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She shrugged. “Everything that wants to come back will. Same with the weeds. I love when the anise hyssop is in bloom.” She held the leaf under my nose.
“I keep smelling root beer.”
Her laugh tinkled like a wind chime. Jesus, I was obsessed with this woman. I was seconds from melting into a puddle in this garden.
“I don’t get root beer, but it makes sense. Anise is one of the ingredients.” She sighed, happily.
“Well, it’s hot as hell, and I need a shower before dinner, which is braising in the oven.”
“I can smell it from here.”
“It’s jackfruit barbacoa. If you couldn’t smell it from a mile away, I wouldn’t have made it properly.”
“Well, I’m starving, and it smells amazing.”
She trudged up the porch, stopping on the third step. Slowly, she pivoted to me.
“No,” she said, looking horrified. “You didn’t.”
Oh, shit. What didn’t I do?
“You didn’t fix the creaky step. You couldn’t have known.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you have a sentimental attachment to the creak. I can try to unfix it.”
“No, Gus... that creak drove me crazy for five years. It’s so dumb, but it’s the one thing I’d always forget. Then I’d step on the third step and berate myself for not fixing it. I can’t believe you figured it out.”
“It wasn’t that hard. I found the new boards in the shed. They looked old enough to match the rest of the porch, but new enough that they’d last a while longer. I cleaned up the old paint in the corners of the stringer. It wasn’t much.”
“Maybe not, but…” Her body leaned over the railing. The look on her face was unsure. I waited for her.
Come to me. Come on, Decca.I’m here. I wanted to do this for you since I saw you cringe when my foot hit the step on my first visit.I can be this for you. This can be real.
She nodded, gesturing to the door after an awkward silence. “Well, I also need a shower. I’m covered in grave dirt. Unless youwant to go first. You look... hot.” She halted, her cheeks flaming. “Uncomfortably hot, I mean. I don’t want to cut in line.”
“Go ahead. I want to put the tools back in the shed,” I said, kicking myself.
I threw the weeds in the burn pile and put the tools in the spots where I found them. Then I took them all back down again and sharpened their dull blades, berating myself with every scrape of the blade against the grinding stone.
In my wild, younger days, I would have said something so smooth, I’d have us both in the shower in two minutes flat. I’d be kneeling between her legs in the old clawfoot tub, and we’d have a lot of fun trying to fuck under that weak stream of cool water. But something about Decca paralyzed me.
She was too good for me. She was too good of a friend, and even though we were technically married, that’s all this was… a favor for a friend. A really huge favor. She did it out of love, but a selfless kind of love. Philia, not eros.
As her friend, I had to respect her enough to leave it at that, no matter how much I desired more with her.
When I finally made it inside, covered in rust, dust and cobwebs, I paused at the bottom of the stairs. She stood in the kitchen, her hair wet from her shower, soaking into her oversized black t-shirt. “You... What did you do in here?”
“I straightened up.”
“Where are...?” she trailed off.
“I kept everything. It’s in the garage. If you don’t like it, you can put it all back.”
Her lips were still parted as she stared at the recliner. Her breaths were deep and audible. Shaking and ragged.
Her fingers twitched. I came around her to see what was happening on her face. Her eyes were wide and sad, tears pooling as she swallowed them back.
“Dec, if I mis-stepped, I’m so sorry. I can replace everything. Except the dust.” I smiled. She didn’t. She just kept staring at the empty space where the cabinet and TV had been. I’d replaced it with a flat screen I’d mounted on the wall. I reached out for her, but dropped my hand, thinking better of it. A touch from me after I’d come in and made all these changes—settled in—would’ve been too much.
