past. For the most part, this trip is why I still have a car. It’s not like I use it to go to my childhood home frequently, or at all if I can help it.
Grabbing my keys and a light sweater, I trudge down to the garage and get into my blue Prius and head east to the town where I grew up. I pull off the freeway and drive the quiet streets to the Meadowland Cemetery. The plots are in the section on the left, so I turn and park on the side of the street, then reach back to get the little something I brought. The sound of the car door closing echoes in the silence, a cloud of melancholy shades the wide open spaces.
Three rows down, two rows over, the third plot in. I stop in front of a marble, gray headstone and the smaller one just beside it. There is a third plot, just waiting for me, on the other side of my little Sarah. As I do every week, I wish fervently that I could have my yesterday back, and if not, I wish that they had filled all three spots that day. There are small bouquets of flowers in front of each stone, as there are most weeks, and I dip to lay my lavender roses on the grass in front of Ben, and sweet purple daisies for my little girl.
“I miss you both, so much it hurts.”
I’ve long since stopped crying, but today there is a crack in the dam and the floodgates threaten to open. I’m confused. I sit at their feet and wonder at what they are thinking. Are they living somewhere? Can they see me?
“Am I living, baby girl? How can I when you never got the chance?”
Nothing but silence whispers on the breeze. “I could never replace either of you, so what am I thinking letting that man get in my head?”
Again, no answer.
I sigh and stand, brushing the blades of grass from my ratty jeans. Sunday is the only day I let my hair down—figuratively speaking, but at least it’s in a messy ponytail—and dress as though I don’t have a permanent stick up my ass. I blow them both kisses and with a heavy heart, I start the walk back to my car. My heart thuds hard for a moment so I look back. I miss them every day, but for the first time in ten years, I’m walking away from their graves without a crushing sense of guilt.
E ver since Saturday, I’ve had one thing on my mind.
Her.
Tori “Call Me Victoria” Larkin.
Despite her desire to keep me at arm’s length, I simply couldn’t settle for that. In fact, my dumb ass refused to stop touching her like some sort of creepy stalker. Her scent is permanently etched into my brain and I’m already craving more. Not just her scent, but her mouth— fuck me —her mouth is an entity in and of itself. Perfect, pouty lips that are chewing my head off one minute, and the next quivering in an attempt to hold it all together.
I want to kiss those angry lips.
But I want to kiss the sad ones too. To fix her. To make it all better.
As I roll up to the front of her building, I’m pleased to see it has valet. A couple of workers dressed in uniform whistle at my ride as I pull up to the attendant station. The male starts to head for my driver’s side window, but the red-headed chick pushes past him. I mash the button and the window rolls down to which she sticks her head in. Upon seeing me, her green eyes widen and she flashes me a flirtatious grin.
“Sweet ride, mister.”
I tilt up the corners of my lips and give her a smug smile. “Sure is, Red. Do you think you could just hold my car for ten minutes? I’ll be right back.”
Her smile falters as she flicks her gaze over to the guy in the kiosk. “I don’t know. It’s against the rules to leave the cars here.”
I feign disappointment and she frowns. “Well…” I hand her a twenty dollar bill, “Maybe you could ask your boss over there?”
She reaches for the bill but I don’t let go. Her freckled cheeks blaze to nearly the color of her bright red hair. “No, I, uh,” she stammers, “We can make an exception this one time.”
I reward her with a huge grin and nod. “Thanks, Red.”
When she
Grabbing my keys and a light sweater, I trudge down to the garage and get into my blue Prius and head east to the town where I grew up. I pull off the freeway and drive the quiet streets to the Meadowland Cemetery. The plots are in the section on the left, so I turn and park on the side of the street, then reach back to get the little something I brought. The sound of the car door closing echoes in the silence, a cloud of melancholy shades the wide open spaces.
Three rows down, two rows over, the third plot in. I stop in front of a marble, gray headstone and the smaller one just beside it. There is a third plot, just waiting for me, on the other side of my little Sarah. As I do every week, I wish fervently that I could have my yesterday back, and if not, I wish that they had filled all three spots that day. There are small bouquets of flowers in front of each stone, as there are most weeks, and I dip to lay my lavender roses on the grass in front of Ben, and sweet purple daisies for my little girl.
“I miss you both, so much it hurts.”
I’ve long since stopped crying, but today there is a crack in the dam and the floodgates threaten to open. I’m confused. I sit at their feet and wonder at what they are thinking. Are they living somewhere? Can they see me?
“Am I living, baby girl? How can I when you never got the chance?”
Nothing but silence whispers on the breeze. “I could never replace either of you, so what am I thinking letting that man get in my head?”
Again, no answer.
I sigh and stand, brushing the blades of grass from my ratty jeans. Sunday is the only day I let my hair down—figuratively speaking, but at least it’s in a messy ponytail—and dress as though I don’t have a permanent stick up my ass. I blow them both kisses and with a heavy heart, I start the walk back to my car. My heart thuds hard for a moment so I look back. I miss them every day, but for the first time in ten years, I’m walking away from their graves without a crushing sense of guilt.
E ver since Saturday, I’ve had one thing on my mind.
Her.
Tori “Call Me Victoria” Larkin.
Despite her desire to keep me at arm’s length, I simply couldn’t settle for that. In fact, my dumb ass refused to stop touching her like some sort of creepy stalker. Her scent is permanently etched into my brain and I’m already craving more. Not just her scent, but her mouth— fuck me —her mouth is an entity in and of itself. Perfect, pouty lips that are chewing my head off one minute, and the next quivering in an attempt to hold it all together.
I want to kiss those angry lips.
But I want to kiss the sad ones too. To fix her. To make it all better.
As I roll up to the front of her building, I’m pleased to see it has valet. A couple of workers dressed in uniform whistle at my ride as I pull up to the attendant station. The male starts to head for my driver’s side window, but the red-headed chick pushes past him. I mash the button and the window rolls down to which she sticks her head in. Upon seeing me, her green eyes widen and she flashes me a flirtatious grin.
“Sweet ride, mister.”
I tilt up the corners of my lips and give her a smug smile. “Sure is, Red. Do you think you could just hold my car for ten minutes? I’ll be right back.”
Her smile falters as she flicks her gaze over to the guy in the kiosk. “I don’t know. It’s against the rules to leave the cars here.”
I feign disappointment and she frowns. “Well…” I hand her a twenty dollar bill, “Maybe you could ask your boss over there?”
She reaches for the bill but I don’t let go. Her freckled cheeks blaze to nearly the color of her bright red hair. “No, I, uh,” she stammers, “We can make an exception this one time.”
I reward her with a huge grin and nod. “Thanks, Red.”
When she
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