stupid. I was smacking my forehead in my mind .
“You’re married and have a kid?” He looked at me shocked and, I thought, pissed. He turned away from me, back to the picture.
I walked over to him and stared at the picture of Emma, Jason, and myself with him for what seemed like a lifetime but was really only a brief moment or two.
“I have a nine-year-old daughter.” My head dropped and I focused on the floor, trying to hide whatever screwed-up look was on my face. “I’m a widow.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“It happens. It was a long time ago.” I stood there in silence while he walked slowly around the rest of the living room glancing at each picture.
“What branch was he?” he asked quietly.
“Army,” I said, equally quiet. “He was ambushed and killed in Iraq. It was a long time ago.” I realized I’d repeated myself.
“How long is a long time, Jordie?” His eyes burned right through me.
“Eight years ago.”
“A long time ago.” His eyes shifted back to the picture on the wall. “I...” He paused and his eyes were back on me.
I physically felt the heaviness of his stare. What is he thinking?
“I should go.” He turned abruptly and walked over to the door.
What? Go? Now? Why? Why is he speaking to me as if I’m some wounded animal caught in a trap? My eyes burned with the unwelcome sting that once was all too familiar. It felt foreign now. Stop. Fight the tears. Do not let him leave, Jordan.
“All right,” I whispered.
“Thanks for breakfast, Jordie. It was... nice,” Nathan said cautiously, nodding his head.
“Any time.” My voice was barely audible. Any time? More like never again.
He walked out the door. I don’t know if he looked my way before he left because I was staring at my feet. After I heard the door downstairs close, I crossed the room and locked the door, turned my back against it, and slid down to the floor. I pulled my knees to my chest and waited for what I could feel rising with a ripple in my stomach. Like a volcano about to erupt, the sting had turned to a burning in my eyes, and it was as if my chest had been ripped open. I was gasping for air. My iron-clad bubble had finally popped. I began to cry.
I wasn’t crying because he left—I don’t think so, anyway. Why? Why had every raw emotion I’d ever felt resurfaced as Nathan walked out my door? I never had this reaction after a fling. Which had been only three in eight years, I calculated quickly. Was it because he ran out the door like his ass was on fire? No. Then why? Guilt? No, it couldn’t be. I knew what guilt felt like, and I hadn’t done anything to feel guilty about. All he’d done was sit at my kitchen table and eat eggs, for fuck’s sake. No. It was because I realized I didn’t miss my dead husband as much as I missed the life I should’ve been living. I’d been so out of touch with everything. Emma and the bar, that was my life. I was so relieved my daughter wasn’t there to witness the nervous breakdown her mother was about to have as I started to sob uncontrollably.
I HEARD THE KEYS JINGLE in the lock. I was face down on the floor. I hadn’t moved since Nathan left. How long had I been down here? I couldn’t think, I couldn’t move, I didn’t want to move. The door opened, knocking into my boots, which were still on my feet.
“Jordie?” Rachel shouted, as I moved my feet to unblock the door. “Jordie! Oh my fucking god! Are you hurt?”
I heard her drop her stuff before she knelt down to roll me over and examine me. She tapped my cheeks with her fingers and started screaming in a panic.
“Jesus Christ, Jordie! Look at me! Look at me, please!”
Shit, she sounds borderline hysterical. I opened my eyes. They ached.
“I’m fine,” I mumbled before she went into a panic attack and called the National Guard. “I’m fine.” I sat up.
She stared at me for a moment. “I don’t know if I want to hug you or beat the snot out of you right now. What the fuck
“You’re married and have a kid?” He looked at me shocked and, I thought, pissed. He turned away from me, back to the picture.
I walked over to him and stared at the picture of Emma, Jason, and myself with him for what seemed like a lifetime but was really only a brief moment or two.
“I have a nine-year-old daughter.” My head dropped and I focused on the floor, trying to hide whatever screwed-up look was on my face. “I’m a widow.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“It happens. It was a long time ago.” I stood there in silence while he walked slowly around the rest of the living room glancing at each picture.
“What branch was he?” he asked quietly.
“Army,” I said, equally quiet. “He was ambushed and killed in Iraq. It was a long time ago.” I realized I’d repeated myself.
“How long is a long time, Jordie?” His eyes burned right through me.
“Eight years ago.”
“A long time ago.” His eyes shifted back to the picture on the wall. “I...” He paused and his eyes were back on me.
I physically felt the heaviness of his stare. What is he thinking?
“I should go.” He turned abruptly and walked over to the door.
What? Go? Now? Why? Why is he speaking to me as if I’m some wounded animal caught in a trap? My eyes burned with the unwelcome sting that once was all too familiar. It felt foreign now. Stop. Fight the tears. Do not let him leave, Jordan.
“All right,” I whispered.
“Thanks for breakfast, Jordie. It was... nice,” Nathan said cautiously, nodding his head.
“Any time.” My voice was barely audible. Any time? More like never again.
He walked out the door. I don’t know if he looked my way before he left because I was staring at my feet. After I heard the door downstairs close, I crossed the room and locked the door, turned my back against it, and slid down to the floor. I pulled my knees to my chest and waited for what I could feel rising with a ripple in my stomach. Like a volcano about to erupt, the sting had turned to a burning in my eyes, and it was as if my chest had been ripped open. I was gasping for air. My iron-clad bubble had finally popped. I began to cry.
I wasn’t crying because he left—I don’t think so, anyway. Why? Why had every raw emotion I’d ever felt resurfaced as Nathan walked out my door? I never had this reaction after a fling. Which had been only three in eight years, I calculated quickly. Was it because he ran out the door like his ass was on fire? No. Then why? Guilt? No, it couldn’t be. I knew what guilt felt like, and I hadn’t done anything to feel guilty about. All he’d done was sit at my kitchen table and eat eggs, for fuck’s sake. No. It was because I realized I didn’t miss my dead husband as much as I missed the life I should’ve been living. I’d been so out of touch with everything. Emma and the bar, that was my life. I was so relieved my daughter wasn’t there to witness the nervous breakdown her mother was about to have as I started to sob uncontrollably.
I HEARD THE KEYS JINGLE in the lock. I was face down on the floor. I hadn’t moved since Nathan left. How long had I been down here? I couldn’t think, I couldn’t move, I didn’t want to move. The door opened, knocking into my boots, which were still on my feet.
“Jordie?” Rachel shouted, as I moved my feet to unblock the door. “Jordie! Oh my fucking god! Are you hurt?”
I heard her drop her stuff before she knelt down to roll me over and examine me. She tapped my cheeks with her fingers and started screaming in a panic.
“Jesus Christ, Jordie! Look at me! Look at me, please!”
Shit, she sounds borderline hysterical. I opened my eyes. They ached.
“I’m fine,” I mumbled before she went into a panic attack and called the National Guard. “I’m fine.” I sat up.
She stared at me for a moment. “I don’t know if I want to hug you or beat the snot out of you right now. What the fuck
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