All This Time(34)

He pushes himself up onto his feet while I struggle to get to mine. When our eyes are level, he gives me a long look, before glancing guiltily away. “I’m sorry you had to find out like this.”

“Yeah,” I say, nodding as I think of his words at the park. “A lot of things make sense now. How you always defended her. Took her side.”

“I took your side too,” Sam says. “I never went after her. I never told her how I felt.”

“You never told me, either,” I say. “You could have.”

“Would it have changed anything?” he asks.

I shake my head, knowing the truth. “Probably not.”

He smiles at that, and I know both of us are hearing her voice in our heads. Not in a brain-injury way, though. Not this time.

“But,” I continue, “I think it changes something now. I see the truth in what you said before. We have to be honest with ourselves.”

We stare at each other, unsure of where to go from here. We opt for a quick bro hug, and then Sam nudges my arm, giving me a wry smile. “Wonder what your mom did with that beer?” he asks.

I nod toward the path, grinning back at him. “You want to find out?”

We walk together out of the graveyard, just the two of us. Even though I was talking to Sam, I’m sure Kim was there. I feel like she heard me. That I got it right at last. And even as we’re leaving her behind, she feels closer than she has in a long, long time.





17


I shuffle around the kitchen, fixing the silverware on the napkins, the mint iced tea in the corner of the place mat. I’m just about ready.

This attempt at making dinner is going about a million times better than before. Probably because I ditched the rib eye recipe and tried something a bit more… Marley.

Hot dogs and fries. But fancy ones, with a Marley twist.

I carefully set up her side plate, putting eight empty baby ramekins down, encircling a slightly larger bowl filled with popcorn. Then I fill the ramekins around it: one with yellow mustard, one with bacon bits, and the others with ketchup, barbecue sauce, two different kinds of pickles, shredded cheese, and diced onions.

I push them together and add a big stick of celery extending from the bottom. Just as I hoped, the plate is transformed into a condiment flower. I carry it to the table and gently set it down. I want her to feel comfortable tonight. I want her to see that I see her. The way she always sees me.

That this isn’t going to be a sad story.

I plate the hot dogs and the fries, making sure they aren’t touching, just in time for the doorbell to ring.

I head out of the kitchen, trying to calm my nerves. Why am I so nervous? We’re always so comfortable around each other.

I open the door to see Marley standing on our welcome mat, wearing a pair of jeans and her yellow cardigan, her hair pulled back into a bun.

“Hi,” she says softly. She holds out a bundle of flowers. I do a quick scan, trying to guess what she’s telling me with these.

I peer at the clusters of tiny white petals, but I’m out of luck when it comes to a name. All I know is that they’re the poofy ones planted outside of granny houses.

“What’s this one mean?” I ask her.

“They’re hydrangeas,” she says, clutching the strap of her bag with one hand, the other reaching out to touch one of the enormous floral puffballs. “It means… gratitude.”

“Well, I am filled with gratitude for the flowers,” I say, cringing hard at myself. Could I be any lamer?

Luckily, she laughs and comes inside, sliding her shoes off.

“You hungry?” I ask.

She nods and turns her face toward the kitchen, sniffing. “Smells good.”

There’s something suspiciously like relief on her face.

“Hopefully it actually tastes good,” I say as we follow the warm smell of the food out of the entryway and down the hall.

As we step into the kitchen, she takes in the carefully laid out table, the folded napkins, the candles I pulled from the top shelf of the hallway closet. Her hand reaches out to touch the flower-condiment plate, a smile finally appearing on her lips.

“Because each deserves its own space,” I say, and she blushes as we sit down.

There’s an awkward pause, a new tension between us. A warm electricity. Does she feel it too? I try to shake it off, keeping my voice light as I suggest we dig in.

I grab my hot dog and take a huge bite. That eases the tension a bit more, and soon Marley’s laughing and trying out all the different condiments in little bites.

Somehow her favorite, though, isn’t even a condiment at all.

“Just popcorn?” I ask, incredulous, as she carefully puts another piece on top of her hot dog and takes a bite. “Of all of these toppings, popcorn is your favorite?”

She shrugs playfully. “I must be part duck.”

I can’t help but smile at that. I spend the rest of dinner grossing her out with different condiment combinations, though my bacon, barbecue sauce, and shredded cheese is literal genius.

As our meal disappears, the conversation stalls. I pop my last fry into my mouth. Marley puts the last few bites of her hot dog aside. Both of us fall silent as the nervous energy we’ve been fighting off fills the room. I know Marley hasn’t shared her stories before, and I’ve sure as hell never shared my articles with anyone before.