I think the word awkward had a new meaning. Granted, my dining room looked really good with a table, but there wasn’t a second I saw the table that I didn’t think about Jake. Or that night. Even as the days ticked by one by one, it still felt fresh.

Seeing him was scarce, even at work.

He’d bring Sadie to school and stand at the end of the hall. He’d bend his legs and hug his daughter. His big hands would sprawl across her back as he held her, shutting his eyes. My heart couldn’t take watching it.

Then Jake would stand, look at me, and walk away.

No matter how many times I stood on the front porch, the back porch, even stood on my sidewalk, pretending to look at my house, I could never really see him. Or get close enough to talk to him. I didn’t want what happened to define us. We still had to be neighbors, and more than that, I wanted him to maybe count on me a little. If he needed something with Sadie, I was willing to help. I lived the life as a kid of a single parent (well, grandparent) and I would have given anything for someone to help when my grandmother couldn’t.

Even still, it wasn't my business.

On my next day off I made two trips. The first was back to the home improvement store for more paint. I had picked out my color for the entrance and the hallway. Another brownish color that would work with the living room. But it was a very light brown. I figured if it was too dark it would make the stairs seem smaller. There was a small window halfway up the stairs that I loved so I wanted the light to come through and work with the walls, the light brown colored carpet and the wooden banister that ran up to where the wall started.

That was the easy part of my day out.

The hard part?

Visiting my grandmother.

I hadn’t been to her grave since she was laid to rest.

Walking through the cemetery was a reminder of what happens with time. It just keeps moving. And eventually we all fall to our knees before it. But it keeps moving.

I stood off to the side, looking at the beautiful memorial for her. A flat stone in the ground with a bright red rose in the center. Her favorite flower.

I didn’t speak a word. I just took it in. I let the memories flow free through my mind down to my heart and right back up. Tears filled my eyes. I forced myself to smile, hoping that if she was able to look down on me, she’d see me smiling. She’d know about my house. She’d know about my new job. She’d want to give me a nudge to finish some more of my writing. But I would give anything to hear her voice one more time.

And thinking that suddenly brought Jake back into my head.

I looked around the cemetery.

Was she here?

I shivered.

I put my hand to my mouth.

The thought sickened me. Being so young. Having a young daughter. Having a man like Jake…

I had to turn and close my eyes.

That was enough for one day.

I hurried to my car.

I sat there outside the iron cemetery gates, a sense of freedom washing over me. But knowing fate would eventually pull me back into the cemetery where I’d have my resting place. I could only wish and hope and keep the good vibes that it would be years away.

I had the sudden urge to write.

I always kept a notebook as my passenger.

The edge of the grass, kissing the gravel.

The trail leads forward but it never ends.

Long arms of the tree, the willow, beautifully weeping.

She sweeps her arms down, way down, to the ground, and pats those who are trying to understand.

Her best friend speeds by, invisible and silent, but she leaves her breeze in the distance, cascading, rolling like a horror movie fog.

She grabs the weeping willow’s arms and pulls them.

‘Here, comfort them all. Soothe them all. It’s going to be okay.’

We live in this bubble, we go round and round, sky to ground, ground to sky.

Yet we fall to our knees, slide our fingers into the grass, like our lover’s hair,

and we begin to weep… like the willow.

Like our heart needs to do.

Every,

once in a while.

I shut the notebook and didn’t reread it. I didn’t know if it was good, bad, messy, whatever. I just had a feeling of relief.

It was time to go home and start thinking about painting again. This time, I’d have no help. Carrie was working a four day rotation of twelve hour shifts. But her twelve hours as a nurse generally went at least sixteen hours.

The plan was to put on some music, have a few drinks, and paint. Maybe write a little. I’d eventually have to contact my editor and start talking about what should have been my next project. She was giving me time and space, which I appreciated. But I knew she was hoping I was grieving and writing lots of deep poetry.

Not quite the case.

So the plan was to be home. Stay home. Take in more of my new house and my life.

But that also meant taking in more of my new neighbor…

* * *

I heard the growling of a lawnmower. I spent almost an hour and barely had anything taped off around for the steps. Painting was not my thing at all. I should have just hired someone to do it.

Frustrated, I took a break.

Call me crazy but I loved the smell of fresh cut grass. I didn’t have allergies, which was a blessing. So I could stand there and smell it.

The second I opened my sliding back door I realized the sound was coming from Jake’s yard. I stepped outside anyway. Nothing would keep me from enjoying my house. No matter what he did. What he said. He was the one who kissed me. He was the one who would have to live with that. Not me.

Even though I wanted another kiss. Or more.

I walked to the railing and took a deep breath of the semi-warm air and the smell of the grass. I loved those weeks right before things got into summer mode. When everything was still freshly blooming and the excitement lingered in the air for summer.

Me? I was forever ready for fall. I was ready for October to come crashing down. Leaves changing. Cool breezes. Sitting outside bundled up in a hoodie with a blanket. Sipping coffee. A leaf falling down to the table. That’s what I was secretly waiting for.

Slowly, I turned my head and listened and watched as Jake came into view, pushing a lawnmower. What I didn’t expect was to see him without a shirt on. I felt my hands grab the railing tighter. I leaned forward and watched.

The little white fence out front was the same border that went down through the backyard separating my yard and Jake’s yard. Which meant there was nothing to block Jake from my eyes.

Tattoos on the back of his shoulders. A tattoo that went across his back, connecting the ink on his shoulders. But I wasn’t just looking at ink. No way. His back was ripped with muscle. These lines and cuts and chunks of muscle, sweating, glistening with the sun as it pounded on him, bringing more sweat. His jeans, low on his body, showing the line of his boxers. Such dumb little things yet it drove me insane. Kind of like the way his t-shirt hung from his left back pocket. I was thankful that the t-shirt was there instead of being on his body. I felt my right foot jumping, my body getting more excited than it should have been when you considered I was watching him and he didn’t know it. Then at the same time, I felt guilty. I felt weird. I was watching a man who was in some way still taken. Because whatever he had, it didn’t end because they didn’t want to be together. So that made it real. And that made me… wrong…

Jake made the turn at the end of his yard and was pushing the lawnmower back up, facing me. Now I had the privilege of seeing the front of his beautiful body. The fronts of his shoulders, giving way to thick arms, both arms filled with tattoos. Ink across his bare chest, his stare intent and forward, almost like a half dead stare, like he was a machine without any emotion.

I side stepped and watched him walk up the yard. He barely even turned his head, definitely not noticing me. Or maybe he knew I was there and just didn’t want to give me the time of day.

Which was fine.

I just didn’t want things to be weird between us.

Whatever happened that night was fine. It was over. It was done. It didn’t matter.

Jake disappeared for a minute or so as he went along the side of the house. He came back down the yard.

I told myself it was time to paint. Go back inside. Finish taping the trim. And paint. Stick to the plan.

Stick to the plan, Emily.

And I was going to.

I stepped back and started to turn.

That’s when I saw the back door to Jake’s house open. And out came Sadie, running at full speed. Her hair flying out behind her. She ran down the deck steps. Her hands were out and she was obviously screaming for Jake. She was crying. She was upset about something.

I hurried to the top of my steps. I put my hands to my mouth.

I was going to call for Jake.

He didn’t hear her. He couldn’t hear her with the lawnmower engine roaring.

And he didn’t see (or hear) Sadie until he made the turn to start going back up the yard.

When Jake did see Sadie, he let the lawnmower go. The engine died right away. Sadie let out a cry. Jake fell to his knees to face his daughter. A second later he ripped his t-shirt out of his back pocket and wrestled to get it on over his sweating body.

His arms wrapped around Sadie and he hugged her.

That was the exact moment he finally looked at me.