“You’d be happy to see him? Great! I’ll tell him to come right over!”
“Lainey,” I scold, cupping my hand over the phone so Jackson hopefully won’t hear me. “Listen to me, you little shit, you better not tell him anything!”
“I’ll let him know you’re waiting for him! Talk to you later, love you!”
She hangs up before I can get another word out, and I set my phone on the counter with a thud. My heart thunders in my chest at the thought of seeing him so soon. We haven’t talked or seen one another since the night my sister was in the ER, and the coward in me is fully aware I’ve been avoiding his calls and questions about the new facility because I’m embarrassed. There are only so many times you can tell someone you can’t afford something before humiliation scars you. I take a look around my house, smiling at Jackson building a giant Lego tower when I realize I’m in my classic Saturday outfit of sweatpants and an old band tee, complete with a hole in the armpit.
For the most part, I don’t care what he thinks of me. But I am a lady and have enough self-respect that I wouldn’t let anyone, outside of Jenna and Lainey, see me in my oldest clothes.
I change into some jeans and a real bra, finding a loose, off-the-shoulder tee and tossing it on. I run a comb through my matted hair before twisting it up in a high bun. Adding a little mascara to my lashes, tinted moisturizer to my cheeks and colored chapstick to my lips to top it off.
“Jackson, sweetie,” I call out, heading back into the living room. “A friend of mommy’s is going to come and look at the sink. Water is leaking everywhere.”
“Can I see?”
I wave him over to the kitchen, grab a beach towel off the top of the pile and toss it to him. “I could sure use your help to clean this mess up.”
I squat low and begin changing out the wet towels for dry ones, and pulling out the remaining contents from underneath the sink. I’ve avoided most of the kitchen area since I bought the house, instead focusing on the small, easy projects that I know I could handle on my own. I thought with time, my savings account would plump a little before tackling what is likely going to be an expensive and long kitchen remodel. But weeks haveturned into months, months to almost two years, and I realize now I may never have enough to have my dream kitchen.
As I pull out my bags of sponges and bottles of cleaning products, I notice the entire bottom of the cabinet under the sink is warped and soggy. With minimal force, I easily rip away the rotted boards, cursing to myself at the pool of musty water dripping onto my skin.
“Mom!” Jackson calls from the living room. “Clementine is here!”
I release a heavy sigh. Of course she is. Leave it to Clementine to come at the most inopportune moments. Clementine also better eat some damn food or she isn’t going to last much longer. I clear my throat to fake an upbeat voice. “She is? Is she eating the turkey we put out?” I leave my mess under the sink and walk over to the patio doors where Jackson is perched, forehead and sticky hands leaving smudges on the glass as he watches Clementine hesitantly sniff the diced lunch meat we left out earlier today.
A few weeks ago I was up early, fueled by coffee and limited sleep, rushing to finish writing an essay on the advances in continuous glucose monitoring systems before Jackson woke up. I was so delirious from lack of sleep that when I heard a faint meow, I thought I had officially lost my mind and was hallucinating. I ignored it for a few minutes, until the sunlight began to peek over the horizon and illuminated the shadows in my backyard. And there, cowered under my awning to hide from the spring rain, was a skinny orange tabby cat that Jackson lovingly named Clementine.
We haven’t gotten close enough to make sure she’s actually a female, and she only communicates with hisses so far. But the name stuck.
Twice a day she comes back to see if we left her any food; we also fashioned a makeshift cat house out of a cardboard box,complete with fuzzy blankets, and left it in the corner of the porch. It gives her enough shelter from the elements but isn’t technically inside.
“She’s eating it!” he squeals, happy that we can add turkey to our growing list of foods she likes. So far tuna, turkey, and chicken are okay. The dirty look she gave when we tried to put a piece of beef pot roast out there was one for the record books.
“Turkey. Noted.”
Clementine swallows the last bite of turkey, pausing to lick her dainty paws when the slamming of a car door sends her running.
“Mommy’s friend is here,” I tell Jackson, tapping his butt as we rise from the floor.
He goes back to his Legos as I make my way across the living room, holding a breath as I open the front door, eyes squinting at the sun reflecting off of Jim’s Range Rover. With bare feet I pad the few paces from my front door to the top of my steps, propping a hip on the railing and crossing my arms over my chest. He saunters casually down the driveway, his dark jeans and gray henley showing off his perfectly sculpted body. I must be smiling because his doesn’t falter as he walks forward.
He stops short at the bottom step and tucks his hands in his front pockets. “Hear you’re looking for a handyman.”
“I am, and yet, for some reason Lainey sent you.” His mouth splits into a grin, and I usher with my head for him to follow.
He closes the front door behind him, turning to take in the expanse of the first level of my home.
I follow his gaze, taking in every feature from his point of view, feeling the urge to offer up an excuse the longer he looks in silence.
“I know it’s still a bit of a fixer upper,” I say, awkwardly leading him inside a few more feet. “But when I was looking to move us out of my condo, I wanted something reasonably pricedbut that I could put my own personal touches on.” That, and every house that was turn-key ready was out of my price range.
He nods, looking around as he takes it in. “I think it’s gorgeous. Not sure what parts you’ve done yourself, or what came with the home, but you should be proud.”
I’m proud of the main areas of the house, I guess. The front door opens directly into the open concept kitchen, living, and dining area. Refurbished wooden floors line the entire expanse, minus the old tile still covering the kitchen floor. The entire back wall is nearly floor to ceiling windows. It was by far the most expensive part of the remodel, but I’ve always preferred natural light, and when I realized the back of the house faces south, it seemed like the only option to add a row of large double-hung windows with patio doors leading to my semi-decent sized backyard.
The main bath and my bedroom are down a small hallway off of the kitchen, and Jackson’s bedroom is off of another hall from the living room. A set of stairs lead to the second floor, which is closed off right now.
I did the bare minimum up there, cleaning and making sure the bathroom and additional bedrooms didn’t have any major issues before boarding it off and focusing on the downstairs. Right now, the entire upstairs is our storage area for everything Marissa once owned. Each item is carefully packed away, endless boxes collecting dust on the off chance that one day, she will want to see them again. One room alone houses every painting she ever completed, including the one she was carrying that fateful day.
