Page 93 of Resorting to Romance

“Yeah. I am. I really am. I’m up in the attic.”

“Hmmm. Okay. Any particular reason?”

Her voice is soft and compassionate. She knows what’s up here.

“I’m not sure. I just … miss them. I wanted to spend some time thinking about them.”

“Yes. I know. I miss them too. Every day.”

I don’t know if I miss them every day. Some days roll by so quickly with guests and Noah and chores and bills. I just motor through. I don’t feel quite guilty about that. A part of me understands like a mother understands her child getting busy in the sandbox and losing all track of time. Not missing them daily doesn’t make my grief any smaller. It just means I’ve learned to live forward.

I live around the presence of my mourning like a woman with a stray cat on her porch. Sometimes you have to feed it. Sometimes it scratches at the door. It’s often messy and stinky. And it will never, ever abide by your rules. But it’s also a soft comfort in your lap when you learn to live according to its demands and realize it’s here to stay.

“Thanks for being there,” I say to Phyllis after a stretch of silence where we both made room for our aching hearts. “All these years. And back then.”

“Oh, sweetie. I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Of course, I would. Ideally. But short of that, I’m so grateful I got to stepinto those impossible-to-fill shoes and to have the joy of raising you.”

I’m about to say something else when Aunt Phyllis continues, “You’re the child I never had. The daughter of my heart. I always figured God gives us people to fill in the blank spots. I like to think we’ve done that for one another.”

I smile. “Yes. Me too.”

“And I like that man an awful lot.”

“What man?” I ask.

“Kai.” I can nearly hear her smile through the phone. “I don’t know what he did to break you out of your adamant insistence on not dating, but whatever it is besides looking good enough to grace a Hollywood billboard, I approve.”

“Thank you.”

I’m quiet. Everything in me wants to spill all my secrets to my aunt, like I always have. I will. In due time, I will. I only hope she’ll understand why we started this mess in the first place.

We hang up after a little more talking. I promise to come by for lunch sometime this week.

I sit in the charcoal-blue light while the moon casts long shadows across the attic floor.

Aunt Phyllis isn’t wrong about Kai. He’s exceptional.

In the safety and stillness of the attic, I indulge myself in thoughts of Kai. I picture him on the beach after he taught Noah to surf. The way he looked the night I showed up on his porch bearing dessert. Him leaning on the pantry door frame with two bowls of ice cream in his hands. Us at my aunt’s party. The way he kissed me back at the nursery.

Kai.

He’s a warm hug. Strong arms wrapped securely so the world can’t reach in. He’s that mellow spot in the day when chores are done and the wind is blowing in off the ocean, gently rocking the porch swing. He’s a kind word. A guard dog on my side of the gate, loyal and fierce on my behalf. Kai is steady like a kayak maneuvering over waves in one smooth slice through choppywaters, never at risk of tipping, always buoyant enough to be reliable, moving forward with measured strokes. He’s the smell of salt air and tropics, and the feeling of the sun on my skin as my eyes drift closed and there’s no place important to be.

I’ve never met a man like Kai, and I’m certain I never will again.

And I’m also sure, when daylight comes, I’ll remember all the reasons I need to bear in mind that this is all a pretense. What seems plausible in the middle of the night will seem impossible by the light of a new day. I’m sure of it.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Kai

What I love most about my home is

who I share it with.

~ Tad Carpenter

I’m in my office, finishing payroll.

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