway. Every muscle I had tensed up as the engine cut off, and the headlights went out a heartbeat later.
“Here we go, Murray,” I whispered, but he was already asleep again. He was a terrible wingman.
My heart pounded and the cider suddenly tasted sour in my mouth, but I forced myself to swallow it. The slam of the truck door was loud, but I could barely hear it over the blood rushing in my ears, and when the doorbell rang I jumped.
This was it. Mitch was giving me my chance. All I had to do was not screw it up. I took a deep, cleansing breath as I opened the front door.
“Hey.” His hands were shoved in the front pockets of his jeans, and he met my eyes briefly before casting his gaze away, studying the doorjamb, then the porch light.
“Hi.” For a long moment I didn’t move. I was so glad to see him again that I’d forgotten why I’d texted him. I just wanted to look at him there in my doorway. I wanted to look at him every day.
He cleared his throat and brought his eyes back to mine again. “So. What did you need?”
“Oh. Right.” I stepped back and gestured him inside, closing the front door behind him. God, I’d forgotten how much space he took up. His presence should be crowding me, this person who always wanted to be left alone. But now that was the last thing I wanted. And it was time to let him know that.
I took a deep breath. “Like I said. I wanted to get your opinion on something.”
“Okay.” He raised his eyebrows. “What’s that?”
“Come see.” I led him into the living room, but he stopped short in the doorway.
“You got a dog.”
“I did.” I watched while Mitch and Murray looked at each other for a long moment, sizing each other up. Murray quickly determined that Mitch hadn’t brought him a carrot, and put his head back down with a long sigh.
“That’s not why I asked you over, though. I redid the paint in here. What do you think?” I took a step more into the center of the room, waiting for him to follow.
He did. “Let me guess, you changed your mind on the Eggshell.” I didn’t answer, I just waited for him to see what I’d done. “Seriously, as long as it’s some boring neutral color they’re not gonna care . . .” His voice stopped abruptly, and I turned to look at him. His eyes were huge in his face, and his jaw had gone slack. “April.” His voice was hushed.
“What do you think?” I moved to stand beside him, my arms crossed over my chest. We both studied the accent wall that I’d spent this week painting blue. Not-even-close-to-neutral blue. It wasn’t the bright blue of his eyes, or the dark blue of mine. It was somewhere in between. A perfect mix of the two. Just like I wanted us to be.
“What . . .” He cleared his throat. “Why the hell did you do that?” He swung his gaze down to me, and I bit down hard on my lip. He wasn’t getting it. I really should have rehearsed something to say here.