“That a threat?”
“It’s a fact. You are the Camaro master.”
I chuckle. “Love you, Honey.”
“Love you too, Pops. And be nice to people up there. Not everyone appreciates your ‘I’m fine, leave me alone’ face.”
I groan. She swears I have resting dickhead face. “That’s just my face.”
“Well fix it.” She hangs up before I can respond.
I shake my head but still a smile plays on my lips.
Around noon, a knock sounds at the door. When I open it, a stack of grocery bags sat on the top step. No delivery driver waiting, just a truck rolling down the long gravel drive toward the main road. I don’t know how people do this grocery delivery stuff. Sure it’s convenient but what if your order is messed up?
I carry the bags inside, the familiar weight of good food grounding me. Honey didn’t buy cheap nonsense. She cooks the way her grandmother did—rich, hearty, and enough to feed a town. This means she completely overordered for my groceries.
I unpack everything onto the counter: fresh vegetables, spices, thick-cut pork chops, potatoes, real butter, chicken stock, tea bags and sugar, fresh herbs, even a small container of bakery cookies because she swears sugar keeps my attitude in check. I snort at it but I’m not going to argue her point. I’m also going to eat every single one of them even if I need to do push-ups for an hour to keep my Marine physique.
Pork chops sound damn good and I smile that my daughter knows me well enough to order them how I like it. Comfort food. Warm, savory, the kind of dinner a man cooks when he doesn’t want to feel empty.
My thumb hovers over my phone. Fuck it. I send the text to Holley inviting her for dinner. If she comes, fine, if she doesn’t, I’ll have leftovers tomorrow.
By five, the cabin smells like rosemary, garlic, and searing meat. I brined the pork, then pan-sear them before finishing them low and slow with fresh herbs. The oven hums, releasing little puffs of scent every time I check the potatoes. The skillet gravy simmered on the stove, thick and bubbling.
I pour myself a glass of cold water, lean against the counter, and try not to keep staring at the clock. I don’t particularly care to watch television but maybe I should try to catch up on some shows or something while I’m here.
When was the last time I wasn’t working? I can’t remember a time when I checked out like this. The quiet is nice, but I don’t know what to do with myself. Even though I’ve given control of the shop to Honey, I still go to work every day even if it’s to work on my racecar or one of my own project hot rods.
I wonder absently if Holley will come. Back home, it’s easy I have a system. The women involved know the deal. If it’s their day, their number I’ll hit them up with a call or text. Depending on what I have going on, I’ll cook for them, we fuck, if they want to sleep over fine, if not, go home. I don’t care. The only thing is once they leave, they aren’t to come back until I call and ask for them. Don’t pop by. Don’t ask me about the other cars in my driveway unless you can handle the answer to the question.
I don’t lie to any of them. They know up front they aren’t the only one. There isn’t some hierarchy. None of them mean more than the others. It’s not that I’m heartless. I like the women for different reasons. They each bring something different to the table and fill a void in my life. So they are special in their own ways. I just refuse to be tied to one woman again.
I wasn’t a saint as a husband. But somehow the thought of being with one woman and building something more than this system feels like a betrayal to Tammy.
No one will ever understand the way things were with us. From Kindergarten I knew she was my friend, then as teenagers, she was more than my friend, she gave me the gift of her firsts.
And in the end she gave me the gift of her lasts.
I won’t diminish those gifts for anything. I can’t bring her back. If I could have taken the cancer on to let her live and get to watch her kids grow up and have kids of their own, I would have. We were far from perfect, but I’ll be damned if she didn’t fit like a perfect piece to the puzzle of my heart and head. She got me without question even when she didn’t like me.
And yes, we had times like that too. The days were the hate ran deeper than the love. But you can’t have a love as many years as we did without having the hard stuff. The hard days were the worst. I played my part in that and I’ll forever live with those regrets too.
If the women in my life can’t understand how I’m wired then they aren’t the women to be in my life. It’s not to discredit anyone. I’ll be the first one to say in order to have anything with me, a woman has to be strong. I’m not a man to sugar coat anything. I did the husband thing. I’m not trying to be a provider again. When I’m with any of them, I’ll pay for everything we do, sure. But I am not building a life with any of them. My house is my home, they don’t need to make it their space. My money is mine. I’m not paying bills for their lifestyle, what we have, well that isn’t it.
Cut and dry.
Harsh? Maybe.
It’s where I am in life and I don’t see that changing.
I am up front about it. No one is forced to be part of it. And I won’t apologize for the way I live and the way I care about the people I care about.
And if I meet someone along the way, well, we’re adults. Whatever happens, happens.
If Holley shows up for dinner, we can eat and she can go back to whatever she does, or we can see where another kiss can go. Either way, I’ll still sleep just fine.
My stomach growls reminding me it’s time to plate this meal and get to it. I scrub a hand over my chin looking at my watch.
