Dolores’s kind face falls to indignation, the slow whistling of the boiling pot like a personification of her offense. “She doesn’t call? Why not?”
I fidget with my hands as Dolores brings teacups over. “She favored my brother. She and I never really got along. She wanted me to be a cheerleader, but I stuck to gymnastics; she wanted me to wear more dresses, but I liked pockets and pants; she likes designer purses, but I stick to Target. You know, the basic drama that meanswaytoo much to her. After Jeremy died, she’s been off with my cousin, who’s a freshman in college. She and Mom get along a lot better.”
“That’sawful. Especially since she knows what it’s like to lose a child,” she says, placing a bag of tea in each cup as she pours hot water, steam spiraling into the air.
I don’t want to linger on that, feeling horrible for making Dolores even slightly upset. “It’s alright. I got Dad. He’s really amazing. They’re divorced now, and it’s even kind of nice—I can openly tell him about my problems with Mom, and he gets it.” I grip the warm mug. “And I met you, so it’s all working out.”
Dolores gives a genuine, closed-lip smile, sitting in a creaking wooden chair. I take a scone, breaking it open before taking a bite, leaning over so the crumbs hit the table. My eyes widen like I’ve just tasted sugar for the first time. “These areamazing, Dolores. I can never get my scones like this.”
“Oh, do you bake?”
“Absolutely.”
She warmly looks at me, the lines around her mouth deepening. “Well, I’ll have you come over one day, and we can bake more scones. Pumpkin season is coming, and I love pumpkin scones.”
“You have no idea how much I’d love that,” I say, putting her scone down. “You’re seriously just what I needed in my life right now. You and Tiffany.”
Dolores takes a bite of her pastry, and for a fraction of a second, I wonder if she can make Dampfnudels. Her eyes peer up at me. “People are like bees; we are social creatures. We need it.”
I hesitate on my next question, hovering the scone at the edge of my lips. ”Can I ask you a question… about men?”
“Of course,” she chimes, holding the scone up like one might with a glass of wine.
“There’s this guy at the gym called Luke that I met a few months before Jeremy died. We sort of almost dated, but then Jeremy, you know, passed away… I ignored being social for the last six months, and he’s still interested. But there’s a lack of aspark. I see him and feel warm and comfortable, but I don’t get a lot of butterflies. I mean, I did at the very beginning, but it never hit me deep, you know?” I pause, getting lost in how good it feels to get this off my chest. “Can that be built? I’m nearing thirty, and honestly, I just want to come home to someone. And Luke would be agreatguy to come home to. Sorry if that’s too much to answer. I know I sort of just threw that one on you.”
She sighs, chewing before speaking. “You know, I was married in the early seventies. We lasted for a few years before I cut ties with him. I loved him, and he was a great source of comfort when our daughter later passed, but Bob never made me feel howKenny Williams did.” Something glints in her eyes as she looks out to her backyard.
I curiously grin. “Who is Kenny Williams?”
“A handsome man that I met at the wrong time. I married Bob, my ex-husband, then met Kenny a year in. I stuck it out with Bob, especially since we had just had our daughter, Sharon, but Kenny showed me I had chosen the wrong man. Bob had a great job, treated women well, but he wasn’t mylover. He was essentially a roommate that I had ‘okay’ sex with, but I didn’t know any better until Ken took me for a ride on his Harley one evening... by the time I left Bob, Ken married another woman.”
I frown. “Oh, thatsucks.”
“Yeah,sucksis putting it lightly.” Dolores chuckles until it deflates into a sigh. “It’s alright, though. He is still with his wife, and I am happy for him, but he showed me what falling in love is really like, what itcanbe. The point is, even if you want to settle, you should know there are two types of loneliness. One is while you’re in a relationship, and the other is when you’re at home, alone. I’d always choose being home alone than being married, but feeling lonely.”
“But what if I amalwayslonely at home?” I ask, fearing that with an immensity I wasn’t aware of until my brother had left me.
Dolores’s eyes are stern. “I’d rather spend one year with Kenny and forty years alone than forty years with Bob, but never getting thechanceto meet my next Kenny.”
Eyeing my tea, those words wash over my soul in a way that changes something in me, wondering if my “Kenny” is around the corner.
I hope he is.
HowbadlyI want that.
And maybe he can smell as good as Ryder does.
R Y D E R
* * *
I'mat Andrew's home later that night, lying on the guest bed and staring at the popcorn ceiling. Most people hate them, but they don’t offend me. They remind me of the only place I liked as a kid when Sarah and I had to frequently move around.
The rest of the homes were a fucking shit-show.
I reach for the water bottle on my nightstand, the burning sunset dropping over the boring suburbia. Every muscle in my body aches, and I groan all the way to a sitting position. My abs are on fire.
Julie needs to dig deep into my muscles before I head out of town again, especially in my glutes; they will burn like hell tomorrow.
