Scent (Scomiche)

Is There Anything to be Thankful For?

As I’m driving Lindsey back to her place, I think about how Scott had said he knew we’d work out our “fight” before Thanksgiving. Well Thanksgiving is in less than a week, so I don’t know how he expects that when we barely talk. I’m still thinking about it when I pull up at their apartment and walk her inside the building. She doesn’t have a key on her, apparently because Scott doesn’t trust her with one at school all day, so we wait outside the apartment door.

When Scott shows up (at 7:05, not 7:00), he quietly lets us in. “Hey…” I say.

“Hi,” he says back, gesturing for me to step inside. He closes the door behind me and runs his fingers through his hair.

“Rough day?” I ask quietly, standing awkwardly on the knit rug right inside the door.

“Slow day,” he answers, then looks to Lindsey. “But at least I have my girl.”

She smiles, and a moment passes before I hint: “Notice anything different?”

He looks down to Lindsey then realizes. “Your hair is shorter!” She giggles and then holds up her painted nails. Scott gasps, obviously exaggerating his surprise, but I don’t think Lindsey notices. “Beautiful!” he announces, then smiles tiredly.

After a few more similar comments, he asks what she wants for dinner. Two options: frozen dinners or hamburgers. She replies that she wants hamburgers but also needs to bathe, so she skips off to do so.

He sighs and goes to the kitchen, taking out the necessary supplies. “Would you like to stay?”

“No thanks,” I say, he shrugs, and there’s a pause before I continue, “But I would like to apologize.”

“What for?” Scott asks, distracted from searching for a frying pan.

“Making you feel ‘raw’, as you put it.”

He glances at me, now standing in the walkway of the kitchen. “It’s fine.”

I give him a doubtful look. “It’s not.”

“It wasn’t, but it is now. I had a lot of time to think after you left today and I remembered how close we used to be. I miss that.”

I smile, small and fond. We let the moment have its moment until it becomes unbearable. “I’ll, uh, see you Thursday, okay? I’ll come at one?”

“Okay, sounds good.” And I leave, my heart fluttering, beating to the word Thurs-day, Thurs-day, Thurs-day.

-

Thursday could not have come soon enough. But in the meantime, I had been hired at Target and was set to start the next Sunday. It was quite a downgrade from the job I previously had, but I keep reminding myself that it’s only temporary. Luckily, since I’m not a huge fan of people, I get to stock shelves instead of cashiering. No social interaction required.

I know I should tell Scott, but it’s embarrassing. I’m going from a personal banker to putting products on shelves. So when Thursday does arrive, I’m still undecided on if I should admit it. Instead of actually dealing with that, I call my dad which is a whole other issue in itself. We talk about three times a year to catch up, but he never initiates it. I mean, he doesn’t even know I was fired yet. I dial him up and search for clothes while we talk. A thin red sweater with black jeans. I want to wear some sort of Thanksgiving color too, so I pick out a burnt orange and light red patchy scarf. It matches decently, and the more I look at it, the more I like them together.

I confess that I was fired to my dad on the other end of the line near the beginning of the conversation to get it over with and cringe waiting for the response. But after a moment he says, “Ah, well, that’s too bad.” He must be getting more mellow with age.