Page 12 of Homesick
I can’t help but keep grinning at the wonderful human standing across from me. Sheila had Blake when she was eighteen so she’s a bit younger than my mom. I still see some wrinkles starting to form around her eyes—probably from years of smiling. She could smile through anything.
The thought turns my stomach sour when I think back to her ovarian cancer diagnosis when I was in high school. Sheila was like my second mom growing up and the thought of losing her was unbearable.
I still ended up losing her, I think as my thoughts turn somber.
I remember holding Blake’s hand at every doctor’s appointment and sneaking away to his house every night to hold him until he fell asleep. Blake lost his dad when he was young, so Sheila was all that he had.
We got through it, though. One of my favorite memories of Sheila is the look on her face when we surprised her with a party to celebrate her remission.
“Look at you! You’re still gorgeous as ever. I think it’s safe to say my son is a complete idiot,” she says while shooting me a wink. “Go ahead and sit down. I’ll make you something to help with that hangover.”
“How do you know I have a hangover?”
“The side of my son’s truck said enough,” she yells over whatever she’s currently blending.
My stomach lurches at the smell of tomato and something else I can’t quite put my finger on. After she’s done blending, Sheila sets the ominous looking glass in front of me. The liquified contents have made an unsettling shade of olive green, kind of like the shade of Blake’s eyes.
“Here goes nothing,” I say before tossing back the drink. After I finish the last drop, I say, “it tastes even worse than it smells.”
Sheila laughs at my disgusted face and starts cleaning up the mess she made.
“Hopefully it will help,” she says before pausing a moment, debating what she should say next. “Your mom seems happy to have you home. How long are you planning on sticking around?”
I knew I’d have to answer this question a lot, but I still didn’t have a good answer. It’s hard to cover up your botched career from people that know you a little too well.
“I’m not sure. The job hunt has been pretty bleak so I could be here for a while. I’m going to reach out to a few connections this week and see if there’s any leads.”
“Well, if you’re interested in earning some extra cash while you’re back, we’re looking for a new server. I know it’s not a glamorous gig like you’re used to, but the tips are good, and there’s a lot of downtime so you can keep up the job hunt. Plus, I know being back home can be rough, so it could be a nice little escape,” she says with a wink.
Damn, she really knows how to sell it.
“I appreciate the offer. Can I take a day or two to think about it?”
“Of course! I’m not posting it until the end of the week so just let me know by then.”
I knew as soon as I accepted the job, I would be admitting I was here to stay. I also knew that meant running into everyone I knew constantly and having to serve them. I’d waited tables in high school and college, but now it felt like I was taking a step backwards.
“I have to get going, but it was nice seeing you. I’ll let you know about the job.”
I hop up from the barstool and make my way to the exit. “Oh, and Shelia, this is a weird question, but does Blake still live with you? I . . . was going to drop by.”
* * *
I know the way to Blake’s house almost as well as my own. They live close enough to my parents’ house that we could ride our bikes there when we were kids. I still remember crashing my bike in the ditch and Blake carrying me the whole way home, skinned knees and all. I may have been young, but the second he wiped my tears away, I knew I was a goner.
I pull into the Fisher’s driveway, and nothing has changed. Their small house is still the same baby blue color, just a little faded from the sun. I spot Blake’s truck sitting outside of the garage and my stomach drops a little. I was hoping he wouldn’t be home and I could postpone my apology for at least another day.
I pull up behind his truck, but he’s nowhere to be found. I get out of my car and survey the vehicle for any remnants of last night. Thankfully, he’s already washed my vomit away on the passenger side. Maybe it was all just a fever dream, and I didn’t actually embarrass myself for the second time in row in front of my ex. I fucking wish I was that lucky.
I survey the truck and check out the new paint job. Paint can only do so much for this old hunk of junk because I can still see the dent in his bumper from when I accidentally backed into a tree while we were fishing. He never let me drive it after that, which was probably a good call on his end.
“Looked better blue,” I whisper to myself.
“Really? I thought the blue was a little too flashy.”
“Jesus Christ. Why do you keep sneaking up on me like that?” I say, turning around to face him.
As soon as I turn, I’m met with a perfectly toned torso. I quickly divert my eyes to his, but judging by the grin and the raised eyebrow, I’m too late. Yet again, he’s caught me checking him out.