“Uh, um. Yes. And mine. Ours?” I’ve never been taken aback by a question about Nick before, and that’s saying a lot. People’s audacity sometimes knows no bounds, but this one, this one took me by surprise.
“She’s beautiful,” he says, and I’m really glad he didn’t say he was sorry. I’m really glad he didn’t ask more questions.
“She is.”
“She looks like you.” I bite my lower lip, avoiding his gaze. She does look like me, but nobody has ever mentioned how beautiful she is in the same breath.
“It does suck,” he finally adds after the silence got almost too thick to let lie.
“Mm-hmm, but today, we’re not here to talk about him.”
Holden lets out a breath, sinking into his spot on the couch. “Well, we thought he was dead for so long, and turns out, he’s not. He did a lot of really hurtful things, and now he wants to make amends.”
I nod, not knowing what else to do. How it’s so easy to have this conversation with this stranger is beyond me, but that’s something for another time.
“And you don’t know whether you want to give him a second chance or not.”
He nods.
Interesting. “Do you want me to give you my two cents?”
He nods again.
Okay, straight to the point. I’ve learned to ask questions before giving my opinion after so many people gave me their unsolicited advice. “Have you lost someone who has not magically come back from the dead?”
His answer comes quickly, in the blink of an eye, as he dips his head.
It’s truly the only question I have. Have you ever lost something or someone you could never have again? If their answer is yes, most of the time, they know how hard it is to live with regret, to be consumed by it.
It’s almost paralyzing knowing you can never get answers to questions, know an opinion on a topic, or even hear a laugh again. It either makes you say yes to everything or never open your heart again. What a sad life that would be.
“Do you wish you could talk to them again?”
He pauses and looks around, as if to see if the answers are written in the stars, but eventually, he bobs his head again. He’sone in the first group, which tells me, clearly, he has done work. He’s trying to heal, just like I am, and he knows better.
Regret is painful.
“Then there’s your answer.”
He smiles sadly. “Very practical.”
“Honesty. It’s just honesty.”
He looks down at his watch and lets out a sigh.
“Go, Holden,” I urge. “Give it a try. If you hate it, come back. I’ll save you a seat.”
I head back to the desk, quietly working and allowing him to wrestle with his demons in peace. Eventually, he gets up, grabs two bottles of wine, and brings them to me.
“That one is a best seller.” I point to the peach wine all my friends and the Baker girlies love before sliding it into a bag.
"Thanks,” he mutters after paying.
“Not a problem.”
Please come back. Fill me in. Give me deets. I wish I could say all these things, but I don’t, because that would be weird. I love my friends. I love talking to them. But they’re all in marriage or relationship bliss, and I, well, I have my girls and all the customers who come and go. I could use a friendship with someone who is talking about more than their spouse and their babies. Nothing wrong with that, but sometimes, I don’t want to think about how that’s not me anymore.
“No, really.” He holds my gaze, utter sincerity in his eyes. “Thank you for your honesty and kindness.”
