Page 20 of A Lot Like Lavender

I had to know her. To speak to her. To test her name on my lips and learn everything a person could about a perfect stranger.

It took the entirety of the semester for me to gather the courage to approach her. So when the last week of class came, I jumped to my feet—ignoring my clueless best friend at my side—in pursuit of one goal. But just as I reached out to tap her shoulder, hand shaking and head convinced I’d experienced something akin to love at first sight, James beat me to it.

“You’re beautiful,” he’d said, without even introducing himself. Like he, too, couldn’t wait another minute to tell Emory what every guy in the room knew was a universal truth.

Had he seen her all along? Had he lost sleep thinking about how to strike up a conversation or had he only noticed her that morning? When she’d pulled her hair into a loose bun at the base of her neck and took so many notes she’d had to stop to stretch her hand. When she’d smiled, like she knew a secret, as the professor discussed a summer internship through the zoology department, and she’d folded the info pamphlet neatly and hid it away in the back pocket of her jeans.

It didn’t matter.

My mystery girl,myRed, brushed James’ compliment away with the wave of her hand—painfully delighted—before twisting her fingers in that red hair again and introducing herself.

I walked away, and she was his.

James and Emory were together from that moment on. A combo. A team. Their names forever conjoined in sentences as if they were one and the same.

James’ dreams became hers, and Emory’s his, and I had the privilege of calling them both my closest friends. Of helping them find a piece of land to settle on. Starting the farm and building the barn I slept in last night. I stood next to James as he married the woman of his dreams, never once letting myself imagine what could have been, because they were perfect for each other. James was the best man I’d ever known, and he loved his wife more than anything.

And that’s the thought that pulls me back to my senses.

Emory is still his wife.

I shake off the momentary lapse in judgement and hand Buttercup back to her owner, quickly replacing the rabbit for the nail and a hammer, and my ease from a moment ago with a bitter sense of betrayal, a heavy weight bearing down my back. So much so that I can’t bring myself to look Emory in the eye when she questions my presence.

“What are you doing here so early?”

“I noticed these steps were looking a little worse for wear when I was here the other day. Thought I’d take care of them real quick this morning before checking in on Pam, and then I’ll be outta your hair.” I hammer a nail in one stroke and move to the next, wiping an unexpected trail of sweat from my brow. Bill offered his nail gun, but I’m glad I didn’t take him up on it. Even after all the time I spent on the three “Cs” all night, at this moment, with the shame of so carelessly perusing my best friend’s wife, it feels prettydang good to hit something. To pour all the pent up feelings I've been wrestling with all week into this project. I need some sleep or a long ride on my bike. “I’ll be finished up in no time.”

In my peripheral, I see Emory’s bare feet—toes painted every shade of the rainbow—shifting weight back and forth as Buttercup hops freely around her. “Molly, could you please go take care of Fezz and Inpigo? They need to eat and be brought out to their pen for the day.”

“But Mama, we’re fixin’ the porch,” Molly whines, throwing both hands out towards our work. Then quickly echoes, holding her hand out for a nail and the hammer with determination in her eyes. “Should be finished in no time.”

When she successfully nails it down through the wood, the rush of pride I feel almost helps me forget what I’m actually here for today and the impossible discussion I need to have with Emory.

“Thanks for the help, Little Red,” I say, unable to stop myself from tugging her little bun again. “Why don’t you go do what your mom needs you to do, and then maybe you can help me with another project later.”

I’ve made a mental to-do list around here that I intend to see through. Even if it means another sleepless night in that barn, which is where I plan to be anyhow.

Though she rolls her eyes at the interruption, Molly puts her knuckles out for me to bump. “Teamwork makes the dream work, Doc. Don’t finish without me.” She skips up the stairs, only stopping to scoop up Buttercup and give Emory a quick hug before passing by. “Love you, Mom. Oh, and you have zit cream on your chin.”

Though it’s a bad idea, I can’t resist glancing up to seeEmory quickly slap her hand over her chin as her cheeks grow perfectly pink. She snorts into her hand.

“Cute.” I laugh with her. “Your cheeks match those jammies of yours now.”

Emory plants her hands on her hips, forgetting all about that zit as her ire immediately grows. “Jordan Love, I know for a fact you were raised better than to speak about a woman’s pajamas.”

“Wasn’t it your kid just last night discussing a grown man’s pajamas?”

“He sleeps naked.”

I raise an eyebrow, leaning against the rickety railing. My next project.

Emory’s face grows more red. “I wish I didn’t know that.”

“Same… And here I am just wondering where I can get a matching pair of jammies with your face printed all over them.”

“I made them,” she says, clearing her throat. “It’s a stupid hobby. Dinah got me into it a few years ago.”

“Dinah? How is she these days?” Emory and James were pseudo-parents to Emory’s little sister after their parents were killed in a car accident. Despite the tragedy, though, Dinah always seemed to keep her positivity and light. Probably, in large part, due to the way Emory swooped in to take care of her and how she all but followed Emory around like a shadow.