“She’s named after a flower? That’s neat. Where is she now?”
“Dead. We lost her a few years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.” Setting his drink on the table, he steps over to pull a chair out. “Sit.”
I do as he bids, sipping my beer down as I go.
“Be right back.”
He slips through the patio door, and minutes later, music starts to waft out softly from speakers he’s got mounted to the side of his house. It’s a song I recognize by Creedence Clearwater Revival. When he joins me at the table, he picks up his glass and nods toward the sound. “Now,thisis good music.”
Rolling my eyes, I don’t bother arguing. It’s a good song. I’m not going to dispute that point. “Whatever.”
We sip our beer and listen as the song changes over to one I’ve heard before, but I’m not sure who sings it. “Who’s this?”
“Led Zeppelin.”
“Ah.” Not bad. I mean, I wouldn’t add it to my bike-ride playlist, but it’s fine for sipping beer on the patio.
“Hungry?” He looks at me expectantly.
“A little but I’m okay waiting.”
“I’ve got everything ready. Say the word, and I’ll throw the meat on the grill.”
This is unexpected. Not that I thought he’d have me over to cook forhim,but something I’m not used to is a man doing the cooking––for me. Travis never stepped foot in the kitchen. It wasn’t like we talked about it in the beginning of our marriage, and we decided I’d be the one to shop, clean, and cook. Our roles or tasks, as it were, sort of happened that way, and I did nothing to change it. That was on me, I suppose.
I look out at his garden, noticing a path made of irregular pavers. “I’d love to do something like this in my yard, but I don’t have a green thumb.” Far from it. I can barely keep a houseplant alive.
“I enjoy it. Besides getting out on my bike, it’s how I decompress.”
Nodding my understanding, I get up from my spot on the deck. “Mind if I walk through it?”
“Be my guest.” He stands too. “Let me show you a few things. My daughter calls it my secret garden because I’ve hidden some shit in there.”
Stepping around the table to stand next to him. That’s when I feel his palm on my lower back.
“Have I told you how pretty you look today?”
Oh boy. “N-no.” Why does his compliment give me nervous chills? Half of me thinks he’s just saying the words, but the way he’s looking at me right now makes me believe he means them.
“Well, you always look pretty, but I particularly like this dress.”
“It’s old.” That’s a lie. I just ordered it online. I don’t know why I said that. This one is similar to the yellow one he saw couple of weeks ago except it’s baby blue and covered in small white and yellow flowers. It’s got narrow straps that lead to a fitted bodice. At the waist, it flares out to about knee length. But, best of all, it has pockets.
“No matter. I still like it.”
Say ‘thank you’, Prudence.“Thank you.”
“Welcome.”
I take the two steps down from the deck to the yard and head for the path. As I slowly meander through, Nate walks ahead of me pointing and talking about the plants and flowers, reciting both their common names and sometimes the scientific equivalents.
“Here.” He points to a spot next to a red flower. Bending, he pushes the flower away to reveal a small wooden box about the size of a shoebox. “I’ve got one of my mom’s gardening gloves in there along with some of her ashes.”
“Oh.” I feel emotion I didn’t see coming. My nose starts to tickle a sure sign my eyes will water next. Sniffing quickly in an attempt stop that from going any further, I admit, “That’s so sweet.”
