Taking Connor(22)

Me: The painting is beautiful. Thank you.



A few minutes pass and I check the number to make sure I dialed right. Yes, it’s right. What if he’s not interested anymore?

Vick: I’ve given out a lot of paintings lately. Who is this?



My stomach knots. Does he always do this kind of thing for women he asks out? Should I even respond to this?

Vick: I’m just kidding, Demi. I haven’t stopped thinking about the gorgeous woman I stumbled upon in the grocery store, talking to herself.



I cringe as I remember how crazy I must’ve looked.

Me: You’re hilarious. I fell for it . . . again.



Vick: I like that about you. ;) So . . . meet me for dinner?



Me: Yes. I’d like that.



Vick: Tillie’s, seven o’clock on Wednesday?



Me: See you then.



Vick: Have I mentioned I’m really starting to love this place? ;) See you, Wednesday.



I stay in my classroom for a few more hours, organizing and cleaning. Mostly killing time until four when Wendy wants to meet for happy hour. I know times are tough, and she’s super stressed; with five kids I’m sure she’s busting at the seams to get out of the house. As I drive to Tillie’s to meet Wendy, the thought of going out with a man for the first time since Blake passed runs through my mind. While the idea of it is exciting, there’s also guilt. If Blake were still alive, there’d be no Vick, and there’d be no first date. I’d be on my way home right now to cook us dinner.

At a red light, I pull my cell out and dial Lexi.

“Helloooo, darling,” she answers in a British accent.

“I have a date,” I blurt out. I feel like this little fact has been bottled up inside me ready to burst free at any moment. Lexi is probably the worst person to tell, but she is my sister.

“You do?” The astonishment is extremely evident in her voice. She’s shocked.

“Yes. I met him at the grocery store the other day. His name is Vick.”

“Holy shit, Dem,” she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. “You okay?” She knows I’m okay and even though she’s been pushing me to get back out there, she knows this is a huge step for me. I’m touched she at least thought to ask how I’m holding up.

“I’m okay . . . I think,” I answer honestly as I push some of my hair behind my ear. “We’re meeting for dinner Wednesday.”

“I’m coming over to help you get ready,” she volunteers.

“You don’t have to do that, Lex.”

“I’m coming over,” she insists.

“Okay,” I give in.

“Demi’s gonna get laid. Demi’s gonna get laid,” she sings obnoxiously.

“I gotta go. Bye,” I hang up even though she’s still singing.

A date. I’m going on a date. My hands tighten around the steering wheel as I inhale deeply. My mind runs with thoughts of right and wrong, and before I know it, I’m at the cemetery. Days before he became incapacitated, Blake held my hand and gave me the talk. The talk giving me permission to move on.

“One day, Demi . . . another man will come along.” I tried to pull my hand from his, but he squeezed, preventing it. “I want you to be happy . . . to meet someone that can give you the things I couldn’t.”

“You gave me everything, Blake.” Tears broke loose and streamed down my face. This was my dying husband giving me permission to move on and love again. It was brutal. My hand squeezed his tighter as if I could somehow keep him here.

“I didn’t give you children. And I know how badly you want them,” he smiled sadly. “I know you want at least one.”

And I did. But I wanted one of his children. I wanted a piece of him to continue to exist even after he left me. When I told him, he refused. Blake grew up without a father. And he believed every child deserved one, not just the memory of a father that other people shared with them.

“One day, Demi . . . he’ll come along and love you. Don’t be afraid to love him back. He won’t be anything like me . . .”

I stared up at him and wondered if he had some vision of what he thought the next man in my life would be like. And then I sobbed. My poor, dying husband was torturing himself with visions of a man that might take his place.

“Blake . . . please—”

“Shh,” he soothed me. “I love you. I always will.”

Slowly, I walk through the large graveyard, delaying having this conversation with Blake. I don’t know if he’ll hear me, but I feel like I need to let him know. I come here, often, and speak to him. I tell him about work, complain about my mother, crack jokes about Lexi. I’m two rows over when his grave comes into sight. I stop when I realize Connor is standing in front of it, his large hands stuffed in his pockets.

I don’t want to impose on his time, but I feel rude just standing here, staring at him. I debate if I should leave, but when he kneels and puts one hand on Blake’s stone, I can’t stop staring. What is it about this man showing emotion that gut checks me? My goal has been to fulfill Blake’s wishes; to help Connor any way possible. The plan has always been to make Connor feel at home yet keep him at arm’s length at the same time. But with every day that passes, I’m more and more fascinated by him. I can’t deny a physical attraction to him; I mean . . . he’s sex on a stick, as Lexi would say. But there’s more there; so much more. When he stands again, I make my way toward him when I begin to hear him speaking faintly.