I’m on my knees in the front corner of my yard, the cool, damp soil of my mini garden staining my legs. It’s early, not even nine yet. Usually, I sleep in on the weekends. But here I am—up, showered, and murdering weeds. My hands grab at them furiously, ripping them from the ground, blood wicking from the web of tiny lines that cross my palms—the give of the roots from the earth satisfying.
Two days. Two fucking days, and Brooks hasn’t said shit to me. I’d tossed and turned all night after he’d dropped me off, wondering what he was thinking.
Does he miss me?
Did he have a good time?
Is he with her now, if she even exists?
Will this be the end of my chance? Not because of Eliza, or because he finds out who I was, but because of some random cunt?
Am I panicking for nothing?
Am I crazy?
Should I text him?
Should I wait?
I frown at the hill of the weeds I’ve gathered to my right, because I haven’t even made a dent. Rip. Throw. Rip. Throw. My hair is sticking to my neck, the dew of the morning wetting me. I look at my hands, the rawness of my work—the blood smears dyeing my flesh orange. I get off my knees and sit on the ground, giving in to my sadness.
Love sucks. It fucking hurts.
Something mobile catches my eye—a car. The car from the other night. Early 2000s, red sedan, creeping curiously slow up my street, a large dent in the driver’s side door. I crawl quickly to the looming Maple some feet away, my wounded hands stinging with every push against the grass, until I’m safe behind the trunk. I turn around. Scoot my back against it, my head peering around to watch it. I’d texted my neighbors yesterday morning, and asked if they were home. They confirmed they’re still away at a horse show, and have no idea whose car it could be. Neither of them seemed concerned, though, so I calmed down. But now that it’s back, my active imagination has me officially paranoid.
The car finally rolls to a stop. I can’t see who’s in it, because of the angle, but it’s there, engine idling in the middle of the street. I pull my phone from the back pocket of my shorts, hoping to snap a pic. But by the time I get the camera app open, the car is driving away—slightly screeching wheels rounding onto the next street. I couldn’t read the full plate, but it was BK something …? T? I? J? And then a 3. Or an 8. I’m not sure.
I tell myself not to jump to conclusions, but this is a quiet street, and everybody knows everybody. I’ve never seen that car before, and why the speeding off?
I slouch against the tree, my head slamming repeatedly against it in frustration as I decide I’m being watched. I run my hands over my face. Dial Jared.
After a few rings … “What’s up?”
“I need you to come over. Right now.”
“The hell happened to you?” he asks when I open the door, holding a mug of coffee for him.
I look at my knees, dark from the dirt. “Yard work. I was pulling weeds.”
“Did you pull them with your teeth?” He takes the coffee.
My eyes roll as I realize I must have dirt on my face, too. “Funny.”
We grab croissants from the kitchen, and carry them to the stone patio out back. Lucy gallops away to maul a baseball in the yard. I pick at my food, and Jared listens patiently, inhaling his croissant as I tell him about the car and how it has shown up twice in such a short time.
“Well,” he says, popping the last bite of bread into his mouth, “just my opinion, but you didn’t even see the person in it, so how do you know they weren’t looking in another direction? They could be watching someone else. They could be watching no one. They could just be scoping the area because they’re interested in buying a house nearby.”
“So, you think I’m paranoid?”
“Bingo. Stop worrying.”
I suck in a deep breath, and exhale as I absorb his advice. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”
“I am. By the way, tell me about your date. Give me the scoop.”
Lucy growls at her ball as she attempts to shred it in the distance. I put my feet up on the chair next to me. “I don’t really feel like talking about it.”
“Uh oh. That bad, huh?”
“No!” I snap. “Okay, to be honest, I don’t know.”
“I’m intrigued. Spill, woman.”
I roll my eyes. Tell him about our night, leaving out Brooks’s name, and that he initially came over to play Mr. Handyman. “And when he was leaving, he said it was good ‘catching up,’” My fingers curl into bunny ears. “Hasn’t texted or called since.”
“Ouch.”
“Bad?” I grimace, preparing for the worst.
He reaches across the table and swipes my half-eaten croissant. “Not necessarily. Maybe he’s busy, or even dead. I can’t imagine him not wanting to see you again.”
“Or it could be because it’s complicated.”
“How so?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Fuck, it’s not Deacon, is it? You seeing him again?” He glowers at me, and I shrink in my chair.
Lucy appears and nudges me, the baseball slobbery between her teeth. I pat my lap, and she jumps up and settles down. At almost six months old, she’s big, but still small enough not to completely crush me. “Good girl,” I say, my fingers running through her hair.
“Emily...” Jared coaxes. “Is it Deacon? Or that weirdo who chatted you up in Target the other week? I honestly don’t know which would be worse.”
I shake my head. “No, neither of them.”
“Then who? Come on, you know you can talk to me.”
“Fine.” I stand Lucy up, holding her under her front legs, hiding behind her cuteness, and hoping it quells any potential lecture. “Brooks.”
“Brooks,” he whispers. “Shut the fuck up! Wacko Eliza’s Brooks?”
I release Lucy. Scoop up the baseball that she’d dropped to the patio and throw it into the yard for her to fetch. “He isn’t Eliza’s Brooks anymore. He’s a free man.”
Jared shrugs. “I guess that’s fair. How’d you two hook up?”
“Saw him in the park the other morning. Just happened.”
“Interesting. Well, personally I think you should stay away from him. I don’t think anything positive can come from that situation.”
My nostrils flare, my lips pressing into a hard line.
“Or not … I mean, if that’s what you want to do, you’re going to do it anyway. You’re stubborn.”
I smile. “So, do you think there’s any hope?”
He bites his lip. “I don’t know. I guess with the history between you, he wouldn’t have taken you to the bar if he wasn’t interested.”
“You really think so?”
“I mean, probably.” He stands. “I gotta run. Gotta get to the gym before noon.”
I smile. “Thanks for coming.”
He kisses my cheek and squeezes my shoulder before disappearing into the house. I open my phone. Despite knowing nothing will be there, my disappointment increases at the absence of a missed call or a text. But what the fuck have I gone through all this for if I’m not willing to suck it up and contact him?
I take a deep breath, my fingers trembling over his name in my text list. I press it. Hesitate before typing anything. Lucy licks at my leg, her tongue lapping against the dirt particles still stuck to my skin. “Go,” I command her. “Get!”
She sprints for the grass. I crack my knuckles, and take a deep breath. Put on my big girl panties, and hope they fucking fit.