Page 5 of Handy

“Oh, I don’t know.” He waves his hands and sighs. “Ignore me, I’m just feeling very anti-love right now.”

I hum in understanding. The room really is spinning now, and if I don’t do something to perk up my mood then the tequila demons might win. I open my TikTok app and the first video that pops up is the cute twink who runs the flower shop in town and recently had some big drama with the tattoo shop next door.

“Oh my god, I have an idea.” I sit up so fast that I manage to somehow lose my balance and tumble off the couch.

Jericho cackles and I scramble for my phone again, already pulling up the website I have in mind.

“Little Shop of Flowers?” He reads out loud over my shoulder.

“I’m going to send Griff flowers,” I explain, squinting at the order form like that will somehow make the words stop swimming on the screen. “Okay, what should I put in the message?”

“Dear Griff, please rail me, love Ledgie.”

“Noooo,” I groan with a laugh. “Something classy.” It takes me a second, and then I’ve got it. I laugh with glee as I type in the message and finalize the order, then roll over onto my back again and drop my phone somewhere I don’t bother paying attention to.

“Hey, has that water spot always been there?” Jericho asks.

“I have no fucking clue.”

GRIFF

Some nights the quiet feels more stifling than others. It’s like the silence reminds me too much of how things used to be. Riley acted like he was fucking allergic to the quiet. I would come home from work and stepping inside the house would feel like getting clobbered by sound—the TV blaring at full volume, music playing just as loudly, and more often than not the background noise of whatever video game he was obsessed with at the time. I grumbled about it back then, threatening to bring earplugs home with me from work, sometimes actually daydreaming about what it would be like to come home to silence.

My chest squeezes and I sigh around my next bite of grilled pork chop, chewing it slowly and staring down at my plate. I guess I should have been more careful what I wished for. I won’t make that mistake again… if I ever get around to dating again.

It’s not that I haven’t moved on. I went to therapy, I know all the cliché bullshit like “Riley would have wanted me to be happy” and “Just because he died doesn’t mean I did too.” I know I wouldn’t want him moping around, single for the rest of his life if I’d been the one in the car instead of him. I just can’t imagine anyone else wanting anything to do with my ornery ass. I couldn’t believe Riley found me charming enough to fall in love with, and it’s even harder to imagine I’d win that lottery twice.

I spear the last bite of food with my fork and shove it into my mouth. I haven’t bothered to eat at the table in eight years—it’s just fucking sad sitting there all by yourself—so it’s easy to slide my plate over a few inches on the counter and leave it next to the sink to wash later.

Maybe I really should give some serious thought to the hobby idea. Building with Legos or learning how to garden has got to be more thrilling than spending my nights haunting my own house like a fucking ghost. My knees creak a little and my back and shoulders ache from my workday as I wander into the living room. At least turning the TV on will break the silence.

Movement out the back window catches my attention before I can sit down. Curiosity and boredom draw me over for a closer look. Maybe a small part of me is hoping to see my chatty, way-too-cheerful neighbor in his underwear again. I haven’t had any company other than my own hand in eight years, so excuse me for a split-second pervy daydream.

It is Ledger… and he’s not alone. I shift to one side so they won’t see me staring if they happen to look over, but I keep watching as he and another guy stumble out onto his deck. The dusky, fading daylight makes it hard to see too many details, but the other guy is definitely attractive. He has thick biceps like Ledger does and long, dark hair. The two of them bump into each other and laugh. Are they drunk? Is that his boyfriend? I don’t think he’s married, unless his husband is never at home.

I let out a rumbly huff and shake my head at myself, stepping away from the window. It’s none of my business. I don’twantit to be my business who Ledger dates or marries or gets drunk with on random weeknights. I don’t even know him. Maybe I’m just trying to live vicariously, imagining a life where I have someone over to drink and laugh with.

I make another noise in my throat, almost laughing at whatever bleak mood decided to creep up and steer my thoughts tonight. It’s a doozy, that’s for sure. I’ve never been the ‘come over for a drink’ guy, and I’ve definitely never sat on my deck giggling with anyone. I doubt that’s going to change now in my late forties.

If I knew how to snap my fingers and change it, maybe there would be some hope that I wouldn’t have to spend the second half of my life alone. But I am who I am. Riley got that. He liked me the way I was, resting bitch face and all.

Maybe there’s someone else out there who will too, but I’m not holding my breath.

Chapter 3

GRIFF

I take my timesipping my coffee and enjoying the feeling of the morning sun on my bare skin. If I glance at the house behind mine a little too often, it’s only because it’s directly in my line of sight. It has nothing to do with wondering whether Ledger’s guest stayed overnight or if he’s going to come barreling out in his underwear again and assault me with small talk.

I manage to get through my whole cup uninterrupted though. Good. That’s what I wanted.

I tilt my empty mug to my mouth, shaking loose the last few drops at the bottom before licking my lips. I linger for a few more minutes and then finally shuffle into the house to get dressed for work.

By the time I’m dressed I’m running a few minutes late. Luckily, my bosses are far from hard-asses. Annoying friendliness aside, they’re pretty good guys to work for. I step out my front door and nearly trip over a vase of colorful daisies sitting right on my porch. I grunt in surprise and stare at theflowers for a second, trying to work out what the hell they’re doing there.

I look at the house to my right, then the one on the left. Maybe the flowers were meant to go to one of them? I really don’t know a damn thing about any of my neighbors, so I can’t even guess. Maybe there’s a card with a name or address on it to let me know who these were actually meant for?

I stoop down to pick up the vase. The flowers are actually kind of nice, bursting with bright shades of pink and orange and blue. I find a card tied around the neck of the vase and I open it. There’s no name and no address, just three typed words, all in caps.

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