Dear Life(110)

For the first time in my life, someone besides Daisy, actually believes in me. I can see it in his eyes. He’s determined to make this work for me. For so long, I’ve sat on the sidelines, waiting for my chance, begging for this opportunity, and when it’s finally here, I need reassurance from the one man who’s brought me back down to reality to tell me to dream big.

And in his own words, that’s what he’s doing right now. He’s telling me to dream big.

Fuck . . . he’s telling me, no, he’s encouraging me to prove my existence.

If that isn’t a slap to the testicles, I don’t know what is.

DAISY

“I think that’s the last of it.” Matt stands tall and wipes his brow. “Not to be a dick, Daisy, but I don’t think one single person should have that many boxes of craft supplies.”

Taking in the small living room, I smile to myself. “You never know what kind of spark of creativity you’ll have on any given day. You have to be prepared, Matt.”

“You have one entire box labeled felt fabric.”

“Yes, and when I make you a genuine, from-the-heart“Life isn’t some walk in the park where you can make wishes on dandelions. Life is work. Life is a journey of triumphs and sorrows. Of successes and failures. Of learning experiences and growing opportunities. You can’t sit back and expect different results when you’re not doing anything to change.” Broncos pennant for Christmas, you’re going to be thankful you carried that box up here.”

“I’m holding you to that.” He points at me with a smile and then wraps his arm around Amanda.

“Are you sure about this, Daisy?”

I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life. “Yes. It’s time we put our threesome to rest.”

“Words every man hates to hear,” Matt teases, garnering a playful swat from Amanda.

“Seriously, are you going to be okay?”

“There is only one way to find out.” Picking up a crocheted throw pillow, I toss it at Amanda and say, “Now, help me unpack, I can’t possibly live in this squalor.”

“Um, pretty sure we were promised pizza,” she says, a hand to her hip.

“Yeah, I remember that being part of the deal,” Matt chimes in. “And after all that heavy lifting, I’m feeling weak. I need to be fed and watered.”

Rolling my eyes, I set down the box I was going to start unpacking and get my phone. “Sausage and pepper good for everyone?”

“And mushrooms,” Matt adds.

“And some breadsticks,” Amanda says.

“Hey,” I point my phone at her, “breadsticks weren’t part of the deal.”

“Neither were three flights of stairs. Get the breadsticks.” She’s playful, but stern.

“Fine.”

“Oh.” Matt flops on my grams’s couch we brought out from storage. “Order from one of the Papa Johns Peyton Manning franchises.”

“Why?” My brow furrows in question

“Makes it more special, knowing I’m dining from a Peyton Manning approved pizzeria.”

“That’s ridiculous.” I pause. “But I respect it.”

“That’s my girl.” Matt laughs. “I taught you well.” Calling out to Amanda who started unpacking now that the pizza is being ordered, he says, “Honey, we can send her off into the real world now. She’s armed with all the tools she’ll need.”

Sarcastically, Amanda responds, “By using Peyton Manning as a scale of acceptable things? Yeah, she’s ready for the real world.”

“Damn right she is.”

Darn right, I am.

HOLLYN

Just a few more rocks, a few more moments.

I count down the minutes until the clock hits four thirty. They were supposed to be here, but they’re late. All I need is just a little bit longer to soak in every last moment with him.

Rocking back and forth, I hold my head in my hands, letting my body sink into his.

Four thirty-two. Two extra minutes with his scent, with his essence. Two more minutes than I thought I had. Two more minutes that make me second-guess my decision.

I can’t do this. I can’t give this up.

There is a brisk knock at the door. No.

Nausea rolls through my stomach, my mouth starts to water, and tears form in my eyes.

It’s time.

Lifting my chin and pushing back my shoulders, I take one last rock, one last smell, and then go to open the door with a shaky, unsure hand.

“Hollyn?” the kind gentleman asks, who’s accompanied by his husband.

Greg and Jeremy. They messaged me yesterday, wanting to come look at Eric’s chair. They were just married and are trying to fill their apartment. Eric’s recliner is exactly what they were looking for in their living room, and according to them, it will fit perfectly with the rest of their furniture.

When I put Eric’s recliner on Craigslist yesterday, I wasn’t expecting it to sell so soon. I was hoping for a few more nights in it, a few more days where I can picture him drinking a beer, watching a game, and reclining. But soon, that memory will be stripped from me like all the others.

Deep breaths. One step at a time.

“Yes. You must be Jeremy and Greg. Please come in.”