Page 51 of A Me and You Thing
When I awaken every morning, my first thought is of Quinn. When I go to bed at night, my last thought is of Quinn. I have no idea how to move on from that. My heart still aches for her. Ironically, the only one who can comfort me is the one person I can’t have. Explain that one.
I’ve tried. Can’t do it.
My mind wanders back to a day so long ago, the day we were walking hand in hand on the beach and she was five months pregnant with our girls. It was a perfectly sunny day, and the sun felt good on our skin.
“Sawyer? Do you think the small moments matter?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like right now. The world seems perfect. Me and you. Our babies inside of me. Walking along this beach. I don’t think life gets better than this. I mean, people search and search for happiness, yet it proves to be elusive. Then one day you realize a simple walk on the beach with the people you love is everything you’ve ever wanted and you don’t need anything else. It’s what life is all about.”
I remember smiling at the Quinn Speech.“Guess it depends on what you want out of life. Different people want different things.”
“I want this. Forever.”
“Me too.”
She was so right. That small little moment in time is one of my best memories. I just didn’t know it at the time.
Why didn’t I know it?
Then I kissed her. And we didn’t stop. We didn’t care who was watching or staring. We kissed like two teenagers on a date. We had our own home, our own bedroom, just a few streets away. Instead we chose the beach to make a spectacle of ourselves. I don’t remember caring. We were both into it, into each other. The outside world didn’t really exist. Just me and Quinn, kissing on the beach and letting ourselves get a little carried away.
Okay. That’s enough. I’m cutting myself off. The memories can be sweet, but they can also turn bitter very quickly.
I can’t move on. I don’t have it in me. It’s not as if opportunities haven’t been thrown my way. Bree is living in my home, and I notice the way she looks at me sometimes. But my mind... it just can’t go there. I’m not ready. She’s made the girls so happy, though. I owe her, big time. I can never repay her for the unselfish sacrifice of her life, her career, and her dreams
I reach out and run my fingers over Quinn’s name on her headstone. The epitaph is written in the traditional verbiage.Beloved Wife and Mother. I wanted it to say,You’re my fave. Somehow it felt too whimsical to place on a headstone. I regret that decision. She is my favorite person in the world and always will be, even when she’s out of it.
I whisper. “It’s you, Quinn. Me and you. It will always be you. You’re my fave.”
Okay, that’s it. I need to go. Right now. Before I fall onto the ground, curse the world, and grab tufts of grass in my fists as I break down in a way a grown man never should. Inside, I’m screaming, but the silent scream is the most agonizing never-heard scream of all. I breathe in and out, calling upon my self-control. It’s always a heartbeat away. I have to grasp for it every day.
I get to my feet and walk away, knowing I’m as dead as Quinn on the inside.
Chapter Sixteen
Bree
YOU CAN DO this, Breanna. How hard can it be? Just follow the directions. Supposedly, everything turns out when you do that. In theory.
I bought a boneless chuck roast at the grocery store, along with all of the other listed ingredients for the recipe I saved on my phone. My plan: to surprise Sawyer with a home cooked meal. Family dinnertime has become important to him. I love it too. I love the conversations we have as we sit together and eat—okay, maybe not the ones about his daily work at the aquarium, but I grin and bear it. I love how interactive the girls are with all of us sitting together at the table. They say and do things I might have never noticed unless we took the time to share dinnertime with each other.
The girls are now two years old, and they’re progressing like crazy. The safety gates on the stairs have been removed. We finally took down their cribs and bought them cute little toddler beds with matching bedspreads. It was long overdue.
The one-year mark of Quinn’s death was a tough spot for Sawyer. He came home at night not only carrying take-out, but a white prescription bag as well. He later told me he needed something to help him sleep. His mourning is a testament of his deep and abiding love for her. I don’t see him as weak, I see him as loyal.
As for me, my one-year mark of taking care of Josie and Jordyn came and went without too much commentary. I’ve been here for fourteen months now. I simply told Sawyer I wanted to stay, and he readily agreed. I thought he’d get all noble and tell me to move on with my life. Instead, he seemed relieved. We’ve become a team when it comes to caring for the girls, and he knows I’m happy right where I’m at. End of discussion. To push it further would be wandering into a territory he’s not ready to face.
I quit my job, sold my townhome, and had my belongings put in storage. And that was that. It was much too easy to leave my old life behind. I don’t miss it at all. It was just a thing to do until I found the life I really wanted.
The girls are busy watching their favorite Disney movie and snacking on Goldfish, giving me a moment to get dinner in the oven.
Okay, I’ve covered the roast with salt, pepper, and chopped garlic—which took me forever to figure out how to get out of its peel. I had to watch a YouTube video about it. It’s stupid, a total waste of time, and I make a mental note to purchase—because evidently this exists—readymade chopped garlic next time. Assuming there is a next time. I sear the roast on all sides in a sauté pan of butter. For some reason, it’s supposed to keep the juices in while it roasts. I have no idea what a dutch oven is, so I figure the 9 x 11 glass baking pan will do the job. It takes me forty-five long minutes to peel and chop onions, carrots, and potatoes. By that time, I’m ready to call it quits. But I’ve come this far and I’m not about to give up. The appeal of take-out is sounding better and better by the minute though. This is so time-consuming. The ease of the frozen food aisle is calling to me.
I place the roast in the pan, surround it with the veggies, add a little beef broth and tomato paste, and stand back to admire my work. It looks amazing. I’m ridiculously proud of myself. I did it. Me, Breanna Kingston, can actually do something besides make packaged mac and cheese or peanut butter and jelly for the girls. I’m really good at opening the cereal box and making triangular shaped toast too—with no crust. And I’m an expert at slicing bananas, apples, and grapes. I can heat hot dogs in the microwave to perfection and my grilled cheese rocks. I never burn the bread (anymore). As for eggies, they are now my specialty. I’ve taken light and fluffy to new heights.
I’m becoming a cook. Ha! Maybe all this effort will be worth it in the end.
