Chapter 7
Different For Girls
Amberly
I cried.
I was still crying.
My emotions were an indecisive hurricane, twirling throughout me and drowning me with their presence. I tried to hold as many tears as I could back. I swiped my hands under my eyes, feeling self-conscious about the fact I’d applied mascara this morning. I reached for the napkins to erase the remnants of the black that was sure to be raining down my face.
Bryant stood up, gathered several napkins in his hands, and sat down next to me. He separated one from the rest and gently eased it up to my face. He stopped just before bringing it to rest beneath my left eye. I nodded and closed them, the napkin delicate against my skin. His motions were slow and deliberate. I felt his fingers graze my skin, goosebumps exploding on the surface. He stopped, only to repeat the same motions under my right eye.
My eyes fluttered open when he stopped. He crumbled up the napkins, his eyes still on me, and sat them on the table. I’d never noticed before that his eyes were a mixture of brown and green, green being the dominate color. They held a reptile appearance, smothered in a vortex intensity. I allowed my gaze to bounce from his eyes and down to his mouth that offered me a strained smile.
“I’m sorry.” He breathed, his face inches from mine. His eyebrows pulled together with sincerity. "I had no idea. I am so sorry, Amberly."
The waitress approached our table, setting down our plates. Bryant turned around and held up a finger. “Can we get the check and a couple of to-go boxes?”
“Sure. I’ll be right back.”
Bryant paused before turning back to me. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
He watched every move I made, the same heartbreaking look all over his face. “I can take you home.”
I waved both hands in front of me, curling my fingers around the arm that was reaching for his cell phone. “No. No, it’s fine. She’s been gone for almost a year.”
“Are you sure? I can call Adam and tell him you aren’t coming back to work.”
I exhaled. “Bryant, I’m sure. I should be over it. Shit happens. It’s fine. I’ll be fine.” I attempted to stop the streaming of tears that poured down my cheeks.
Fine.
The word seemed foreign. What was fine? What did it mean exactly? I wasn’t great so was fine a definition for bat-shit crazy? Did fine mean I wanted nothing more than to curl up beneath my comforter and pray away tomorrow? Did fine mean I was floating through life, going through repeated motions that were set on a timer?
If so, yes, I would be fine. I could be fine. I had to be fine. How did anyone go from fine to great after the death of their child? Did it ever happen?
Bryant lifted an eyebrow, questioning my words. “Fine? Amberly, it’s okay not to be fine.”
I could tell he wanted to touch me, to wrap me up in a hug that he no doubt assumed would obliterate all my sadness. In truth, I wanted him to touch me. I wanted his arms around me. It'd been so long since I had felt anything that reminded me that I was still alive. He hesitated, more than likely because of Eric. He had heard my comment that nothing was ever about Eric, but he probably didn't know what I had meant. I didn’t know if I wanted to tread those waters. Telling him, I risked opening doors I wasn’t sure I wanted opened. When the doors were closed I didn't feel vulnerable, the way I was feeling at that very moment.
I noticed the way Bryant looked at me. It was written in bold all over his face. It was the exact reason I had stayed away from him while I was married. Any time he sent out a reminder for a softball game, they went unanswered by me. Before Haylie died, he had approached me and asked if I was getting his texts. I reassured him I was and that conversation fell flat. He’d tried several other times to say something during practices. I gave him one-word answers, just enough to feel safe and not be considered a total bitch. Bryant could unlock my heart, dispensing out my vulnerability like a gum ball machine. He could scoop up the pieces, one by one, and devour them. Devour me. I could freely mold against him. All of this would be something I couldn't control if I allowed myself any more time with him alone.
“I said I was fine. Not great, but fine. And I am.” I compiled all the confidence I had to keep my voice from shaking, revealing what he already knew.
His eyes scanned over me, up and down, in a constant pattern. “Okay.”
The waitress returned and Bryant dumped our food into the boxes. He stacked them on top of each other and threw two twenties onto the table before holding out his hand.
I bit my lip and peered at his hand.
“I’m not going to bite you.” He joked, moving his hand closer to me.
My hand landed in his and he lifted me up from the booth.
He did the same thing as before, opening my door and shutting it. We drove back to Skrillex, the only sound was the ominous hum of his vehicle fighting against the icy wind. I shut my eyes as the truck came to a stop.
He reached over the console of his truck, retrieving our boxes from the backseat. “Hungry?” He held mine up.
“Thanks.” I started to open the door and he stopped me, pulling on my forearm.
“You can eat in here.”
“I am not the most graceful person when I eat.” I admitted, scolding myself in my mind.
He opened his box and picked up the sandwich he’d ordered. “This isn’t a date, remember? The only time you’d need to eat without staining anything is during a date.”
I giggled. “Is that so?”
His head bobbed up and down. “Yep. Remember that when I take you on a date.”
Heat rose to my cheeks, painting them pink. Make that the second time I had blushed in front of him. “When?”
Bryant held up a finger as he chewed up the mouthful he had. “Yes, when. Because one of these days I’m going to ask you.”
I finished chewing. “And what am I going to say?”
“Well, if you’re single you’ll say yes. If you’re not, I guess I’ll get punched by your husband.” He contemplated his words for a few moments. “I don’t think it’ll hurt though.”
I rolled my eyes. “I don’t have a husband.”
It got quiet in the cab of his truck, a few notes hovering through the speakers. I recognized the words to a country song by Russell Dickerson. ‘Yours’.
Bryant cleared his throat to respond but I stopped him. “Don’t say you’re sorry. That would make twice you’ve said it, and you can only say you’re sorry if you are responsible for my pain.”
He closed the lid to his box. “Amberly, I don’t ever want to be responsible for your pain.”
I sat my box on top of his, between us. “You didn’t have to buy my lunch.” I said, changing the subject.
“I wanted to.”
“Then you have to let me buy your lunch next time. You don’t buy lunch for someone you aren’t on a date with.” I countered, hauling my purse onto my lap.
“I’ve never heard that rule before. I think you just want to go to lunch with me again.”
“You started the list of the date rules. I’m only adding to that list.” I forced the door open and hopped down to the gravel parking lot.
He met me around the front of his truck, blocking me from going any further. He crossed his arms, letting a smile creep onto his face.
“We have to keep this list going then. I’m not done adding rules.” His hands flew up by his midsection, palms toward the sky as he held them out in front of them... “I can bet we can add at least five more.”
I pondered his suggestion. “Okay. Every day we add one rule to the list.”
“And,” he interrupted, “when the list reaches seven rules, I take you on a date.”
“Ten.”
“Five.”
I ran my tongue across my teeth. “Fine. Seven.” My eyes traced him, engraving an outline into my memory. I had no idea what I was doing. Or what I was feeling. I didn't know if I liked not knowing.
He crossed his arms again. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"About what?"
"Eric."
I bit my lip, trying to decide if I did want to talk about it. The one person that knew besides myself was Cricket. Admitting your husband cheated on you was a hard sentence to say. You go through all the motions in life, trying to keep yourself from finding fault in yourself. I had gone many months blaming myself, almost believing that maybe the entire decision he'd made was my fault. It wasn't an easy truth to reveal. A battle brewed inside of me, going back and forth on whether or not I should say anything to Bryant about it.
I sighed and rolled my eyes, mostly at myself. "He cheated on me. Not a lot to talk about. I wasn't enough for him anymore." I played it off like it wasn't a big deal.
When we separated, I heard all about the women he had brought to bed. You'd think it was his normal. After a few conversations, I had learned the woman I had caught him with was an ex of his and she hadn’t been the only one. I spent a long time thinking about whether that made it worse or easier to accept. He went on a binge, sleeping his way around town while I did the complete opposite. After all, it was different for girls.