Dear Life

  Grams was all about making our own food and never really eating anything processed. If we wanted a snack, we would bake. So, it was a bit of a shock to be able to eat a Little Debbie snack and actually enjoy it. Nuttey Bars are my new addiction. I try to keep them at a safe distance. I don’t want to eat too many and not be able to fit in some of the vests I’ve been working meticulously on.

  While I’m dumping Fritos Scoops into a bowl, my newfound love along with Nuttey Bars, my phone chirps with a message. I glance down, still getting used to the new form of communication and see a message from Carter. He’s not very chatty like the rest of us, so when I see a message from him, I get excited.

  Carter: Struggling over there, Snowflake?

  Snowflake. I don’t get it but I go with it. Kind of makes me feel special. I’ve always wanted a friend to call me by a nickname. My grams calling me dearie doesn’t really count. So, I will own Snowflake. Hmm, maybe I can make a vest and stitch the nickname Snowflake on the back, kind of wear it like a football jersey. Now that would be a fun project.

  I type him back.

  Daisy: I know nothing about football. How does anyone follow this?

  Jace: Takes a bit to understand.

  Hollyn: Not watching, but go Broncos.

  Hollyn’s not watching the Super Bowl? That seems odd to me since Amanda said Hollyn would probably appreciate the sweatshirts I made because she is a huge Broncos fan. Slightly confused, I bring the chips, a CapriSun, and a beer over to the living room and set everything on the table.

  “Amanda?” I sit down on the couch and poke a hole with my straw through my juice pouch.

  “What’s up?” she answers before she pulls her eyes away from the book, so I wait until she’s finished.

  “I thought Hollyn is a Broncos fan.”

  “She is. Why do you ask?”

  Quirking my lip to the side in confusion, I say, “Well, she said she’s not watching the Super Bowl. That just seems odd to me.”

  “She’s not watching?” Amanda acts annoyed. What have I said to garner such a reaction from her?

  “Uh, no.”

  Amanda shakes her head and lays her book on her lap. Sighing, she pushes her hair behind her ears. We don’t share a lot when it comes to our looks, but we do have the same golden locks as our father. Everything else, we get from our moms.

  Before Amanda can say anything, Matt reaches his hand over to her and places it on her knee, eyes still fixed on the television. “It’s going to take time, honey. You can’t expect her to change after two meetings.”

  “I know. It would have been nice to see a little bit of change, though.”

  “Hey, she’s attending the meetings. That’s all you can ask for now.”

  I don’t want to pry, I really don’t but I’m curious. Why isn’t she watching the Broncos game and why is it such a big deal?

  Knowing it’s none of my business, I ask anyway, “Why isn’t she watching the game?”

  Deflated, Amanda answers, “The Broncos is how Hollyn met her late husband, Eric. It was at a tailgate party in the parking lot before a game. She’s been a diehard fan ever since I met her, but once Eric passed, she wouldn’t think about watching another game, or any sporting event for that matter. It was one of their favorite things to do, go to games together.”

  Pain shoots through my heart, breaking it in half. I can’t imagine the kind of sorrow Hollyn is going through. To lose someone so special to you, to be so young and not quite be able to experience what it’s like to be married, the mere thought makes me want to cry for her.

  “That’s terrible. Poor Hollyn.”

  “She will get there,” Matt encourages us both. “Give her— Run you dirty bastard,” he shouts, jumping up into the air. “Run, you motherfucker, run. Run!”

  Thoughts of Hollyn are washed away when I turn to the television to see one of the players in orange—the Broncos, I know that much—run into the painted grass area. Matt erupts in cheers and starts giving both Amanda and I rather aggressive high fives, but I go with it, throwing in my own cheers while Matt continues to sting my hand.

  “We scored the touchdown! So we win.”

  Matt laughs and sips from his beer, doing a bit of a stretch. “Ha, I wish, Daisy. We still have three more quarters to go.”

  “Oh.” My brow furrows. “I thought whoever scores the touchdown wins.”

  “Whoever scores the most touchdowns.” Matt winks and points at me with his beer bottle. “I have to pee. Be back, ladies.”

  When he’s out of earshot, I turn to Amanda and say, “He’s rather aggressive in his cheering.”

  “Wait until he starts making us reenact the plays, him being the quarterback and us being the receivers. It’s a real joy having him toss his stuffed football at us.”

  Giggling at Matt’s enthusiasm, I say, “Can’t wait.”

  Beep Beep.

  Glancing down, I see a text message. It’s just from Carter, not part of the group. Interesting. But what’s even more interesting is the little release of butterflies in my stomach from the private text message.

  Carter: Did you get that, Snowflake? That was a touchdown.

  Smiling, I bring my knees into my chest and prop my phone on top of them while I type back.

  Daisy: I saw that. We scored! Although, I thought that was the end of the game. Apparently scoring the first touchdown doesn’t mean you win the game.

  Carter: Not so much.

  Daisy: It’s so hard to follow. All the players are on and off the field, running around for some kind of purpose but I don’t get it.

  Carter: Want a little help?

  My stomach does another flip from his offer. Carter wants to help me. Am I making a friend? Eep, I can’t help but feel a little elated from the prospect.

  Daisy: Would love it.

  The loud sound of Matt clapping his hands as he walks back in the living room startles both Amanda and me.

  “Don’t do that,” she chastises, closing her book in anger. “No one likes loud noises.”

  “Everyone likes loud noises.”

  “No one does,” Amanda seethes. From her tone, Matt backs off.

  Plastering on a charming smile, Matt holds out the giant cookie and asks, “Cookie?”

  Trying to look tough but failing miserably, Amanda cracks a smile. “Don’t try to win me over with a giant cookie.”

  “You know you want some.” He shakes the platter at her and holds up the knife we’ve been using to cut into it.

  “I’m on a diet.”

  A burst of laughter comes out of Matt. “You are so not on a fucking diet. And if you were, I would spank that ass of yours. You don’t need to lose weight.”

  “Okay, now you’re winning brownie points.”

  Pulling on her ankle so she slides across the couch into his arms, he scoops her up and plants a kiss on her cheek. “Just telling the truth, honey. You’re perfect.”

  She melts in his arms and I watch in blissful jealousy as they gaze into each other’s eyes and kiss. I want that. I want that more than anything.

  Beep Beep.

  Glancing down at my phone, I read my message.

  Carter: Are you ready for the quick and dirty, Snowflake?

  Daisy: What are you talking about?

  Carter: Here’s your crash course for football. Two teams on the field at the same time. One is offense, one is defense. They switch back and forth as to who is offense—the person trying to score, and defense—the team trying to defend them.

  Daisy: Ah, that’s why Matt keeps chanting ‘hold them, defense, hold them.’

  Carter: Exactly. Lame cheer. It’s actually made for cheerleaders, but exactly.

  A giggle pops out of my mouth and I cover it up but not soon enough. I catch Matt and Amanda’s attention.

  “What are you laughing about over there?” Amanda asks, her face full of light.

  “Just something Carter said.”

  “Carter?” Matt asks, a raise to his eyebr
ow. “That sounds like a boy’s name.”

  “It is a boy,” I answer, my face heating up. I’m one hundred percent positive if I looked in a mirror right now, my face would be bright red. “He’s a friend from the Dear Life program.”

  “Ooooo, a friend,” Amanda teases.

  “He is,” I defend, becoming more and more embarrassed by the minute.

  “Okay,” Matt and Amanda say, smiling and laughing together.

  Feeling mortified, I sink into the couch and look back down at my phone to see more messages from Carter, offering me a quick course on understanding football. By the end of the first half, thanks to Carter, I can understand what the players are doing for the most part. I don’t quite understand why sometimes the quarterback throws the ball and why sometimes he just hands it to someone, but I guess that’s for another day. You can’t learn everything all at once.

  Carter: You got the hang of it, Snowflake?

  Daisy: I think I do, for the most part. I at least know when to cheer, and I don’t have to wait for Matt to clue me in.

  Carter: Look at that, now you’re one of the cool kids. Not that you weren’t already, with that “bitchin’” sweatshirt and all.

  Daisy: I think the Broncos are winning because of the sweatshirt.

  Carter: I’m not going to argue with that logic.

  Daisy: Thank you for explaining it all. I’m sure you are busy.

  Carter: Nah, just watching the game with a buddy.

  Daisy: Well, I need to repay you. What can I teach you? Hmm, want to learn how to make a quilt?

  Carter: Not so much.

  Daisy: Didn’t think so. Are you into crafts?

  Carter: Not even a little.

  How could someone not even have a slight desire to partake in crafts? That seems so odd to me. Then again, I must seem odd to a lot of people.

  Daisy: I don’t know much. What about meatloaf? Do you like meatloaf?

  Carter: Love meatloaf.

  Daisy: Oh yay! I can teach you how to make meatloaf. Want to come over Tuesday?

  I hit the send button and then experience a weird sensation of panic, nerves, and dread. Oh goodness, did I just ask a boy to come over to my place? What if he thinks I’m trying to ask him out? Would he think that?

  Heat creeps up the back of my neck to my ears, burning me up right there on the couch. What if he says no? I’m just trying to be friendly. I don’t want him to think I’m being clingy. Oh gosh, will he want to avoid me now at the meetings?

  I feel like I’m going to cry out of shear panic.

  My phone beeps with an incoming message. I’m too nervous to see what he says. My mind starts to wander in all the wrong places. Negative thoughts creep in, fear seeps through my pores, and all I want to do is cower under my craft table.

  Knowing I have to look at his response, I squint at the screen.

  Carter: Sure.

  Sure. One simple word washes away the buildup of anxiety.

  Sure.

  Okay, maybe that wasn’t so bad. Scratch that. That was terrifying. At least the end result came out in my favor.

  Hmm, now I have to decide what quilted vest I’ll wear on Tuesday.

  HOLLYN

  “No, I’m not going to hang out in the Cat Café like an old widow,” I say with an exaggerated breath while I look for a parking spot.

  “You know we have find your friends, right? I can see you’re right next to Denver’s Cat Company.”

  Dammit. I forgot we gave each other permission to know where we are at all times. Why did we do that? Seems like a pretty stupid idea now. Especially since Amanda is using it against me. So what if I want to have a drink and pet some cats on my day off. There’s nothing wrong with that.

  “Stop spying on me. Don’t you have better things to do?”

  “Not really.” She laughs. “I wanted to check in on you, see how you’re doing. Daisy mentioned you weren’t watching the game yesterday.”

  “You know I don’t ever watch the games.”

  “You used to,” Amanda counters.

  “Don’t go there, Amanda. I’m not in the mood to get in a fight with you. I’m trying to find my Zen right now. I need kitties.”

  “Fine,” she capitulates. “But tell me, are you liking this program so far? Do you think it’s helping?”

  Finally finding a spot a few cars down from the building, I put my blinker on and start the process of parallel parking. I’m a genius at it, so I have no doubt that I can fit in the space I’m attempting right now.

  “I don’t know if it’s helping just yet. We haven’t done much but talk, write letters, and try to let go of what’s been holding us back.”

  “Are you comfortable there?”

  “For the most part. Unfortunately, I was put in a group with my douchebag coworker, Carter. It’s obvious he doesn’t want to be in the program and is just trying to skate through, so it’s hard sharing deep, personal stuff with a guy who couldn’t care less. I have to see him nearly every day, so there is no separation from the pain.”

  “Carter?” Amanda asks. “I think Daisy was texting him yesterday and giggling.”

  “Daisy was texting Carter? Like back and forth?”

  “It seemed like it.”

  Carter texting Daisy? Now there is something I never thought I would see. Daisy and Carter couldn’t be any more opposite than fire and water. Just after getting to know Daisy briefly, it’s obvious she’s too sweet, way too innocent, and way too inexperienced to be a friend to Carter. Carter is your typical asshole with a vendetta against life. He’s never been someone you want to hold a conversation with and if he’s given the chance, he would rather ignore you than actually engage, unless it’s to pick a fight. He’s really good at picking fights, especially when it involves throwing fists.

  “Daisy should stay away from him.”

  “Really?” Amanda asks a little surprised. “She seemed to think he was a good guy.”

  Spinning the steering wheel, I back into the spot perfectly and put my car in park. “I like your sister, Amanda. She’s naïve but so full of hope and joy, which is infectious. She’s one of the bright sides of the program. Carter is not someone she should be around. He’s someone who can easily squash the sunshine out of her.”

  “Really? It didn’t seem like that. She seemed happy when she was texting him.”

  “I’m telling you, Amanda, he’s bad news. So not someone for Daisy.” I gather my purse off the passenger seat next to me, glance at my side mirror, and check for cars. When the coast is clear, I get out, lock up, and jog across the street to Denver’s Cat Company. “Listen, I’m at the Cat Company and I don’t want to be that person who walks in on their cell phone.” Hammering home my concern, I add, “I don’t want to hurt Daisy’s relationships, maybe I’m wrong about Carter, maybe he’s changing. I would be shocked if he was, but I just want you to know that she should be careful. That’s all. I’ve seen him in bad moods before and you don’t want Daisy near him when he’s like that.”

  “Okay. I’ll be sure to warn her. Thanks, Hollyn.”

  “Anytime. Now, I must get to petting pussy.”

  “Every time. You say it every time you go in there.”

  I laugh and hop in place, trying to stay warm despite the winter chill. “It’s tradition. I’m going now though, I’m freezing. Talk to you later.”

  Hanging up, I slip my phone in my pocket, and open the door. The atmosphere is very laid-back. The first portion of the shop is a mini café where you can buy drinks and look at all the profiles of the cats frequenting the café. They are all rescued and up for adoption. Every time I come, I’m tempted to adopt a kitty but I refrain, fearing being labeled a crazy cat lady. I’m trying to avoid that right now.

  As always, I grab a strawberry-kiwi Snapple from the cooler, pay the cover charge, and head up to my favorite spot in the corner—my favorite spot currently occupied by a rather large man with his head down, twirling a cat toy for a little black and white kitty. Ug
h, why today does someone have to take up my space?

  Irritated, I watch for a second as the man’s forearms flex with each movement. Why do I know those forearms? I shouldn’t by any means recognize forearms, I haven’t fawned over forearms in quite some time, but I recognize these. Scanning the gentleman from head to toe, I take in his Nike shoes, dark grey sweatpants, pushed-up sleeves of a black Henley, and since his head his bowed, I only see the top of his black baseball cap.

  Jace?

  No, that can’t be Jace. Can it?

  I step forward, hoping and praying it’s Jace because I don’t want to be the creeper approaching a random stranger at a cat café for no reason. As I make my way toward him, a floorboard beneath me creaks, gathering his attention. I know it’s Jace the minute he lifts his head. Those dark blue, tortured eyes penetrate me from beneath his bill, the scruff on his face letting me know he hasn’t shaved since our last meeting, and the defeated slump in his shoulders showing he still carries his dreadful pain.

  “Hollyn?”

  “Hey, Jace.” Feeling a little awkward, I say, “I didn’t know you frequent the Denver Cat Company.”

  He chuckles, a light smile peeking up at me. “I don’t. This is my first time here. I was just . . .” He pauses and then leans back in his chair, running his hand over his face, lifting his hat ever so slightly off his forehead. “Hell, I was wandering around, looking for something to take my mind off things. I saw this place and thought I’d give it a try.” Looking up at me through his impossibly long lashes, he asks, “How weird do I look in here?”

  I look around and wince. We’re surrounded by women with children who are walking around with the cats, trying to get them to play with the myriad of toys offered for visitors. He looks incredibly out of place.

  “Uh, weird might not be the correct word,” I smile, “but you make it work.”

  He chuckles again and then pats the seat next to him. “Take a seat, make me look a little less awkward.”

  Happy to have the company, I take the seat next to him and set down my drink on the floor. I watch him dance a ribbon in front of a cat, teasing it masterfully.

  In a joking, low baritone voice, he asks, “So, do you come here often?”