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I chuckle into my fist.
A half hour later, I’m bored, so I pull out my phone. I check my email and am surprised to see Portland Fire and Rescue asking if I’m available to come in for a second interview.
Holy shit. When I hadn’t already heard from them, I’d assumed I hadn’t made it to the next round. Excitement wars with trepidation in my gut. I can’t tell whether I’m relieved or disappointed to have made it to the next round. Things have changed so much since I first applied—in ways I could have never predicted. Things that change what I ultimately want.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Collins
The next item to tackle on my list is making the house my own. I’d like to start with a new kitchen table. Caleb picked it out, and it’s so modern it’s an eyesore. We went back and forth for an hour in that showroom, and ultimately, I relented. But I should start with the space that feels most like him, so I decide to revamp the primary bedroom. Everywhere I look, all I see is Caleb and memories of the two of us. Even though I’ve gone through his clothes and boxed up his personal items. The space still feels like us, and since there’s now only me, it’s time for a change.
So that’s what I’m doing rather than going to the event down at the fire station. Ansel invited me, and I really considered going, but it just feels like too much right now. Being around the fire station again—the equipment, the smell, the people we used to host in our home. That’s not adding the layer of Ansel, of course. Of hiding whatever this is between us in front of the people he works with.
I’m starting my transformation by painting the walls. I’ve already ordered new bedding online, and I chose a pale blue for walls that’s present in some of the florals on the comforter. Bye-bye beige. Caleb really liked this color, but I was never a fan.
Next, I plan to swap out the lights on the nightstands and find some new curtains for windows, along with a new area rug, then find some art that works with the new color scheme. I think that after all those changes, it will feel like my bedroom. There’s something intensely sad about that.
Since I’m doing this on my own, my plan is to work in sections, one wall at a time.
I pull the drawers from the dresser and set them on the bed so that I can shift the shell of the dresser away from the wall. It’s a step forward, but it’s also a goodbye to the life I thought I’d have, to the man I used to share this room with.
The thought of the hotel invoice floats to mind, and I push it away. I’ve gotten good at not addressing that whole gut feeling.
The paint is already in the paint tray, and after the drawers are all off my bed, I shimmy the dresser from the wall and place the drop sheet on the floor. My AirPods go in my ears next, and I press Play on one of my favorite playlists.
I’m only working for a few minutes when the ding of a text comes in, so I walk over to the dresser where my phone sits, and I pick it up to see a message from Ansel.
Ansel
No problem. Totally understand. Let me know if you change your mind about needing help.
Me
Think I’m good, but thanks.
He offered his help, but I told him that I think this is something I need to do on my own. One great thing about Ansel, besides the way he looks, is that he doesn’t push. He’ll make it known that he’s available to help, but he won’t force his assistance.
I set the phone down and go back to painting the wall. When I’m done with that wall, I get to work on the wall with the other dresser on it, removing the drawers so I can muscle the dresser away from the wall.
Cutting in and then rolling the paint onto the walls has a meditative quality to it, and my mind starts to wander, bouncing between memories of Caleb and the present day with Ansel. I’ve noticed lately that when the memories of Caleb hit me, they no longer feel hard like rocks. More like a tennis ball. I don’t think they’ll ever feel like a feather, but if I can get to the point that they feel like a pillow, I’ll be happy.
Eventually, my thoughts go to Ansel and what things might be like between us after I finish my checklist. Could there be a future?
What will sleeping with him be like? It’s not like I was a virgin when I met Caleb, but I’d only had a few partners. Plus, it’s been years since I slept with anyone else. Will it feel awkward? Judging by what’s already happened between Ansel and me, I’d say no, but who knows?
I imagine how people might react if they see us around town together. Will they be supportive or judgmental? Will they think something was going on between us when Caleb was alive?
What kinds of things will we do together, and what side of the bed will he want to sleep on?
There are so many questions I don’t have the answers to.
Including why Caleb was in Galveston.
I shut down my subconscious.
Finally, I wonder how Ansel’s coworkers will react. These are some of the same men and women Caleb and I used to have over at our house. How will they respond to Ansel taking Caleb’s place in that regard?
And then there’s the one question I’ve been afraid to examine—can I really be with a man who does the same job as my deceased husband? The job that killed him and made me a widow? Can I spend my nights worrying that the worst is going to happen, especially now that I know firsthand that it can and does? I want to think that I’m brave enough, but what if I’m not?
