Unforgiven(11)

“Let me help you get this house in order. It looks like a fucking frat house.” She shakes her head as she lowers her hands and begins pulling empty beer bottles out of the sink. I take the beer bottle from the counter and stuff it back into the fridge.
“You don’t have to do that, you know,” I say as I watch her pull the recycle bucket out of the kitchen pantry and start stuffing it with the empty bottles.
“I know.” She smiles softly. “I want to. Why don’t you go shower? It looks like you could use one.”
“Is that your way of telling me I look like shit?” I jokingly ask her.
“Yes. And you smell like it too,” she smirks.
Standing under the scalding water, I inhale sharply as the water bites at my skin. The pain feels good. It momentarily pulls me away from the pain that is tearing through my heart. I reach for the shampoo from the corner shelf and am instantly reminded of Lindsay when I see a bottle that she left behind. I pull it from the shelf and open the lid, bringing it to my nose. I inhale the sweet floral scent and am flooded with memories of my nose pressed to her head. Opening the shower door, I toss the bottle across the bathroom until it lands on the floor next to the trash can. I scrub my tired body and pray I can scrub away the hurt at the same time.
The house smells of cleaning solution and looks like it did weeks ago before Lindsay left me. Reagan is loading the dishwasher and I walk in to find a sparkling clean kitchen. Everything is neat and tidy and in its place, a far cry from how it was when she got here.
“Almost done.” She smiles.
“You didn’t have to do this. I would have gotten around to it eventually.”
“Pfft,” she snorts. “After the mold started taking over? I’m glad to help. But in return, you’re going to do something for me.” She wipes her hands on a kitchen towel and cocks her head to the side just a little bit. She’s demanding, and gorgeous. I can understand why Landon is hopelessly in love with her.
“Oh, I am, huh?”
“Yeah, you are. You’re coming over for dinner tonight. I know you’re off work for the weekend—and we decided this morning to have a little impromptu dinner party. So your house is clean—sleep off the beer you’ve been drinking like it’s what’s keeping you alive…”
“It is what’s been keeping me alive,” I mumble.
“Matt, what I’m trying to say is, this sucks. I know it does. Trust me. But you need to start moving on. You’re a gorgeous and fun guy…”
“Does your fiancé know you just called me gorgeous?” I joke with her. She rolls her eyes at me and sighs.
“Please?” she asks.
“Okay, I’ll be there. What time and what do you want me to bring?”
“Be there at six and you don’t need to bring anything. Just shave that fuzz off your face,” she teases me about my lame attempt at growing facial hair as an act of rebellion against Lindsay leaving. “And, Matt…” She pulls her purse off the kitchen table and takes out her car keys. “You better show up.”
“I’ll be there. I promise.”
“Sober.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I wink at her.
“See you in a few hours.”
“Thanks again, Reagan. I mean it.”
“Anytime.” She smiles at me and gives me a little wave as she leaves me standing in my kitchen. Looking around, I see that Reagan has put her own little touches in my kitchen. A towel hanging from the handle on the oven door, a scented candle that has never been lit is now making my kitchen smell like sugar cookies, and a post-it note on my refrigerator reads “Look Forward With Hope” with a little smiley face underneath it. For the first time in weeks, I feel a smile tug at my lips.
 

 
I drive up the long, newly paved driveway at Landon and Reagan’s new house and am in complete awe of the gorgeous home. Enormous isn’t sufficient enough a word for this custom house. I park my Tahoe and take notice of the spectacular multi-colored pavers that circle a large fountain in their driveway. They have a fountain in the middle of their driveway. I chuckle to myself. I grab the bouquet of flowers I stopped and picked up for Reagan as I step out of my car and take in the enormity of this house. Over the top. I wouldn’t expect anything less from my best friend. The oversized glass and wrought-iron front doors swing open and Reagan bounds down the stone stairs.
“You’re here!” She pulls me into a tight hug.
“What can I say? I’m a man of my word,” I mumble and squeeze her back.
“I’m glad you’re here. Tonight is going to be fun.” She pulls away and gives me a good looking over. “You clean up nicely too.” She laughs.