I look out over the small yard and smile at my work. One more item on my list of chores has been completed for today. Granted, the yard is small so mowing it only takes about an hour. I push the mower back into the shed, and grab the weed eater. I want to get done before it gets too hot. However, when I look to see if there is string, I know that I'm not going make my deadline.
It's been nearly half an hour later. I'm frustrated, hot, and I'm still not any closer to threading the string into the weed eater. I've never been very handy, that was always Matthew. I guess that's why he was an engineer. Matthew had this ability to just look at anything mechanical and knew how it worked. I however, am still sitting in the grass, getting hotter, and no closer to threading the stupid string into the spool.
My father and brother had volunteered last summer to take care of the yard, since it took everything I had not to fall apart. This summer, I told them I needed to do it myself. It's not like I had never mowed or trimmed the grass before; I did it plenty of times as a teenager, but my Dad had always threaded the weed eater for me. Its times like this that I really could use someone around to help. Maybe Christina is right.
Last night's conversation with Christina comes back to me, and I smile. Christina had insisted that I needed to get out, but after an hour of negotiation, I managed to talk her down to girl talk at home. I'm sitting on the couch with my feet curled underneath me, a bowl of popcorn between Christina and me. It's difficult to speak, as I'm laughing so hard, "Oh my God! Do you remember that time when we snuck out to meet that guy you liked two counties over?"
Christina practically has tears in her eyes from laughing at the memory. "And the cop pulled us over, and you shoved the basketball up your shirt and told him you were going into labor." Christina is holding her stomach, laughing as she leans her head back into the couch.
"That was some smooth talking on your part and crazy lucky you had the basketball from practice that day." I pause as I try to control my breathing from the laugher, "I swear he knew. I think he only let you off because we gave him a good laugh."
After we finally get over our laughing fit, Christina's face softens. "You look like you're starting to feel better. Did that doctor you were seeing finally help?"
"Oh God no! If anything it made the nightmares worse when I would go see her." I say waving my hand dismissively.
"Then what happened?" Her face questioning.
Christina has always been good at reading people. It's like her super power. I know I've been doing better, but I'm not even close to my normal self yet. Should I tell her the real reason? She'll kill me if she knew I wrote to a total stranger. I decide to go with a partial truth, "I was able to help someone who was going through some problems of their own. I don't know who it was, but helping someone seems to have helped." At least, I hope I helped them. I bite down on my lip before I realize what I'm doing.
"Liar." Her eyes narrowing.
Damn it.
"You always bite your lip when you're lying."
I sigh, "Christina, there's a little more to it, but I don't want to get into it right now. Ok?"
"It's a guy isn't it?" Her eyes widen, a grin coming across her face.
"No!" Before I can add more, Christina sits up straighter and her face brightens. Oh no, I know that face.
"Girl we need to find you a man. It's been over a year. You need to get back out there."
I'm about to interject, when she holds up a hand. Her face becomes serious. "I think it's time Tris. You know Matthew wanted you to move on and be happy, to find someone else. I was there for that conversation. He made me promise to help you. Remember?"
I look down at my hands. "I just don't know Christina. It's too soon." I look back at her. "Matthew was like winning the lottery. The problem is that now, any guy that I go out with just won't compare. They will only be a pale shadow of the man I was married to. Besides, all I would be able to do is compare them to Matthew, and no one wants to be compared like that."
Christina moves the bowl to the floor and scoots over to me as she brings me into a hug. "I know you're scared. You're worried that you'll find someone that will love you like Matthew did. And you're afraid that you'll fall for them too and forget Matthew." She moves so that she can look at my face, but her hands are now on my shoulders. "It won't happen Tris. Matthew helped shape who you are today. You aren't tarnishing his memory by finding someone else. He wanted you to be happy."
I look down again, and feel my eyes begin to prick, but no tears falls. I wipe at the non-existent tears and look back up to her. "Damn you Christina." She laughs and hugs me again. "Fine, but please give me a little more time to figure out my insomnia first. I don't want to fall asleep during the middle of a dinner date." She pulls back a little, and smiles, coking her head to the side.
"So what? You'll start around sixty then?" I shove her away as she starts laughing again.
"You're such an ass."
"Yes, but I'm your ass. Besides, I know you love me!" She waggles her eyebrows.
"Yeah, yeah." I say shaking my head and rolling my eyes.
I'm brought back to my task when the string slips out again. I growl in frustration, and more curses come flying out of my mouth. I sigh. I'm so glad Zoe isn't here right now. While at 8 years old, I'm pretty sure she's heard her fair share of curses, I still would rather not add to that list.
I'm actually grateful that Matthew's mother offered to take her for a weekend once a month. The weekends are meant to give me some alone time and give Zoe time with her grandmother. She would be happy to know that I spent some time with Christina last night, but I think her real intention is more for me to go on dates. Even if I did go on a date, I just don't see myself finding a decent man that wants anything to do with me or my daughter. Instead, my free weekends are usually spent doing chores around the house or working extra at the hospital to make some extra money.
Before Matthew passed, he did everything he could to pay off our student loans, car payments, the house, and even some of his medical bills. He was able to pay off my car, and when we realized his time was short, we sold his car. The problem was, that all his hard work barely put a dent in our debt. I desperately wanted to stay out of bankruptcy, and starting doing everything I could to make money or lower payments. I tried calling the university that Matthew attended as well as the hospital to see what they could do since he passed. It turns out, there wasn't much they were willing to do, other than lower the payments a little. Bastards.
I don't really mean that, but it's so frustrating, when as a single parent and a Physical Therapist, I'm barely scraping by. Between working and trying to take care of the house, I felt I was neglecting Zoe. I did try to spend as much time as I could, and make things special, but I felt without her Dad being there, it just wasn't enough. She was an extremely selfless child, and understood the situation. She often offered to help with dishes and kept her room spotless.
I sigh in frustration at another failed attempt of threading the string in the spool. I look at my leather gloves and wonder if I just need to take them off so I'll have a little more dexterity. I take them off, tossing them to the ground, and try again. This proves to be a huge mistake, since the leather was apparently providing the only protection from the jagged piece of metal that the spool was concealing. I jump up, the weed eater falling out of my lap to the ground. I hold my bleeding finger and begin cursing at the piece of equipment with new vigor. "Stupid piece of shit! I'm not through with you yet!" I kick it for good measure and turn around quickly in my irritation so I can go clean up.
In my rush to get back inside, I don't see the individual that has apparently been standing behind me. I jump back in fright at the sudden appearance of this stranger. He is tall, at least six feet, short dark hair, and muscular, but not like a body builder. I can't tell the color of his eyes and hair since my sunglasses are dark, but I'm not worried about that at the moment. My first instinct kicks in, and I assume a fighting stance.
Before I can think of my next move, he holds up his hands in surrender. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to scare you," he says quickly in a low, reassuring voice. His voice is deep, almost a rumble. I look him over again, trying to decide if he's truly a threat.
I mean to say something far more polite, but it comes out almost demanding, "Who are you?"
The answer I get is not at all what I expected. "My name is Four. You wrote me."