Anna

 

I swipe the fog from the mirror and gaze at my reflection. Dark smudges linger below my eyes and I look more on the side of sickly rather than my usual fair. I laid in my bedroom wide awake last night for a total of five minutes before I decided that sleep wasn’t going to happen, even in the comfort of my own bed. My nerves were still running rampant and I needed the security of company. I curled up on the sofa next to Sebastian and was asleep within minutes. I awoke after a measly five hours and slipped from the sofa without waking him, the stiffness in my entire body begging for a hot shower.

I’d scooped my hair up to keep from wetting my fresh wound and turned the water on as hot as I could stand. The tension released gradually from every one of my aching muscles, making me feel slightly more human. A cup of coffee and the transformation would be complete. I got a second look at the mess that jerk left behind last night before I hobbled to the shower and it won’t be too terrible tidying up. Just some drawers that were emptied onto the floor mostly.

I brush my teeth and go through my usual morning routine but before I get dressed, I stare into the now clear glass in front of me and let the white towel slip from my body. I bring my fingertips to the raised flesh along my hip and touch the violent patches of mismatched shades of pink, some marks deeper and wider than others. They trail down my thigh in a waterfall of angry, jagged tracks, stopping about two inches above my knee. Mangled. Ugly. The scars that mark my body are a sad reminder of the day that my entire life changed. The day I lost my family.

A soft knock on the bathroom door pulls me from my memories and I hastily bend down and grab my towel, covering myself up once again.

“Yeah?”

“Everything okay?” Sebastian asks.

“Yup, be right out,” I respond quickly.

Once I’m certain that I hear his footsteps retreating, I open the door and sneak into my bedroom. I choose a light blue cotton sun dress from my closet and carefully pull it over my head. The top is bustier style and form fitting, so I don’t bother with a bra. I dig around in my drawer and find a pair of lacy white boy shorts to wear underneath. I dab a little concealer under my eyes to hide the bags and pull the tie from my hair. When I walk into the kitchen, I find Sebastian bent over in front of my refrigerator, raiding the shelves.

“You didn’t have to stay,” I tell him, grabbing a box of granola from the cupboard.

“What’s with all the chick food? Don’t you ever have any men hanging around that you need to feed?”

“What do you mean, chick food? There’s plenty to eat,” I reason, nudging him out of the way so I can reach the milk.

“Bacon, freckles. Where is the bacon?”

“I probably should get groceries,” I admit. “But I have this.” I hold up the box of cereal.

He reluctantly takes the box from me and reaches in for a handful, throwing his head back and shoving it in his mouth. He glares at me as he chews, and I can’t help but laugh.

“This shit tastes like cardboard,” he mumbles. He sets the box on the counter and shudders. So dramatic.

“So, what are you doing today?” he asks, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Well, I have a few errands to run,” I say. “I guess I should go to the hardware store and buy a new lock, maybe stop at the grocery store and make sure I stock up on man food for all the men that hang around here.”

He pushes off the counter and heads for the door. “I’ll be back in fifteen,” he says.

“Oh, you don’t have to come wit-.”

“Fifteen minutes. Oh, and nice fruit bowl,” he says, closing the door behind him.

I pick up the heavy ceramic pink bowl and out of curiosity, look at the bottom. Sebastian Miller Designs. I trace my finger over the small logo and smile just as my phone vibrates on the counter.

Elle: How’s your head?

I already updated Dru before I got in the shower and I also phoned Esme to put her mind at ease because I knew she would have heard by this morning what happened.

Me: A little sore but I’m okay. Sebastian stayed over and babysat me.

I stare at the screen and wait for a call that I know is coming. Not even a full minute later, my phone rings and Elle’s picture flashes across the screen.

“Right on time,” I say.

“Sebastian stayed over huh?”

I can hear the smile in her voice. Dru and Elle have always been over protective but where Dru is more to the point, Elle is more of a fishing expert.

“Yes, he slept on the sofa,” I say. “I tried to sleep in my bed but I was too freaked out, so I slept on the sofa too. On the opposite end, because I know you’re going to ask.”

“Aw, I’m sorry you were freaked out honey,” she says. “I’m glad you had company, although I’m sure Dru fought you on that.”

“But of course,” I say with a sigh. “Eh, she gave in eventually. I think something’s up with her and Ethan.”

“Me too, but I didn’t want to bring it up,” she agrees. “You know Dru, she’ll fill us in when she’s ready.”

“Very true.”

“So, are you and Sebastian just friends or what?”

“Yes, we are just friends,” I explain. “Turns out he’s not that bad now that he’s not hosting the never ending after party five feet from my door.”

“That’s good,” she says. “Because I might have done something.”

“You might have done what?” I whine.

“I miiiight have given your number to one of Blake’s co-workers when I stopped by the office the other day.”

“Elle, the last time you set me up it was a disaster,” I remind her. “Craig from your Pilates class? Remember him?”

“How was I supposed to know he was unemployed and living in his mother’s basement,” she protests. “Please, just give Steven a chance. He’s a nice guy, I promise. And he’s successfully employed, handsome…Oh! He coaches his nephew’s basketball team.”

“Okay, okay, you’ve made your point. I will go out with Steven, IF he calls,” I say.

“Thatta girl! Okay, I’ve gotta run. Blake and I are heading to the market,” she says. “Love you!”

“Love you too.”

I end the call and jot down a quick grocery list. I think twice before folding the scrape of paper and add bacon to the bottom.

 

*

 

“So, why pottery?”

“Because I’m shit at math,” Sebastian says, slathering peanut butter onto a piece of toast and taking a large bite.

“Don’t be difficult and just answer the question,” I state, taking a sip of my iced tea.

We’re sitting at a small table on the patio of a modest café that serves all day breakfast. After a ten minute discussion over whose vehicle we’d be taking…Sebastian’s truck or my Honda, which he referred to as a tiny car that only a single woman would ever drive, we finally left the parking lot once I gave in. We spent the morning at the hardware store to find something more secure for my front door and decided to take a lunch break before we did anything else. While I was paying for my new and improved doorknob and deadbolt, Sebastian called the manager of our building and gave him an ear full about fixing the lock on the lobby door which has been busted for nearly two months. I could tell the guy was giving him some major excuses but as soon as Sebastian mentioned calling the owner of the building, the guy suddenly agreed to have someone over this afternoon.

  Usually my Saturdays are hectic while I try and get caught up on the things I don’t have time for during the week, but today is slow paced and relaxing. And I’m finding that I quite enjoy the company as well.

“I’ve always liked making things, I suppose,” he says. “I like using my hands to create something that another person might not have seen.”

“That’s a good answer,” I grin. “Is it relaxing? Dru always says that painting centres her.”

“It can be,” he says. “Maybe not when I’ve put off a deadline and need to play catch up, in that case, it just feels like work.”

“Sewing relaxes me,” I sigh. “Not that it’s even in the same playing field as painting and potting, but it does make me feel calm.”

“Of course it’s in the same playing field, you’re creating something, aren’t you?”

“I created this dress,” I say with an enthusiastic wave of my hand.

“Well there you go,” he grins. “Have you ever considered selling what you make?”

“Oh, God no,” I say. “Sewing is purely a hobby. Teaching is where I’m meant to be.”

“And you always knew that, without a doubt?”

“Yup. It was something I wanted to do ever since I was little,” I tell him. “Esme, my foster mother, was a teacher. It was something we bonded over. But even before then, I knew that it was what I wanted to do.”

“When did you meet Esme?”

“I was ten and she was a volunteer at the group home where I was living,” I say. “I wasn’t very talkative at first, but she said she saw something in me, like we were kindred spirits. We started spending some time together each week and eventually she got the paperwork to take me home. She’s been my family ever since.”

“And your sisters?”

“Dru came next, about two years later and Elle came the year after that,” I explain.

“Wow, sounds crowded,” he says.

“It was. But we loved it.”

“And what about your parents?”

I swallow hard and keep the smile on my face as I remember my family. “Car accident,” I say. “Both my parents and my younger brother.”

“Shit. I’m sorry Anna,” he winces.

“It’s okay. I still have lots of memories and most of them are good,” I smile. “And I can’t imagine a life without Esme and my sisters.”

He doesn’t respond as the waiter comes out and clears our table. I don’t usually spill my guts about my childhood to men I’ve recently become acquainted with, but something about Sebastian puts me at ease. I think because there’s no pressure. I feel like I can be real and that I don’t have to sugar coat things or brush over them for the sake of preserving the mood.

“Okay,” he says, placing some cash on the table and standing. “Where to next?”

We spend the remainder of the afternoon at the grocery store, where Sebastian adds several items to my cart that of course, are not on my list. He insists that if we are going to remain friends, I need to be able to feed him. He also said that he’d replace my lock for me if I cooked him dinner. I can’t remember the last time I cooked for someone besides Dru. I decided to keep it simple and make salmon kabobs with sautéed vegetables and I bought an apple pie from the in-store bakery for dessert.

“This is ready,” I call out from the kitchen.

Sebastian is kneeling on the floor in the doorway finishing up. My head is still a bit sore, but I feel more energetic after getting out and breathing in some fresh air. I set my small red dining room table and dish up our plates while Sebastian washes up.

“Thanks a lot for doing that,” I say. “You’re proving to be very handy.”

“See? And you thought we’d be mortal enemies until the end of time,” he replies with a grin.

“The shame I feel is palpable.”

“No need to beat yourself up freckles,” he teases.

“Why thank you,” I say. “Now sit down and eat before it gets cold.”

As we sit and eat, I find that watching a man, even if it isn’t romantic, enjoy something I’ve made is oddly satisfying. It probably goes against a thousand feminist opinions, but I like that he likes my cooking.  

“Did you grow up in the city?” I ask.

“Nah, I’m a product of the suburbs,” he says.

“Do your parents still live in the area?”

He hesitates for a moment and I can see a flicker of something pass in his eyes before he swallows and replies, “My mom passed away when I was in college. My dad lives in the city, but we don’t see each other much.”

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly.

“Nothing to be sorry for. Such is life, right?”

We finish our meal in comfortable silence. Sebastian surprises me by helping with the dishes, and I can’t quite stifle a yawn as I put away the last plate.

“Ugh, I’m sorry. I think it’s all catching up with me,” I say.

“I bet. You should get some rest,” he suggests. “Are you going to be okay on your own?”

“I’m not a child Sebastian, and I’ll have to get used to sleeping alone in my apartment eventually,” I tell him. “It’s fine. Go, be artsy or sociable or whatever it is you do on a Saturday night.”

“Artsy?”

“Go!”

“Okay, okay, just shout if you need anything,” he says sincerely.

“I will,” I promise, as he turns and heads for the door.

“Lock up behind me,” he instructs. “Sweet dreams, freckles.”

“Sweet dreams, Sebastian.”

Thirty minutes later once I’ve changed into my favourite worn out flannel pajama pants and a soft tank top, I sink into the sofa and turn on Netflix, scanning the menu for the next episode of Outlander. My phone chimes just as I get comfortable and slide on my glasses.

Unknown: I programmed my number into your phone. What are you doing?

I can’t help but smile as I type my reply.

Me: Watching Outlander.

Sebastian: I like Outlander.

Me: Shouldn’t you be out, finding a woman to NOT be in a relationship with?

Sebastian: I’m too lazy. Some tiny woman with red hair kept me busy all day. Want company?

Me: You’re not sick of me?

I wait for his reply and when he doesn’t respond immediately I set my phone down beside me. I’m about to press play again when there’s a knock at my door. I glimpse through the hole and flip the dead bolt before I open it.

“Hello friend,” he says. “I brought beer.”