Tears start to fall down my cheeks from the thoughtful gesture. Here I am, barging in on his space and acting like a total priss, calling him names, and he does something like this. Forget the wheelbarrow of guilt; I’m going to need a dump truck.
I hold the note close to my heart and walk toward my bedroom when from the corner of my eye, something bright catches my attention. In the dining room, on the card table, is a bouquet of flowers with another note tucked under the vase. It feels impossible to breathe as I step forward to read it.
Emma,
Thought you might like a little color in the house. Ever since I’ve known you, having a home and a family has meant everything to you. I’m sorry this place isn’t more like a home. I hope this helps.
Tucker
“Oh my God.” My cheeks are stained with sorrow, with regret, with remorse for everything I said to him. How can he be so nice when I’m the one who should be apologizing?
I press the other note to my chest and go to my bedroom where I grab a set of pajamas and go through my nighttime routine.
When I reach the bathroom, I feel as though someone punched me in the gut and knocked all the wind out of me. Instead of the plain shower curtain encasing the tub, a white curtain with pink flamingos scattered across the fabric hangs from the railing. On the floor, a matching pink rug. Hanging on the towel hooks are pink, fluffy oversized towels, and on the back of the toilet is a pink flamingo wearing sunglasses holding a margarita glass. A snort of a laugh pops out of me, along with more tears. When I face the mirror, I’m greeted with a note taped to the glass. This one doesn’t need to be unfolded.
Emma,
Saw the flamingo shower curtain and went a little crazy. I’m not thrilled about the pink, but fuck, the towels are soft. Also, the medicine cabinet is cleared out and there is a special decorative box next to the toilet for any personal things you need to put in there. Sorry I didn’t think of it beforehand.
Tucker
And that does me in. I break down, right there on the flamingo-attacked bathroom. I hold my pajamas in my hands and cry, hating myself. He went through all this . . . for me. He got pink towels for me. He got a tampon box for me.
Peeling myself off the ground, I quickly get ready for bed while thoughts of Tucker swarm through my mind. When I reach for my toothbrush in the medicine cabinet, I immediately notice the absence of his condoms and in place of them, a note.
Emma,
Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Sorry, Em. I hope you can forgive me.
Tucker
That does it. I can’t go to bed without talking to him. I don’t care if he’s asleep. I quickly brush my teeth, wipe the tears off my cheeks, and deposit my clothes in my room. When I reach the bottom of the stairs that lead to his room, I try to tamp down the twisting and churning feeling in my stomach through taking deep breaths. Tucker doesn’t want an emotional wreck barging in on him. Be cool, Emma.
Feeling marginally composed, I take the steps one at a time, the creak of them sounding loud within the silent house. If he wasn’t awake, he’s awake now.
When I reach the top stair, I peek over to his bed where he’s resting with one hand behind his head, his night table lamp providing the only light in the room, and a hardcover book in his hand. I start toward him and that’s when he looks my way.
In the dim light, his book casts a shadow over his bare chest, his ruffled hair barely visible, and those soulful eyes of his breaking me in half.
I don’t even get a word out before I start breaking down again. Fat ugly tears cascade down my cheeks like a waterfall of despair.
With purpose, Tucker places a book mark in his book, sets it on the nightstand, and then scoots back on the bed, opening the comforter up for me. With a slight nod of his head, he calls me over. I spare no time in accepting his invitation. I join him in bed where I snuggle into his chest and hug him. I hug him hard, feeling comforted by the way his heart pounds against my cheek.
“I’m sorry,” I sob, my tears staining his chest.
“I know, babe.”
Babe.
That one little word unravels the knots forming in my stomach. The anger I expected to hear from him is nowhere to be found and instead, all I feel is his arm, pulling me in closer.
“I was so mean to you this morning and then you go and do all these nice things for me. I don’t deserve them. You should have left boxes in my room instead and told me to pack up.”
“Nah, you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
I sit up and look at him. There’s a light smirk on his face. How can he be so casual about this when I feel like total shit?
“Tucker, I’m serious. I was so mean to you, so inconsiderate. You need to tell me you’re mad at me, say something mean back to me.”
He shakes his head. “That’s not how this works, babe. We got in a little fight. I was a dick to you too. You caught me off guard, said some things I didn’t want to hear, and I cut you out. I’m just as much to blame. So let’s just call it a truce and start over. I’m sorry for being a dick.”
“You weren’t a dick. You were upset and I acted like a jerk. I’m sorry.” I shake my head. “I really didn’t mean it when I said I would shoot off tampon fireworks in your face. I would never do that. I don’t even know how to turn a tampon into a firework.”
He chuckles. “Really wasn’t nervous about the tampon fireworks.” He pulls me back down to his chest where I rest my head.
“You got me coffee mugs,” I say, not really knowing what else to say.
“I did. Got the impression this morning that the construction coffee mug wasn’t your style.”
“They’re just fine. I was only upset about you not talking to me and I lashed out, inappropriately. I don’t handle the cold shoulder very well. If you couldn’t tell.”
“Noted.” He sighs. “But for the record, I wasn’t giving you the cold shoulder.”
“You didn’t talk to me for a few days.”
I feel him shrug under me. “Nothing to say.”
“You couldn’t even say good morning? Or how about a little heads-up about trash day, or maybe a little nod in my direction that you were calling it a night.”
He pauses and then says, “Okay, maybe I was giving you a bit of the cold shoulder, but not intentionally.”
“I knew it.” Playfully, I pinch his side.
“Watch it.” He pushes my hand away.
I sigh into his chest and squeeze him again, making sure to let him know how happy I am that we’re talking again. “I don’t want us to fight again. I’ve been miserable without my friend. It makes for a very uncomfortable living environment.”
“Ah, you’re saying that because you want my eggs.”
“You can’t just cook your eggs and not make me any. It’s so unfair. And just so you know, that Chewy Bar did nothing for my appetite.”
“Shocking,” he says sarcastically. “The way you were parading it around my face, I would have sworn it was the breakfast of your dreams.”