Page 42 of Demon On Deck

“Do you remember,” Mel says, moving an empty pasta bowl to the coffee table to sit down, “when you found that sad little Christmas cactus near the dumpster at my apartment building?”

I actually manage a smile as the memory plays in my mind.

Mel and I were moving her into her apartment. We were dragging boxes out to the dumpster to throw away. I’d gone to the back of the dumpster to close the lid and spotted a half-dead plant in a broken pot leaning against it.

“You said, ‘Leave it, it’s dead.’”

She smiles and takes my hand. “And what did you do?”

“Took a box out of the dumpster and put the pot and plant in it and took it home.”

“And you still have it on the patio.” She says, squeezing my hand.

“I do,” I say, squeezing back.

“All I saw was a dead, withered bloom. But you knew there was still life in it. If you were a flower, you wouldn’t leave you to wither away. You’d start clearing away the dead clutter and nursing you back to health.”

And now I’m crying.

“Good analogy,” I hiccup as tears break free.

“Only if it works,” she says, tugging me in for a hug. “Now get your shit together, or I’ll kick your ass.”

When Mel lets me go, I shake off my blanket and survey the room again. She’s right. I pick up the nearest containers, lean down to kiss my sister on the head, and go to the kitchen to start cleaning out the dead clutter.

I’ll never fully recover from losing Evren, but I can’t wither away either.

“Um, Kallie? You’re about to flood the sink.”

“Shit!” I yelp, slamming the water off and plunging my hand into the cold water to release the drain.

After Mel’s “Come to Jesus or I’ll kick your ass’ speech, I spent all yesterday cleaning my poor, mistreated house. Mel was completely spot on with her analogy: if I were the plant, my home was the soil, and I had been poisoning it with clutter and neglect. It took the whole day, multiple loads of laundry, and enough household cleaner to fumigate a small town, but by the end of the day, everything was clean and in its place once again.

When I woke up this morning, I wanted nothing more than to roll over and sleep for a year. I mean, I earned it. My house was clean, and I took a step in nursing my withering bloom of a heart. Instead, I crawled out of bed, made a double espresso, and got myself ready for work.

An hour into opening, and I’m a train wreck.

“Ugh, ridiculous,” I mutter as I wipe my wet hands on my apron.

Grey places a gentle hand on my shoulder, giving it a tiny squeeze while reaching into the sink to grab a piece of oasis. “You good, boss lady?”

A soul-deep sigh leaves me as my shoulders slump forward.

“Not really,” I admit, shifting my attention to where Grey stands at the counter, working on a bright floral arrangement.

He says nothing. Doesn’t push. Just continues to work on his piece, waiting for me to talk or not. Giving me the choice.

“I wasn’t sick.” I finally say. “Not physically.” His eyebrow lifts, but he remains silent, giving me the time I need to continue. “Evren and I-”

My voice catches. The familiar feel of tears pricks my eyes, threatening to overwhelm me. I take a few deep breaths to calm myself, then continue.

“We aren’t together anymore.” The words wobble, but I manage not to fall to pieces.

Grey sets down the flowers and floral shears, turning to me with both sympathy and understanding on his face. Then he walks over and wraps me in a tight hug.

“I’m so sorry, Kallie.”

I nod against his shoulder, not trusting my voice.