I’ve seen therapists over the years, and I’ve met with Dr. Ward since Alex came home from Bolt a year and a half ago. He's helped me come up with better coping mechanisms and to fight the cognitive distortions created by my parents' unhealthy relationship habits.
Using the correct terms makes it a mouthful even in my own head, but I don’t want to discredit what they’re doing, nor forget I’m fighting against an actual illness, even if it’s a mental one.
I need to schedule another appointment with Dr. Ward. Having a surprise kiss you didn’t hate, realizing your introverted self married an extrovert, and realizing you now have a family again—even if they’re technically in-laws—is triggering for me.
Who knew?
I slide across the hardwood floor from my room to the kitchen in fuzzy socks. I keep the air conditioning low enough to wear fuzzy socks all year long just for this reason: they make hardwood floors more fun.
The fridge door opens and cool air washes over me, chilling my still damp hair. I instinctively search the produce drawer as my mind wraps around how I reverted to my teenage habits this past weekend.
A bag of baby carrots catches my eye. I grab them, a bottle of ranch, and a bowl. I hop onto a bar stool at the kitchen island and rip open the bag.
I dip my chosen carrot and munch on it as I review the weekend with a critical eye.
It was childish to hide away and avoid Mateo, but old habits die hard no matter how much money you spend on therapy.
This whole marriage fiasco was a lie and a hasty decision on my part, and now I’m paying the price of overwhelming guilt and self-loathing after marrying my brother’s best friend.
I crunch a carrot, running through ideas of how to break the ice I created between Mateo and me over the last forty-eight hours of avoidance.
The ice cracks as the door to the garage opens and Mateo walks in.
“Holly!” His smile is bright, and it lights a candle of warmth in my chest. I can’t remember the last time someone, other than my brother, was excited to see me. I scan his face—there isn’t an ounce of annoyance or frustration showing in his expression.
Not everyone is like my parents, I remind myself.
“Hi, Mateo,” I mumble as I hunch over my bowl and shove another carrot in my mouth. “Sowy fur aoidn’ oo.”
“Come again?” Mateo says, a smirk on his face.
I cover my eyes with my hands as I finish chewing. If I can’t see him, it’ll make the apology easier, right? “I’m sorry for avoiding you, Mateo.”
He chuckles. “You’re forgiven. It was a crazy day, and I can understand needing processing time. Next time can you text me so I can know you’re alive?”
I drop my hands, but can’t quite make eye contact with him yet. I stir a carrot around in the bowl of ranch as I fish around for words. “You could say that again,” I mutter.
Okay, time to be brave. I straighten and look straight into Mateo’s eyes. “Yes, I’ll text you next time, assuming there will be a next time.”
It takes a moment to realize he looks different now that he’s close to me.His hair is a lighter color. All of him looks lighter than I’ve seen, and he has a weird line around his eyes and mouth where his skin is normal-looking. “What’s all over you? How did you get so dirty?”
“Oh, this?” he asks as he pulls his shirt away from his chest, showering dust onto the floor. “This is sawdust. Also, I’m loving these hardwood floors. Makes cleaning up after myself so much easier.” He rubs the sides of his beard, turning his hair from a light tan back to its normal dark brown color.
I stare at the dust-covered floor. I wonder if my robot vacuum will be able to handle sawdust.
Mateo braces his hands on the counter in front of me and smiles wide. “Do you want to come see my woodworking setup in the garage?”
I can’t say no. He’s like a happy puppy wanting to show off his new chew toy. His hair is a mess of curls and dust, and I have a random urge to ruffle his hair and scratch behind his ear.
No, no scratching your husband’s head, Holly. That’s just weird.
“Okay.” I drop the carrot that's in my hand and follow Mateo out to the garage. I haven’t been in here since Friday, but I’m pretty sure these tools were not here before.
It’s like Home Depot threw up in my garage.
My Lexus and Mateo’s truck are closest to the door, and then it’s like a full-on wood shop in the space where a third car could fit. Tools of all different shapes and sizes line a peg board hanging on my garage wall that definitely wasn’t there last week. Saws line the wall under the peg boards, and there are shelves with different lengths of wood stacked on top of each other against the other wall. A large table in the middle of the floor has pieces of wood clamped together. At least I think they’re clamps.
The smell hits me next. It’s a smell I thought came from Mateo’s cologne, but probably is a part of him now. It smells like a forest in here. Instantly, I’m transported back to the one and only time I took a hike. I went with a group in college and we started hiking a mountain. Then itrained. It smelled beautiful, but my wet hiking clothes, and especially my wet socks, were enough to keep me away from the activity since.
