Tyler peered under the sofa and checked below the bed, two dressers, a desk, an end table and a nightstand— all the furniture in his mom’s assisted living studio apartment. “I don’t see it Mom.” Her left hearing aid had fallen out and disappeared into the clutter of the room, the compressed vestiges of what remained of her and her deceased husband’s suburban house.
“It’s got to be there somewhere.”
Tyler pulled his iPhone from the back pocket of his jeans and directed the flashlight beam under the sofa. “No luck, Mom.”
She patted his arm from her wheelchair. “Thanks for looking, honey. Did I tell you that Mrs. Nelson is here now?”
She actually had mentioned it several times in the last two days. Since he arrived on his monthly visit from western Pennsylvania, he was introduced to the same people on multiple occasions. He also found the stick of deodorant in her desk drawer that had been “stolen” by the health aides. At first, these things bothered him and his frustration spilled over towards his mom, as if it was her fault. Can’t she just pull it together? Now he knew there was not going to be any “pulling it together” and a saddened kindness settled over him. He still saw her dancing with his dad at their wedding, cooking Thanksgiving dinners for 20, and dressing in her finery to see Broadway plays. She was doing the best she could in a 370-square foot room, eating tasteless institutional meals, and going to bingo just to avoid another empty day in her room. “Mrs. Nelson is here?” He played along. “When did that happen?”
“A few months ago. A bunch of us were sitting in the lounge when she came in with her daughter—what’s her name? The one who was in all the plays. I got her number for you in case you wanted to call her.”
That would probably be Lauren. Call her? He hadn’t seen her since they graduated from high school forty-one years ago. They attended the same middle school and Mr. DelNegro’s Algebra II class in high school.
“I have to tell you something.” His mom leaned over from her wheelchair and in a confessional tone said, “Mrs. Nelson’s a little loopy.” She made the universal ‘kooky’ sign by pointing her finger to her head and spinning it. “She’s not all there a lot of the time.”
Tyler was thankful that despite his mom’s short-term memory loss and frailty, she still always recognized him and was capable of a normal conversation—when she could hear him.
“Anyway,” his mom continued, “She comes down from north Jersey almost every weekend to visit her mother.” She patted Tyler’s hand and he saw her battered veins, and constellation of liver spots. She left her hand on top of his and said, “Maybe you’ll run into her.”
***
Tyler shut the rear door of his Honda CRV and carried two cloth bags of groceries towards the front door of Golden Meadows Senior Living. Each visit he stocked his mom’s refrigerator with special treats. He passed a row of rocking chairs in front of Golden Meadows where three people had nodded off, heads either on their chests or awkwardly to the side. Another stared far away as if there was something fascinating going on at the apartment complex across the street. The last two quietly conversed, nodding to each other. “Good morning,” said Tyler.
He saw a flicker of eye movement in The Starer, glad to see some cognition and the other two returned his greeting, “Isn’t it a lovely day?”
“Yes, it certainly is.” It hurt him to see these withered husks of humans, like the dried, tilting corn stalks he passed on his way to Golden Meadows. Tyler turned to admire the fresh green leaves, catching the scent of the lawn’s first mowing of the year. He passed the massive lobby with its faux brass chandelier, and the baby grand nobody ever played. Just beyond the guest sign-in area was the downstairs sitting area, an array of armchairs and sofas parked around an electric fireplace. It was unnerving to think he might be occupying one of those chairs in twenty years.
His mom looked up from chatting with a woman and waved to him. He bent over to kiss his mom on the forehead and held the overflowing bags up, “I brought you some goodies. I’ll put them in your room.”
Tyler’s mom tapped his arm and pointed with her head in the direction towards a woman sleeping upright on the next sofa. “That’s her.”
“Who?” Tyler’s arms were aching so he put the bags down.
She whispered, “Mrs. Nelson” as if her normal volume would awaken her when nothing short of a bone-rattling earthquake was going to rouse Mrs. Nelson.
“Mom, I’m gonna put this stuff in your fridge so I’ll be back down in a bit.” He went up the stairwell with its antiseptic odor and opened the door to his mom’s room. Tyler cleared space in the refrigerator for the items he bought, pulled out a sheath of papers wedged in the back, and saw it was the missing doctor’s bills he had spent fifteen minutes looking for the previous night. He set them aside and then tossed a jar of expired mayo along with a limp salad in a plastic container with a clunk in the garbage.
Tyler headed down the stairs and saw a woman his age wearing leggings and a striped top talking to the now-awake Mrs. Nelson. The woman with Mrs. Nelson stopped and looked around before spotting Tyler. The faint glimmer of recognition set in, like a shape appearing through a lifting fog.
“Lauren, is that you?”
The woman leaned forward as if a few inches closer might help her decide who she was looking at. “Tyler Diggins, you haven’t changed a bit.”
She was charitable; he had gained twenty-five pounds and his hairline was in steady retreat. They maneuvered through a maze of wheelchairs and walkers and hugged. He didn’t know why; it was more like a reflex. They never knew each other well in high school or kept in touch over the past four decades. The embrace ended and they stood looking at each other, smiling, followed by a quick reassessment to see who they really just hugged.
They exchanged pleasantries: where each other lived (him Pennsylvania, her north Jersey), did they have kids (him two, her none), and who they had been in touch with from their graduation class. Her shoulder length blonde hair was now cut shorter, with some frosted highlights in it.
“Do you remember when Mr. DelNegro caught Vinny Castillo sleeping and whipped the eraser at him?” Tyler said.
“Hit him right in the head!” Lauren put her hand over her mouth but was unable to stifle laughing. “I guess I should probably get back to my mom. This was fun.” She hesitated for a moment. “How often do you get back here to visit your mom?”
“Oh, probably once a month or so. Since it’s a long drive and I’m retired, I stay in that hotel across the parking lot from here for a couple of days at a time. It’s just on the other side of the trees.” He pointed in the direction of the hotel. “I come and go around my mom’s schedule that way. How about you?”
Lauren turned towards him as if she was passing along a secret. “I love my mom, but I don’t have much of a life since I’m here almost every weekend.” She looked to see if anyone heard her but everyone was either engaged in their own conversation or had dozed off. “I don’t want to sound like a complainer but it does wear me down a bit.”
“I remember you had an older brother. Is he still around?” Tyler asked.
“He lives out in California now and comes to visit about twice a year so I’m pretty much ‘it,’ although he helps out financially.”
Tyler wished he had a brother or sister to back him up. His mom had a good pension from thirty years as an elementary school teacher but it would be nice to have a sibling to share the tracking of medical bills, prescriptions, doctor appointments, and shopping for Depend adult diapers.
“Anyway, the biggest help is Donna Delvecchio—remember her? She lives about three miles from here. We were friends in school so she lets me stay at her place whenever I’m in town. Her kids are all grown up, she’s divorced, and I think she likes the company. And a drinking buddy. It’s a bit of a wine-fest over there at times.” Lauren looked in her mom’s direction. “Anyway, I better check in with my mom. I’m going to help her with Sudoku. Maybe we’ll bump into each other again.”
***
Tyler kissed his mom good night and headed down the stairs. He stopped in the café, used the tongs to grab a few leftover banana muffins from the display case and wrapped them in a napkin, ready to head back to his hotel room. He realized the woman with her back to him reading her iPad was Lauren. “Hey, you’re here late.”
“Oh hi, Tyler.” She set the iPad on the table. “I usually stay until after the front doors shut, usually just hanging out with my mom in her room but the wireless connection is way better in this cafe.”
“Okay if I sit down? Tyler shoved the muffins in his jacket pocket and wondered what she thought of a guy taking day-old muffins from an assisted living home.
“Of course, sure.”
Tyler pulled up a chair. “How’d your day go?”
Lauren took a deep breath and tilted her head up before exhaling. “I kind of fibbed about coming down here for the wireless. My mom is so sweet but I really needed a break—she exhausts me at times.”
Tyler could relate; he’d just spent an hour with his mom putting together a list of her medications and searching for a Netflix DVD.
Lauren closed the iPad cover. “I’m really worried about her dementia. It’s hard to watch her deteriorate—she was such a vibrant woman—and I’m praying she doesn’t wind up on the Alzheimer’s floor.”
She teared up. Tyler wasn’t very good at this kind of thing, but took her hand and laid his hand over it. A few shiny drops edged down her face, curling around her mouth, so Tyler pulled the napkin off the muffins in his pocket and handed it to her.
“Thanks.” She wiped her tears and blew her nose. “What a load to drop on you. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. My mom doesn’t have Alzheimer’s, but I’m kind of in the same boat. We can be shipmates.”
“Shipmates. I’d like that.”
***
A month had passed since Lauren cried about her mom going to the Alzheimer’s floor and they were back in the Golden Meadows café after normal visiting hours. After meeting for the first time, Lauren had slipped Tyler her cell phone number and email address offering to help bring items to his mom on her weekly trips to Golden Meadows, and their online and FaceTime friendship had blossomed. She was showing Tyler how to set up a Facebook profile.
“I don’t mean to intrude but you never mentioned what happened with your ex-wife,” Lauren said. “Did you know the guy who your wife took off with?” She sat back in the padded wooden chair. “I’ve read that ninety percent of people have affairs with someone the spouse knows.”
Tyler played with the zipper of his pullover. “Yeah, I knew the person. Kind of. But it wasn’t a guy, it was a woman. She was a co-worker at the downtown branch office so I’d met her at a few Christmas parties, potlucks, birthdays.” One of the several therapists they’d been to characterized their marriage as “mutual ambivalence.” Tyler still felt like the air had been knocked out of him when his wife told him she was leaving him. And for a woman. It was all so bewildering; he had collapsed into their green leaf-print armchair, unable to move.
“Wow, I’m sorry.” Lauren closed Facebook and sipped coffee from a Styrofoam cup.
“I guess I’m kind of over the shock. Funny how our kids wound up helping us understand the whole situation better.” Tyler knew he was fortunate to have two wonderful, resilient kids who had grown up to recognize their parent’s flaws but managed to adjust to the divorce better than he did.
“Your kids sound lovely—I’d like to meet them some time. You know, I do feel like I’ve missed out on something in life by not having kids. My husband was in the Peace Corps in Ghana before we met and got some kind of nasty bug that left him, as he liked to joke—seedless. He didn’t know it at the time but it kind of took that option off the table. The flip side was we traveled and did things we wouldn’t have been able to do.”
Tylor swirled his decaf with the little wooden stirring stick.
“When Daniel got diagnosed with cancer several years ago—” Lauren deliberated, waiting for the words to come to her. “Time seemed to stand still at first and then it just sped ahead and he was dead. Just like that.”
“I didn’t mean to dredge up bad memories.”
“No, no. It’s okay. Sometimes it’s good to be out with it. I couldn’t have said that until the last year or so.”
Tyler sat back and realized he hadn’t had a deep conversation like this in years. He was sitting in a cheesy little café with just four tables at an assisted living home and feeling more comfortable with the person across the table from him than he had been in a long time.
Lauren blew her nose and stuffed the Kleenex in her empty cup. “Would you be up for getting a drink? There are a few places close to here we could check out.”
“That would be fun,” Tyler said. “How about I drive—that way you can have a wine-fest without getting a DUI.”
Lauren made a small fist and gently punched him in the shoulder. “Now you’re talking.”
***
Tyler was under his sink fixing a leak at his house when the text message from Lauren arrived with a bing.
“Visiting my mom this weekend, want me to bring flowers for your mom?”
Tyler wiped his hands on his shirt before texting, “Great. Thx!”
“What kind of flowers does she like?”
He’d never really given much thought to the kind of flowers she liked. He just knew she liked them. “Lots of color.”
“That narrows it down.” A smiley face emoji appeared.
Tyler was half-ready to drive six hours to Golden Meadows. He knew he couldn’t do it this weekend because he promised a friend he’d help paint several rooms in exchange for some Thai take-out. Every time Lauren texted or FaceTimed he felt a gentle electric current thrumming inside. The sun seemed brighter, the checkout lines moved faster, and each day opened with an air of expectation—reminding him there was a lot of living still to be done. He’d even started jogging again after several years, inspired by Lauren’s regular devotion to Pilates and yoga.
***
Tyler was outside raking, meticulously working the rake between a line of rhododendrons trapping a thicket of leaves. He enjoyed the contemplative motion of sweeping the leaves towards him with a shush, shush in ever-growing piles, broken only by the sound of the tines scraping the ground.
Sweat built on his brow and he went inside the house to get water. Pulling the phone from his pocket, he noticed a text from Lauren and realized he was so engrossed in raking he missed a text she sent shortly after he started working outside.
“She’s gone.”
Ten minutes later: “I really need to talk with you.”
Who’s gone? Tyler set his glass of water on the counter. Her mom? Did she escape from Golden Meadows?He began to tap a response, cancelled his reply and dialed.
Lauren’s voicemail came on.
Tyler leaned over the kitchen counter, plucked a stray twig from his hair, and stared at his phone, willing it to ring. When it didn’t, he gazed out the window at the tidy piles of leaves he needed to gather and bag. All forward momentum on the leaf raking ceased and he hoped the wind did not scatter his hard work to the four corners of his yard.
Lauren’s name and number suddenly appeared as the phone rang. “Tyler, where have you been? I texted you two times.” He heard several cars honking so he knew she was driving.
Before he could ask what happened or explain why he hadn’t responded to the texts, Lauren cut in. “She’s gone. Gone! I got the call from Golden Meadows a little after 8:30 this morning when they went to give her meds. She died in her sleep.”
In Tyler’s mind the conversation blurred into a jumble of words like a spinning roulette wheel waiting for the little metal ball to fall into place. Then the wheel stopped and he gained his composure. “I can leave here in an hour and meet you at Golden Meadows.”
“That’s so sweet but this is going to be too crazy. I’ve been dreading this and don’t feel ready to deal with it.”
Tyler could tell she was crying and driving and knew it was not a healthy mix. “I can help—”
“No, no, not with this you can’t. I have to deal with her body, there’s tons of paperwork to complete at Golden Meadows, then there’s social security, an obituary, notifying friends and relatives. It’s endless. At least she didn’t want a funeral service. Just donations made to the local animal shelter. My brother’s flying in tomorrow so that will be a big help. I appreciate your offer but I’m afraid you’d be standing around while we fill out papers.” Another horn blared in the background and Lauren barked, “Alright, alright, use your signal, idiot.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Just knowing you’re out there means so much to me. Look, I gotta go, there’s some kind of accident up ahead and the lanes are merging. Okay? Bye.”
The call ended and right then, Tyler felt more alone than he had been in a long time. He could not explain it, and he felt as if he tossed a lifeline to Lauren or she tossed one to him but they had both come up short, foundering in different ways. In only three days he had planned to meet Lauren at Golden Meadows. Now, that was off with no rescheduling in sight. It was selfish to think about himself while Lauren dealt with her mom. Still, it unsettled him in a new way; their visits at Golden Meadows added a sense of excitement and comfort he did not want scattered to the winds.
Three days passed without word from Lauren, and Tyler was torn between texting her, calling, or just being patient. Nothing helped except immersing himself in home projects and exercise. He finally got around to painting the old cabinets in his garage, and took off on long runs through East Park, huffing past mothers with kids bundled up in strollers, and elderly couples feeding the ducks.
***
The thick smell of lilies, roses, and tulips filled the air in the florist shop. A gray-haired lady with a green smock stopped snipping rose stems. “May I help you?”
“A friend’s mom passed away and I’m looking for flowers. What do you recommend?
“Lilies are always appropriate for a sad occasion.” She paused by a table with several bouquets. “Any of these white lily arrangements would do nicely.”
He pointed to one.
“Good choice. Are you taking them home or do you want them delivered?”
“Delivered, please.” He opened his phone, retrieved Lauren’s address, and handed the phone to her. “Here’s where to send them.”
The saleswoman copied the address on to a piece of paper. “Thank you. Now, what about the card?”
Card? Tyler hadn’t thought that far ahead.
“We could send a standard card if you’d like.” The woman smiled kindly at him. “Or you can write one and we’ll include it.”
“I’m not good at this, but I’ll write one.” He wished he was more eloquent and was envious of people who possessed a knack with words for solemn occasions.
“Here, take this.” She handed him a scratch pad and pen. “Take your time and get the words just right on the pad, and then you can re-write them on the card and it will turn out perfectly.”
“You’ve done this before,” Tyler said.
She nodded her head. “I sense this card is for a good friend.”
He wasn’t sure how to categorize Lauren. When he wasn’t with her, he was thinking of her. When they were together, the warmth she exuded wrapped him in an embrace like a comforter around his shoulders on a winter night. “More than a good friend.” Tyler scribbled words, scratched them out, wrote more, before coming to where he signed his name. Should he sign with ‘love’? Would that seem too pushy? Too needy? Tyler loved his mom and kids but it was not a word he bandied about often. He didn’t know how else to describe the sensation, and he warmed to it.
***
The gloom of Lauren’s mom’s passing turned the collage of autumn color on Tyler’s drive into a black and white photo stretching all the way to Golden Meadows. Tyler sat with his mom, was reintroduced to all her friends, watched TV with her, and straightened up her room, all the while half-expecting to see Lauren walk in.
Tyler put the leftover pizza in the fridge, wrapping the remaining slices in aluminum foil.
“I heard about your friend’s mother, Mrs.—what’s her name?”
“Mom, my friend has a name. It’s Lauren. You always refer to her in the third person but her name is Lauren and her mother’s last name is Nelson.” As soon as the words left his mouth he knew how hurtful they were. His mother looked down at her plate.
“I’m sorry.”
“Ma,” he put his hand on her shoulder, “I shouldn’t have said that.”
She put her hand over his and rubbed the top of it. “It’s hard when the people we care about aren’t around anymore. I miss your father and wish we could all be together again as a family.”
Tyler felt a sharp stab—so much was slipping away. “I know Ma.”
His mom turned in her wheelchair. “Does this mean you won’t be seeing Lauren anymore?”
“I don’t know, Ma.”
On his way out, Tyler stopped at the café to see if there were any muffins but the case was empty and even the serving tongs were gone. The coffee machine had an ‘out of order’ sign on it and a fluorescent bulb flickered like it was trying to send an undecipherable message.
***
After a week, Tyler texted Lauren to check in. “How’s it going?”
It was several minutes before he got his reply. “At Rutgers Med School office. Mom donated body to science. Have to complete more forms—disposal of remains. Wish this was over. Not sleeping well.”
“Can I call?”
“Not a good time. 8 people in waiting room w/me. Later?”
“Ok.” Tyler felt that if she could talk to him it would calm her. He couldn’t hide the pang of needing her in a way he hadn’t known until now.
There was no call later that night or for the next two weeks. His calls went straight to voicemail.
***
At the end of his visit to Golden Meadows a week later, Tyler turned his car north instead of west. He headed to Lauren’s house even though he’d never been there before. He had her address, but all their meetings had been at Golden Meadows. Should he call first? What’s the point? She wasn’t picking up.
The forty-five-minute drive sped by in the darkness of an overcast Sunday night. Thoughts raced through his head.What if she’s not there? Maybe he should pull over and text her. Should he just stop and think this through?
He pulled into Lauren’s development and matched the townhouse number to the one on his phone’s contact list. Her silver Camry was parked out front. The doorbell chimed and he stood there, unsure how to do this. He fidgeted with his car keys in his pocket.
The deadbolt clicked and Lauren opened the door. “Tyler, what are you doing here? This is a total surprise.” Lauren was dressed in a terry cloth bathrobe with a belt knotted at the waist. “How come you didn’t call?”
“I’ve been calling. You haven’t called me back for weeks.” It came out harsher than he intended. “What’s going on? Are you okay?” Tyler was one step down from Lauren, on the stoop, so he looked right in her eyes.
“Given everything happening lately, I guess so.”
Tyler shivered, realizing he’d left his jacket in the car. “Could I come in?”
“Now’s not a good time. I hope you understand,” Lauren said.
From inside the house, a chair scuffed. A man’s voice called out, “Everything okay, Lauren?”
“Is that your brother?” Tyler asked.
“No, it’s not. But I can— “
Tyler took a step back, almost stumbling off the stoop. “Now I get it. What were all those nights we went out for drinks about?” Tyler felt heat building in his chest, his jacket no longer necessary. “We talked for hours. Laughed our asses off too. What was that all about? Was I some kind of diversion?” He stalked back to the car.
“Tyler, can we talk about this?”
Tyler stopped and turned around. “That’s what I came here for.” His hand was on the car door handle.
Lauren followed him down to his car in bare feet. “Jesus, Tyler, stop for a minute and I can explain.” She stepped on a rock in the parking lot and hopped on one foot. “This isn’t what you think.”
He sat in the car and shut the door, fumbling for his keys.
Lauren knocked on the window. Her face so close she fogged it.
Tyler backed out, almost clipping a white pickup truck. In the rear view mirror, Lauren stood in the parking lot with her arms at her side. His heart surged and his breath came in short gasps.
A moment later his phone pinged with a text from Lauren. “You need to let me explain.”
He flipped the phone on the passenger’s seat and stepped on the gas. The long drive home was a blur of blame and recrimination. At 3:30 a.m. he pulled up to his house, having driven for six straight hours. No coffee, bathroom breaks, or radio. He reached behind him and rubbed his sweat-soaked, sore back. The darkened house, with only a dim kitchen light on a timer, wasn’t inviting. Tyler slumped in the seat, tempted to recline his seat and fall asleep. He retrieved his phone and saw Lauren had texted two more times before giving up.
Tyler unlocked the door, pulled his Penn State hoodie off, and it slipped from his grasp on the entry way floor. In the bedroom, he tossed his shoes into a corner and dropped on his queen bed with his clothes on. A great weight seemed to press him down; he could almost feel himself sinking into the bed. Sleep would solve things—for now—and he welcomed it as it overcame him.
***
A week went by and Tyler slogged through his daily routine. Coffee and internet surfing in the morning, a trip to get his cholesterol medicine, beer with frozen pizza at night. College football. More beer and pizza. It wasn’t healthy but he couldn’t stop himself. It was a full power failure, no brownout, no light dimming. He missed the spark of Lauren’s texts, the FaceTime banter, and the way time compressed, as if he had entered another dimension.
A visit to see his mom was coming up and he couldn’t be morose with his mom. It wouldn’t be fair and he didn’t want to burden her with his sinking love life. She lived in a different world now, and he wanted to keep it as blissful a space as possible.
***
At the Golden Meadows Holiday Gala in December, Tyler sat in the audience with his mother while a choir from the local high school sang Christmas carols. Later on, in the small theater a double feature was going to show Miracle on 34th Street followed by White Christmas. The smell of popcorn from the theater’s little machine wafted into the main hall. Tyler sat next to his mom and looked around at the other seniors in the room. Half of them belted out carols, words on the song sheets in their hands in big, bold print. Several people nodded off, despite the din, and sheets lay scattered on the floor around them. Tyler’s mom held his hand and tapped her foot to the music.
After the carols and a movie they adjourned to her room for dinner and the evening routine of watching TV. Tyler had one eye on the TV while he washed the dishes.
“Meet in café in 5?” flashed on his phone screen. It was Lauren. Tyler almost fumbled his phone into the sink.
“OK”
“Mom, something’s come up. I’m going to take off when I’m done cleaning. I put your leftovers in the fridge.”
“Okay, honey. Will I see you tomorrow?”
“Right after breakfast but first I have to pick up your prescription.” Tyler kissed his mom. “Good night.” He felt like a kid sneaking out of his parent’s house late at night to meet a friend.
Lauren was dunking a doughnut in her coffee, her pocketbook on the table.
“What are you doing here? Tyler stood next to the juice dispenser.
“The staff was very kind and boxed Mom’s stuff up and put it in a storage room.” Lauren blotted a few coffee drops on the table with a napkin. “I just didn’t have time to deal with it right then with so much other stuff going on.
“Like not calling me back?”
“Tyler, you’ve got this wrong. That’s why I want to talk.” She moved her pocketbook. “Please, sit.”
Tyler pulled the chair out and sat, hands in his lap. He wasn’t sure he was ready to listen to what she had to say. Why had he left his mom’s room so fast? The mix of emotions flustered him, but here he was, so he might as well hear her out. “How long have you been here?”
“A few hours. It took me that long to get the courage to text you.”
“And?”
“I know I’ve been a total shit lately.” She paused to wipe crumbs off the corner of her mouth. “I am so sorry. I just kind of hit a wall dealing with everything. I turned into one of those people who I never thought I’d be: numb and non-responsive. I can’t explain it any better than I guess that’s the way I grieve.”
Tyler recalled the first few months after his wife moved out. He had never been much of a drinker or TV watcher, but the TV turned into his companion. Its consoling glow and endless chatter filled the house, drowning out the stillness. His kids bought him a membership to a health club after they saw the empty beer bottles in the recycling. The membership went unused, and he made token appearances with friends badgering him to “get out more.”
“To top it off, my brother and I got into a big fight and were barely talking to each other when he left. And I miss my mom most of all.” Lauren cupped her hands over her face as if it were an oxygen mask, and took several long breaths.
“Aren’t you skipping something?” Tyler leaned forward, his hands on the table. “The guy at your place.”
“I’m getting to that.” Lauren paused, and clutched her pocketbook with one hand. “That guy—James—is a former coworker and friend. His wife asked him to move out a few days before you showed up at my door.” She let out a deep breath. “Anyway, it wasn’t the best time for me, but I’m a pretty caring person, so I said he could stay at my place for a bit since I have an extra room. Give him time to gather his thoughts.”
Tyler sat back. It sounded plausible. How could he be sure?
“James had been at my place a few days but his emotional needs were draining the little mental energy I had left. Five minutes before you arrived, I had asked him to get a hotel room starting the next day.
“Well aren’t I the jerk?” Tyler stared down at the table, fiddling with his Penn State class ring. “I don’t know what came over me—it just hurt so bad knowing you were with another guy.” He had always been the one in control of his emotions, the steady one. It was as if Lauren was removing one brick at a time from a fortification he built around himself. “I came down here assuming we were finished. I should have given you time to explain yourself.” It had been a long time since Tyler had felt the way he did about Lauren. His life had been consumed by her. Losing her so suddenly that evening was too much to bear, a wall toppling. “I am so sorry.”
“Don’t beat yourself up. I know it didn’t look good. I want to get back to where we were.” Lauren reached out and touched Tyler’s hand. “Can we do that?” He opened it and she placed hers inside and said nothing. The coffee maker gently hummed next to three stacked columns of Styrofoam cups. Thin slices of lemon floated in the water cooler, and three doughnuts sat in the display case.
Lauren looked at her half-eaten doughnut, “What do you say we go somewhere else?”
“I’m not sure we’ll be able to capture this ambience anywhere else.”
“It’ll be difficult, but let’s try.” Lauren picked up her pocket book and they walked through the main hall until she said, “Stop.”
“What?” Scanning the entry he saw the baby grand with a large poinsettia on it, glittery decorations proclaiming Merry Christmas, and some large striped green and red candy canes hanging from a few picture frames.
“Look up,” Lauren said.
That’s when he saw it: mistletoe.
“You’re supposed to kiss me.” Lauren positioned her face towards Tyler.
This was certainly a holiday gift come early. After all they’d been through. He wasn’t expecting it, which made it all the more pleasing. He leaned over, planted a kiss on her cheek and felt the warmth rising from her.
“That’s a pretty lame kiss. Here.” Lauren grabbed Tyler’s face and kissed him deeply on the lips. “I can do better than that, too.”
He wasn’t sure if it was the cameras everywhere in the building, but immediately after the kiss, an attendant came by asking if they needed to be let out since the doors locked after 9:00 p.m.
“Sure,” said Tyler.
The doors rumbled open and as they walked out, an icy landscape greeted them. A freezing rain glazed the azalea bushes and branches tinkled in the breeze. They skirted on to the grass adjacent to the sidewalk so they didn’t fall. A half moon slipped through the clouds and reflected off the ice, as if the world was made of fine crystal, and icicles hung from the street lights. Lauren’s car was encased in ice a half-inch thick so they both hung on to the car to steady themselves.
“I’m never going to get this door open,” Lauren said.
Tyler figured he’d need a blowtorch to clear the glacier formed on it. “It doesn’t make any difference.”
“What do you mean?” Lauren’s car keys were in one hand and she clutched the side mirror with the other hand to keep upright.
The parking lot was a sheet of ice glowing like a skating rink in the incandescence of the streetlights. “Where would you go? You wouldn’t make it out of here without wrecking your car.”
Lauren peered around the lot. “I don’t really want to sleep on a Golden Meadows sofa.”
“Who said you need to do that?”
“You have a better plan?” Lauren said.
“As a matter of fact I do.” Tyler grabbed Lauren’s gloved hand and linked arms with her. “Why don’t you spend the night at my place?” It was a bold move, partly out of necessity but more because he had wanted to ask that question and never had the confidence. Until now. Until that kiss. Tyler looked at Lauren and saw the glow of the moon in her eyes.
“I probably shouldn’t tell you this, “Lauren said, “but I’ve been waiting for you to ask me that for the last few months.”
They shuffle-slid across the parking lot arm in arm, tottering like two wobbly Emperor penguins on an Antarctic stroll. As they entered a copse of white pines leading to Tyler’s hotel, he turned to look back and thought he saw his mom standing in the window before the light went off in her room.
Ken Post migrated from New Jersey to Alaska 40 years ago, spending many summers deep in the woods working for the Forest Service. During the dark winter nights his imagination flares like the northern lights outside his window. Ken’s fiction has previously appeared in Cirque, Red Fez, and Poor Yorick.