Page 73 of Broken Dreams
“A sign to put it on and climb in the bathtub with some wine?”
That’s right, I love wine. I grab the bottle back and chug straight from the bottle because who has time for a glass? This is faster. “I mean, what else can it mean? The box fell right on my head! Not yesterday. But today, of all days. A sign it was, and I listen when God speaks. So I put my dress on, gathered my friends Zinfandel, Pinot, and Rosé, and we came to where dreams go down the drain.” I lift my bottle, cheering to the sky.
Grady huffs with a sad smile and then stands, climbing in next to me. “Hand me that,” he says, reaching for the wine, but I pull it to my chest. “I’ll give it back.”
I glare at him. “What makes you think you should come to my pity party?”
He raises one adorable brow. “You think you’re the only one who had their dreams go down the drain?”
I purse my lips. He has a point there. “You don’t even like wine.”
“No, but no one should drink alone in the bathtub on their anniversary.”
I’m sure that’s a rule. “Is that a law? Asher would know.”
“Not a law, but definitely a rule a friend ensures is followed.”
“We’re friends.”
He nods. “We are.”
“Who kissed.”
Just the edge of his lip tips up. So cute. “We did. Is that why you’re drinking?”
“Nope. I liked the kiss.”
“I did too.”
That’s good. Since we’re friends, he’s at my party, and it’s rude to not share, I hand him the bottle. “Here, friend, drink up.”
He settles in next to me, his long legs hanging over the side like mine, and he takes a swig. “Seriously, this stuff is nasty.”
“It tastes better after the second bottle,” I tell him, and he takes another swig then hands it back to me. “In fact, you lose all taste.”
“So, it’s your anniversary?”
“It was. It’s not anymore. Now it’s just a day. A day where nothing happens because the past is done.”
God, saying that aloud makes me hate this day even more.
“A fall wedding must’ve been nice.”
I look up at him, my eyes swimming with unshed tears. It was the most beautiful day. “The leaves hadn’t fallen yet so the trees were so pretty,” I tell him. “It was not too hot or cold, the sun was out, and we were on the cliff by the ocean. It was perfect.”
He takes the bottle again, drinking from it. “I got married in the winter in Oklahoma. It snowed the day before and Lisa was afraid of the ice. I remember going out to the church with the guys, salt, and shovels.”
I lie my head back against the wall, slinking down more in the tub. “I bet she was the perfect winter bride. How did you meet?” I turn my head to face him and watch the smile on his lips.
“I was at a bar in California. I was flying with a squadron then and had just gotten home from my first deployment and thought I was hot shit. We were trying to be like Top Gun, singing and hitting on girls. Lisa was there with her friends, she thought I was an idiot—which in hindsight I was. After she put me in my place, we spent the night talking, and for the next six days she was there, we spent every minute we could together. Four months later, I got transferred and she moved with me, then we got engaged.”
“How long were you married?”
“Two and a half years. I’ve been a widower longer than I was a husband. It was strange when that happened.”
“Oh, that’s so unfair,” I say, and that makes me sad. I had Isaac almost my whole life. We weren’t married that entire time, but he was mine and I was his.
Two and a half years seems so short and to lose that person suddenly is worse. I got the moments. So many of them. The drunken, late-night calls, the fights about nothing and the making up after, the family time and friend time, all of those memories I have called up when I needed to.
