I WAKE FROM a dead sleep with vomit rising in my throat. The smell of alcohol seeping from my pores only increases the urge to hurl. Swallowing hard, I pull in deep breaths—a weak attempt to ward off the inevitable and inhale a mouthful of hair.
Hair? What the fuck?
“Mmm,” an unmistakably female voice moans, shifting her naked body further on top of mine. I wrap my arm around her, pulling her close, but it feels all wrong. My Jess was tall and curvy, with hair that stopped at her shoulders. The locks I just pulled from my mouth extend well past the too-small tits resting against my chest. She stirs again, and I get a whiff of strawberries and tequila. Tink. The day before flashes like a movie reel in my mind. The party at Dillon’s house, brunch, the strip club, the sex. More sex. Incredible fucking sex. The psychic—what a fucking disaster.
I reach for my phone, bringing it to my face to check the time. Just after 6:30 in the morning.
She stayed the night.
Son of a bitch. Whatever progress I’d made at pushing down the bile in my throat is gone. I throw her off me, tripping over our discarded shoes and clothing as I feel my way through the dark, unfamiliar hotel room to the bathroom and fall to my knees, emptying the contents of my stomach into the toilet.
“What the fuck, Jeffrey?” I hear Gina shout from the bed. “You almost tossed me right onto the—oh. Oh, are you all right?” Day-old booze sprays from my mouth and nose with violent force. I can’t stop myself to answer.
Tap. Tap. Tap. I feel her presence lurking in the doorway. “Do you need anything?” There she goes, trying to take care of me again. I told her I didn’t want a girlfriend. What happened between us last night meant nothing.
“Out. Get. Out!” I manage to roar between retching.
“Whatever,” the very embodiment of regret grumbles from behind me, still naked. “I’m going back to bed.”
“Out!” I shout, as my heart twists up into knots.
Gina gasps, loudly, but I can’t bring myself to turn around and face her. “Are you kicking me out? Like out, out?”
My eyes burn with unshed tears as a wave of guilt threatens to suffocate me. I haven’t spent the night with another woman since my wife. And what we did—what I remember of last night— was so much more than fucking. “Please, go.”
“You know what? Fuck you, Jeffrey. Fuck you for treating me like a fucking whore.” She spits a string of curses that I more than deserve as she rushes around the room, throwing on her clothes and collecting her belongings.
“Jessica,” I moan into the bowl. I can’t remember ever feeling this awful.
“Newsflash, CEO,” Gina shouts as she walks past. “She’s dead!” The door slams shut.
§§
After a few hours, a steaming hot shower, and a cruise around town to clear my head, I’m parking my gray Tundra in Gramma Betty’s pea-pebble drive.
“Well, ain’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Jessica’s elderly mother observes, not even trying to hide her amusement. “I take it you had a good time last night?”
With a shrug of my shoulders, I place a kiss to her cheek and step inside. “It was okay. How were the girls?”
“They was just fine. Like always.”
“Daddy!” Willow shouts as she comes barreling through the house, her bare feet slapping on the wood floor. She wraps her arms and legs around my calf, sitting on the top of my foot, and I give her a ride, dragging her along with me to the kitchen. Her peals of laughter brighten my mood considerably.
“Did you have fun with Gramma, baby girl?”
“We haded a tea pawty and Nina and Becky came sweepover too.” Nina and Becky are their cousins on Jess’s side. Her brother Jacob’s kids. They don’t see each other near as often as they used to, and I feel bad about that, but I just couldn’t bring myself to continue living in a town where I see my wife at every turn.
“That sounds amazing.” After untangling her from my leg, I lift my mini-me into my lap and brush back her mass of blonde curls with my hand, raining kisses along her forehead and cheeks. “I missed you, princess.”
“You didn’t tell me Evangeline was seeing someone.” Betty’s tone is accusing.
“They met on the cruise last month and talk on the phone. That hardly constitutes dating.”
She shrugs. “Vangie seems to think he’s her boyfriend,” Betty singsongs with a small smirk. The woman loved to rile me up.
“Impossible.” I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans and send Willow for her brush.
The old woman crosses her arms on her chest, tapping her slippered foot on the floor with amusement in her eyes. “Why’s that impossible?”
“Cuz I never said she could have a boyfriend.”
When my little girl returns with her bag, I fish out the brush and ponytail holders, working my lingering frustration out on the knots. Ignoring Betty’s chuckle, I begin parting Willow’s hair into two pieces and then put each side up into a high ponytail, just the way Vangie taught me. “There,” I say, swatting her on the bottom to send her off to play. “Much better.”
“What happened last night?” my mother-in-law asks, once Willow is out of the room. “Something’s bothering you, I can tell.”
“It’s nothing,” I lie, not wanting to get into how confused I am over my feelings for a woman who is not my wife—who is not her daughter.
“All she ever wanted was for you to be happy, you know?” Damn this woman for being able to read me so well. Guess that’s what happens when you’ve known someone for as long as we’ve known each other.
A wad of emotion rises in my throat. “I know.” And I do. We had the conversation multiple times during our many years together, about how we’d want each other to move on if anything ever happened to one of us. But when we said those things, I never imagined it would ever become my reality. It’s not like she and I parted on bad terms. I’m in love with that woman today as much as I ever was. That’s why whatever is happening with Tink has me all fucked up.
“She’s not coming back, Jeffrey.” Betty walks over, rubbing her hand along my upper back. “Whatever happened…it’s okay.”
“What’s wrong?” Vangie’s face is filled with concern as she walks in on her grandmother and me in a tearful embrace.
“Everything’s fine, baby. Come give Daddy a hug. I missed you.”
My big girl walks over hesitantly, still trying to figure out what she’s missing. When she wraps her arms around my neck and hugs me tight, she whispers, “He is so my boyfriend.”
“Is not.”
“Yep,” she argues, popping the p as she walks over to the counter and grabs an apple from the fruit basket. “He’s a great kisser, too.”
The urge to vomit has suddenly returned. “You’re grounded.”
Vangie glares at me then takes a bite and smirks. “Am not.”
§
On our way home, we make our routine stop at Guidry’s, the local flower shop. Willow picks out her usual bouquet of pink roses, and this time Evangeline chooses a spring mix. I grab the biggest bouquet of red roses I can find and drive over to the cemetery for a picnic with Jessica.
I know that probably sounds morbid. I promise that I haven’t fallen off the deep end. Before Jessica died, we used to take Evangeline to the park for a picnic every Sunday after church. On the day of her funeral, my little girl asked if we could come back here to have a picnic with Mommy since she wouldn’t be able to come to the park. It didn’t matter how creepy or weird it made me, my baby had just lost her mother, and there was no way in hell I was going to tell her no. Since then, without fail, one Sunday a month, we come out to visit Jessica. I think it’s been a positive thing for the girls—a way for us all to feel close to her. For Willow to have some form of relationship with her.
“Tum fine me Daddy,” Willow yells from somewhere in the graveyard.
“Willow, we don’t play around the graves. Come out and finish your sandwich.”
“Fine, den. I jus gonna stay hiding til Mom fines me,” she threatens.
Evangeline rolls her eyes. “She’s dead, sissy. Mom’s not coming to find you.” Ouch. There’s that word again. I feel like I’ve been beat over the head during the past twenty-four hours with reminders of the fact that my wife is gone for good. Someone definitely wants me to get that memo.
“It’s not fair,” Willow whines, coming out from behind a large tomb and making her way back to join us on the blanket. “I never get to pway wif Mommy. Vangie gotted to.”
“I’m sorry, princess. I’ll play with you when we get home, okay? It’s just disrespectful to play in the cemetery.” It takes all the strength I can muster not to fall to fucking pieces in front of my girls.
Godamn it. Does this ever get easier?
“I don’t wanna pway wif you again. I want my mommy.”
Me too, pumpkin. Me too.
