Hey, I typed, beginning the text. I hate to do this to you, but I ate something funky at the game tonight. I’ve already puked once and I feel like shit. I might just lie down and try to sleep. Can we raincheck...?
I knew she was obviously working, so I had no idea when she would be able to read the text and respond. Knowing my luck, her phone would die before she could read my message, and she would just drive on over, thinking plans hadn’t changed.
I pocketed the phone and walked back out into the living room. April was looking through my book and movie collection, which was alphabetically arranged in the bookshelf.
“I can’t believe you own this movie,” she said, holding up my copy of Clueless. “You seem like such a serious guy. I wouldn’t have had you pegged as a fan.”
“I am not that serious of a guy,” I protested. “I can laugh at funny stuff just like everyone else.”
I joined her next to the bookshelf and ran my finger along the DVDs until I reached the D section. I pulled one of the movies out.
“Would a serious man own a movie called Dick?” I asked.
She took it out of my hand.
“What the...Dick? I have never even heard of this.”
“It is hilarious. Low-brow at times. So there. You have been debunked.”
“I have been debunked,” she said in a robotic, sing-song voice
She turned to me quickly, as if remembering something.
“That’s another thing!” she said, much more loudly than she needed to.
“What is?” I said. Then, I added, “My neighbors would love to know too!”
She smiled, and then grimaced, the smile clearly hurting her cheek.
“You hardly ever use contractions when you speak! What’s that about?”
I had never had anyone point that out to me, not even Robin. I doubted that it was true.
“That is not true!” I said. “I use them all the time.”
“See! Right there! You said ‘That is not true’. Why couldn’t you just have said ‘That’s not true’? Because you don’t use them!”
She laughed again, and grimaced again, clearly amused by her observation.
I needed to check my phone to see if Holly responded.
“Let me get your water. I left it in the kitchen.”
She started to protest, but I was already walking away. I stood behind the counter and slid my phone down onto it. There was no reply.
Fuck. What would I do if she showed up?
I took the water back over to April, who had resumed sitting on my couch. It was ten after one.
I sat to her left, wanting to once again put my arm around her, but feeling like the appropriate time to do that had probably passed.
“This is a comfortable couch,” she said, patting the cushions next to her as if needing to emphasize her point.
“I’ve had these for...gosh, maybe eight years?”
“So you were, what, early twenties when you got them? There must have been a girl involved in picking them out. If it was just you picking them, you would have gone with black leather.”
“How do you know this?” I asked, knowing full well that she was probably right.
“All college-aged guys are the same,” she said, patting my leg. “And very few have good taste in anything.”
I laughed and nodded my head in agreement.
“So, was there?” she asked.
“Was there what?”
“A girl involved.”
I wasn’t entirely sure why I had no desire to bring up Carrie, or talk about the past. It’s not like April would be offended that I had previously been married to a woman who died from cancer. Most people hear that and they automatically feel for you. But I hated being the widower. I hated the sad looks people gave, the way they treated you as if your life was over before it even began. I was not even fucking thirty years old. No one should have lost a spouse at this age.
“Yeah,” I admitted.
“What was her name?”
“Carrie.”
I thought her name a lot, but I don’t think I had spoken it aloud in years. I half expected her to come walking out of the bedroom, as if beckoned.
“She was your wife?”
I sat back and looked at her. I didn’t know whether she knew or whether this was just a guess.
I nodded.
“Carrie. That’s a pretty name,” she said after a moment.
“Her parents were Stephen King fans.”
“Are you joking?” she laughed.
I shook my head.
“Oh my god.”
“Different mental picture now, huh?” I said.
“No, I was picturing the pig’s blood the whole time.”
This time I laughed.
She turned toward me on the couch and placed her hands on my knees. The right side of her face was still red and slightly swollen, but she still managed to look lovely.