God, he’s gorgeous. And real! This is no stock photo. He shoots me a shy smile. “Hi,” he says.
My stomach goes all topsy-turvy. “Hi,” I reply shyly, and smile back. I glance at my image on the tiny screen in the corner — I don’t look too bad, but nowhere as good as him.
“Where are you?” I ask.
He tilts his head, looking behind him. “I’m in my studio.” he replies. He has an American accent, like I do.
“Show me,” I ask. I really want to see — I’m fascinated.
He waves his phone around the space. I’d seen it before in the video he sent me, but now I get to see it all — wide industrial space, large oven, steel table, tools everywhere, and shelving of various glassware, swirls of color, reflecting the light from a window nearby.
His face reappears, and his smile catches me off guard — it’s so genuine and sweet. He has a crooked eye tooth, but a gorgeous smile all the same. “Where are you?” he asks.
“I’m in my living room.” I turn my phone around and scan the room; designer sofa, shag area rug, rustic coffee table, and pops of color artfully displayed.
“Is that your artwork on the walls?” he asks.
I smile. “Yes.”
He stares at me. A hint of a smile traces his lips. A long beat. Silence. It’s just a few seconds, three tops, but it feels like an eternity. It is definitely what one would call ‘a moment’.
Big fat trollop, that’s me.
“So, uh… what are you doing today?” I ask in an attempt to end the awkward pause. What the hell was that, anyway?
He smiles. “Just working in my studio. How about you?”
I’m speechless for a second or two. Do I tell him? I debate it for a second, but I’m kind of on the spot. Something about him urges me to be completely open and honest — he has that quality about him, like Kayla. He’d make a good therapist.
“I… I’m going to the park with my kids,” I tell him. I’m about to end it there, but I want to talk about her. “And then, we’re going to see my mother at the cemetery. Today would have been her birthday. I always go visit on her birthday.” Normally, John comes with us, but this year, he’s away, and I would be lying if I said this didn’t bother me.
Eli’s face falls. “I’m so sorry about your mother,” he says, and then after a beat, he’s cheerful again. “Do you bring her flowers?”
I smile. “Of course. Tulips. Her favorite. They’re my favorite too, actually. I’ve got myself some too.” I stand and bounce over to the kitchen where I show him my vase of flowers sitting on the table.
“Nice,” he says.
Another moment of awkward silence.
“My mother is gone too,” he says quietly.
“Yes, you mentioned… I’m so sorry,” I want to know more about her. What happened exactly? Why wasn’t he there for her? “How long ago?” I ask. “Three years, you said.”
He scratches the stubble lining his jaw and draws a breath. “It’s been a while now… but I still miss her so much.”
“My mother died just two years ago,” I tell him. “I think I told you that already. It was sudden. Car wreck.” It hurts just to say the words out loud.
He shakes his head and winces. He doesn’t seem to know what to say. I don’t know what to say either.
There’s nothing much to say. She’s gone.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “The worst part is I didn’t even get to say goodbye,” I tell him. “We were in the middle of a fight.”
He bites his bottom lip. “I’m so sorry.”
I want to cry but I know I’m not going to, not in front of him. “The last thing I said to her was ‘Leave us the hell alone. I just want you out of our lives right now.’”
“Fuck…” is all he says.
