“Men.” I cut around him to the kitchen to crack open a can of Coke.
He appears around the corner, scratching his chin. “This feels a little like being married. I know I’ve fucked up, but I honestly don’t know how.”
I chuckle and shake my head. “It’s not you. I’m just having a day.”
“Anything you want to talk about?”
“No. Nothing worth discussing.”
“You sure? I’m a reasonably good listener, for a man, that is. I know enough to not offer you a solution. I mostly just nod and gasp when I think it’s appropriate.”
“Wow, I really must look old because you have gone to a lot of trouble to avoid a very simple question.”
“Forty-two.”
My ‘what the fuck’ expression must be hard to miss because he looks panicked again. “But only because you lost your husband, so I figure you must be older than you look. In actuality, you only look thirty-six.”
I turn and walk to the back door, his voice following me.
“Thirty-two? No, you’re thirty-one.”
I let the door slam behind me, and stalk over to the wheelbarrow, then huff and puff my way to the front to load up the boxes, muttering under my breath the whole way. “Forty-two.Pffft. My great aunt has a bridge club you could join.”
By the time I bring all the boxes to the backyard and slice them open, I’ve added uncomfortably hot to my cranky mood. Walt, who is sitting on the small deck at the back of the house, meows at me like he does when I get too far outside his reach. He hasn’t adjusted the way I’d hoped, shattering my image of him returning to his wild roots when given the chance. Instead, he refuses to step foot on the grass to explore. Something about the sight of him there irritates me, but I suppose everything is going to have that affect on me today. If I was smart, I’d just hop in my car and go for a long drive. But I won’t. I’ll just stay here and get this shitty job done. Happy fucking birthday to me.
Colton arrives just as I’m trying to figure out how to remove the first broken windowpane. “The windows finally came, eh?” he asks.
“Mm-hmm, and I hear you’re a pro at putting these up.”
He screws up his face in confusion, then says, “Tall, skinny FedEx guy?”
“Yup.”
“That’s Spooner. I went to school with him.”
“Want to hear something creepy? He somehow knew I was single, from New York, and am replacing my greenhouse windows.”
Shrugging, Colton says, “Don’t worry about Spooner. He’s a good guy. He just gets all the gossip because of his job.”
“How does one avoid being the subject of said gossip around here?” I ask.
“Move somewhere else,” he says in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Unfortunately, all my money is tied up in this place, so I’m afraid I’m stuck here for a while.” I point to the windowpanes. “So, do you seriously know how to replace these?”
He nods. “It’s really easy. They’re clip-ons.”
“Will you help me?”
“Gladly. I’m so sick of pulling weeds, I could throw up.”
“Well, let’s avoid that, shall we?”
Colton smiles back and we get to work. We remove the broken windows without talking. I can’t think of anything to say to a guy who’s just barely out of his teens, and I’m sure he feels the same way about the weird old lady next to him. The more progress we make, the less irked I am at the clueless delivery guy, and the more grateful I am to be working with someone who keeps his opinions to himself.
Out of the blue, Colton says, “I can’t wait to get out of here.”
“Oh, do you have something important going on? Because if you do, don’t feel like you have to stay.”
