I gave mine back.
“I don’t know what to say to that because it is and it isn’t. It would become your business because you live across the street. You’d notice I have them infrequently and when they’re here, they do their best to find reasons to leave.”
“Amelia,” he said gently.
I waited for more but that was all he had.
Then again, there wasn’t anything to say.
And anyway, he was speaking with his eyes. He was feeling my pain. He was feeling how it would feel if his children did the same.
And I could read the agony.
Looking at how I felt blazing out of his eyes, I knew why I buried everything.
Because if I didn’t, it would consume me in such a way that I would cease to be.
So that was it.
I’d used up my honesty.
Therefore, I shrugged. “It is what it is. I’m here now. We’ll see. Now, do you want a sandwich? I had some delivered from Wayfarer’s and I don’t know if you know, but they arrived half an hour ago. They’re in the fridge.”
He looked to the fridge as if he knew I needed a break from his scrutiny before looking back at me, his gaze shuttered but gentle. “I’ll get what I need.”
I nodded and turned away.
“Amy.”
I stuttered to a halt and looked back at him, knowing no one by that name was in my house, and being startled when I looked at him to see he was addressing me.
Did he forget my name?
“This,” he stated, throwing out a hand to the house sale carnage that was now my great room. “You did good, babe, and you gotta know it’s appreciated.”
I allowed that to feel good for a nanosecond.
Then I mumbled, “Thanks,” and moved away.
*
“Jesus H, you got nothin’,” Alyssa announced, standing on the landing with me and staring into my living room.
It was three thirty. The sale was over. The remaining items had been boxed and were right then being carted away by Junior and Jake, some to Goodwill, some to be stored for a possible later sale.
The rest of us were in my house, tidying.
But there wasn’t a lot to tidy.
I had a couch. A standing lamp. A single end table (the other one had sold even though it wasn’t for sale).
I didn’t even have any barstools (those had actually been on sale).
The rest was history.
Most of the moms of budding boxers were gone. A few remained, including Josie and Alyssa and their families (save Jake and Junior who had just taken off, Conner and Ethan going with them to help).
And Aisling was there. Mickey was outside hauling the end table that I wasn’t expecting to sell, which was the last thing that sold, to a buyer’s car with Cillian spotting.
“This is good, a clean palette,” I replied, also surveying the cavernous space that looked like no one lived there.
But it still looked better than it looked when there were boxes stacked everywhere.
And I was determined it would one day (soon) look amazing.
“A what?” Alyssa asked and I looked to her.
“A clean palette,” I repeated. “Now time to decorate.”
She grinned devilishly. “You need help with that, sister, I got a way with spending money.”
I had not been to her home. I had seen how she dressed. She took some chances (with hair, makeup and clothes) and it was admittedly not nice (but true) to say she skirted the skank side.
I still wanted her to help me decorate because I didn’t care what side she skirted. I liked her a lot.
“I’m ready when you are.”
Her grin turned excited.
“I know of a local interior designer who does very good work,” Josie joined our conversation, a can of Pledge and a dusting cloth in her hand, even though I had no idea what she could possibly be polishing since I’d sold my dining room table (that had been for sale) and she’d been nowhere near the end table.
“I want whatever I create here to be all me,” I replied carefully, not wanting to hurt her feelings and also not sharing that I had no idea who that me would turn out to be.
She tipped her head to the side as her lips curved up. “Then that’s what it’ll be.”
Alyssa threw her hands in the air shouting, “Girlie home décor shopping trip!”
More like fifty of them. I had a big house, and except for the kids’ rooms that were still untouched, it was now a clean slate.
On this thought, while Alyssa still had hands in the air and was celebrating, Josie turned concerned eyes to her friend. “Amelia will not want her home to look like a bordello.”
I sucked in an audible breath at what this might mean but more, how Alyssa might take it.
I let it out when Alyssa dropped her arms, burst out laughing, allowing herself to do that with abandon for a few moments before pushing out words while still doing it, “Are you sayin’ my place looks like a whorehouse?”
“I’m saying you decorate heavily in scarves,” Josie replied.
“Every girl knows lighting is everything,” Alyssa returned.