Now, I barely hold on to my pride to not beg her for a chance to explain it all any and every time we interact. When Jed was still alive, the chance to hear about her, how she was doing, came more frequently. I could live with my mistakes. Now, more often than not, it’s by pure coincidence I hear about her, and not knowing about her haunts me.
I wince, remembering her voice snapping, “Jesus, will you shut the hell up, Nick? God, you can be such a jackass,” when I last laid eyes on her last summer through a FaceTime call one of my best friends had set up so we could talk face-to-face.
“I am a jackass, Sunshine, but I never intended on being one to you. Never,” I say fiercely in my empty bedroom.
I reach over to my nightstand and grab my phone, debating whether or not what I’m about to do is a smart move when I decide to go for it anyway. I pull up an empty text and send her a quick message.
I had a dream about Jed.
It’s the anniversary of the day her brother, Jed, died three years ago. Maybe she’ll understand why I’m reaching out. Since it’s 4:00 a.m., I don’t expect her to respond. Then again if I’m on a text string with my brothers—guys Jed and I used to work with at the Great Alaskan Lumberjack Show—and their spouses, she rarely does. I never hear a peep from her unless she’s saying “Congratulations” to one of our mutual friends about some accomplishment. She’s grown into a strong woman with few insecurities. She was raised confident in love. And I’m positive Maris hates me. I gave her too many reasons to.
When my phone vibrates with an incoming text, I almost fall out of bed. Good dream or bad?
I start to type and stop. Start and stop again. She responded. God, what the hell do I say? I threw words into the inky sky never expecting her to respond. As I hesitate, a second text follows her first. Nick, for the love of God. This doesn’t require a dissertation.
And I can’t prevent my lips from curving upward. This is one of the things I miss most about her—her snarky humor. Maris and I used to trade good-natured barbs back before hers became laced with bitter wariness. Not that I blame her. If the tables were turned, I’m not sure I could have dug down deep enough to have spoken with me again let alone found the strained civility that she’s maintained between us for the sake of our friends who have reconnected and fallen in love over the past years.
“God, Jed. What the hell should I say?” My hands pause as I try to figure it out.
I owe Maris an apology dating back almost twenty years. I owe her respect. Well, I owe those to Jed as well—along with so many things I’ll never be able to repay.
After Jed steamrolled into my life, he showed me real things worth fighting for extended beyond food and shelter. Like friendship. As long as I live, I’ll never forget when he happened to come back to the same grocery store he spotted me at a few days earlier and found me waiting in the parking lot for a woman who never showed up. He demanded the man he was with—I later found out his uncle—call the police in an attempt to find a mother who abandoned me.
And he taught me love truly does exists. All it cost was his blood, the swipe of a pen, and life without him all these years.
Quickly I type, Both.
She sends me back a bunch of laughing emojis before, It took you that long for a one word answer?
I don’t acknowledge her taunt. What are you doing up? Couldn’t sleep either?
I’m pushing it, pushing her, but after so long we’re having a conversation where she’s not telling me to go to hell or storming away. And if this means that for this moment I have Maris back in my life, I’ll take it however I can.
Not really, comes her reply. I can’t get the date out of my mind.
I doubt any of us who loved him will.
Maris sends me a broken-heart emoji, and it sums up what I’m feeling on so many levels. Then her next words send me reeling. He’d hate this.
Hate what? I hold my breath, wondering if she’s going to address the acrimony between us.
No such luck. The fact that it’s been years and we’re still mourning him as if he died yesterday. At least, I am.
Me too.
Really?
I reel back as if she were in the room and literally slapped me. Does she think her brother meant so little to me that I don’t mourn him like our friends Brad, Jennings, and Kody do? I start furiously typing out a string of sentences about how emotionally jailed I feel since Jed’s been gone, but I realize none of that matters. Not right now. Backspacing them, I end up replying, Yeah. Really. Every single day.
The dots move on her side. Then, He’d tell you to get your head out of your ass, Nick.
Even as a lone tear falls, I type, Long term hazard of knowing all of us?
Pretty much.
Before I lose the opportunity, I type, Maris, can we talk?
Isn’t that what we’re doing right now? is her immediate reply.
Really talk. Like we used to?
There’s a long pause before I see the dots flash. I’m not sure that would be a good idea.
Why not? I practically shove my fingers through the screen as I punch in the two words.
Because, I made myself a promise a long time ago.
I hesitate before asking, What promise is that?
Never to be afraid to walk away since I deserve everything and if I can’t, it wasn’t worth it anyway.
Maris… I start to type her name, but she beats me in responding first.
Goodbye, Nick.
“No. Don’t go. Come back. Please.” Even reading them, her words are like a knife sliding between my ribs, puncturing my heart.
“God, Jed. If I could change one moment in my past, it would be that night. Even if it meant losing the damn belt. I’d give it all back if I could make it all right between me and your sister. I swear to you, I would. Give me a damn chance.” Then I decide to type what I need to. After all, she’s a woman whose heart is generous enough to give me potential solace despite her guard being up constantly.
And today, I think we both need it.
Maris, please. Just a few more minutes.
I’ve got to get some sleep, Nick. It was a long night at the Brewhouse and it’s going to be a longer day. But hey. Stop dreaming. Take it from someone who knows. Dreams don’t come true anymore.
My thumbs remain frozen over the keyboard as I absorb her words. The sentiment weighs heavily on my chest, as does the gold cross her brother used to wear that he left me in his will. I never take it off, not for any reason—even training. I put my phone aside without saying anything more, my heart thumping so hard it’s causing a ringing in my ears.
Realizing I’m never going to fall back to sleep, not when I prefer the reality of being awake, I swing my naked body out of bed. “Might as well get an early start on today.”
I cross the vast expanse of my bedroom and snag shorts and a tee out of a chest of drawers. Pausing in the act of grabbing socks and drawers, I catch sight of the imprint of my head on my pillow where I know I’ll be chased tonight by one of the Smith siblings through the depths of hell. And as irrational as it makes me, it still offers me some comfort even as it makes my stomach cramp.
“Not the way to begin a run,” I mutter. I carry the clothes into my bathroom and quickly change before slipping on running shoes.
Within minutes, I’m out the door—one foot in front of the other. My mind clears of everything except the hills and valleys I’m conquering. And the demons that never quite seem to go away, no matter how many miles I try to put between us.