Page 125 of Heart So Hollow

Even though I’m working from home again today, I still get up at the same time as Bowen so we can eat breakfast and drink coffee together. He’s sitting on the sofa with a bowl of cereal in his lap, scrolling through emails on his phone. His full mug is on the coffee table next to mine, but he always leaves my bowl of cereal on the kitchen island with the milk sitting next to it so I can pour it myself.

I’m looking forward to another solitary workday at home. Granted, I’ll probably still end up talking to Abby over Zoom for an inordinate amount of time. After pouring the milk, I open the refrigerator and replace it on the first shelf in the door. And, when I do, I stop short.

Next to the space where the milk always sits is a small, rectangular bottle with a purple cap. I don’t even have to look at the label to know what it is—a Naked Mango Madness smoothie.

But I didn’t put it there. I know I didn’t put it there.

I forget everything I’ve tried to carefully bury to avoid dealing with the low-key sense of doom simmering for months and snatch the bottle from the refrigerator door. Throwing the door shut, I pass the island to the living room.

I hold up the smoothie, “What is this?”

Bowen looks over his shoulder and squints at the bottle, “What is that?” he repeats, tossing his phone onto the coffee table.

“It’s a smoothie,” I sit down on the cushion next to Bowen, “but I didn’t buy it.”

He continues munching his cereal, unconcerned, “Then where’d it come from?”

I stare at the bottle and then quickly set it down on the coffee table like it’s burning my hand, “I don’t know,” I say in a dumbfounded whisper.

“Did you bring it home from work?”

I shake my head and look at the bottle again like I’m expecting it to sprout legs and jump off the table. I don’t just buy smoothies and forget about them.

“How long’s it been in there?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, “this is the first time I’ve seen it.”

Shit.

Once he sees the look on my face, Bowen stops eating, “Are you OK? Why are you bugging out about a smoothie?”

Because I didn’t do this, but I know who did…

But I’m still afraid to tell him, because then he would ask who, and I don’t want to open that can of worms when I don’t even have any proof. I can’t just say that someone came into our house, deposited an unopened smoothie in the fridge, and then left.

“I just don’t remember,” I say quietly.

Even now, I’m racking my brain, second-guessing myself. I know I didn’t put it there, but it’s easier to think that than the likelihood that something more insidious is happening.

“It happens,” Bowen weaves his fingers through mine and brings my hand up to kiss it, “it’s a smoothie, not a goddamn head in the fridge.”

Yet…

But I nod, accepting Bowen’s explanation out of necessity, because I can’t sit here and think about the alternative. Not when in a half hour, Bowen will leave for work and the sound of the gravel under his tires will fade into the distance. Then I’ll be alone in this house for the rest of the day with the silence and my own thoughts, trying not to fixate on things that appear when I don’t want them to.

Like a polar bear lurking in the snow.

After deciding not to dwell on it further, at least for now, I abandon my soggy cereal on the island and guzzle coffee instead. Trying to focus on my breathing and keeping the adrenaline at bay, I let my eyes wander over the room. Finally, they settle on Waylon, chewing on a deer antler in the middle of the floor.

I wish dogs could talk, because I would only ask Waylon one thing.

Who have you seen walk through this house?

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Brett

Present

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