Page 153 of Down Bad

“I’m better off without him in my life,” says Cash after a bite, always turning to his deep thoughts when we’re supposed to be eating and relaxing.

And this particular deep thought edges on a thought I’ve been trying all day not to think.

Whether I’m better off with or without a particular someone.

Someone who I am totally, completely, honestly, literally not thinking about at all.

Not wondering what he’s doing.

If he’s okay.

If he’s happy.

But obviously that’s not who Cash is talking about, and this is not about me. “You mean Nico?”

“He’s just more trouble than it’s worth.”

I shrug. “Doesn’t that mean he’s worth something, though?”

Cash sits with that.

“I think you should be honest with yourself. Is Nico really the worst? Or is he just … someone you need to be a little more patient with? Maybe he’s not used to showing his best side. He needs time. He needs … someone who’ll wait for him.”

“I don’t get it,” mumbles Cash, confused.

“Me neither,” I admit, then finish the last bite of his mom’s sandwich (yes, I’ve decided to presume these were her sweet idea) and throw a smile up to the sky.

The evenings are all the same lately.

I pull into my driveway and walk straight into my house.

Because I won’t bear to look at the one next to mine.

I put the TV on because my house is otherwise way too quiet.

I hum to myself while I make dinner. Eat at the table. Open up my laptop while I eat and scroll through numbers and figures and lay out what I plan to do tomorrow.

For some reason, I can’t sleep in my bedroom.

I’ve been sleeping on the couch. With the hum of the TV.

It feels less lonely or something.

When I wake up on Tuesday morning, there’s just something in the air, like it’s thrumming with electricity. I take the long way to work, if just to remind myself what Main Street looks like when it’s sleepy-o’clock. I love watching other business owners doing their usual routines. Sweeping up the sidewalks out front. Pulling out their signage or taking out boxes of trash or just walking from here to there, checking in with each other, catching up.

Then I reach my store.

And find six ladies waiting in a neat line by the door.

What in the heck? That’s my first thought.

Maybe they’re lost and need help, is my second.

When I park and get out, I find all six of them are waiting for me to open up because they each have very urgent flower-related business that only I can help them with.

This is just the start of the day.

After the six ladies are helped, Patricia Parker comes by with a smile, looking for something to spruce up her front window. I’ve gone past it a zillion times, as she’s on my street, and know she already has four pretty pots of hydrangeas on that front sill I gave her before. “Well, a woman’s allowed to change her mind now and then, isn’t she?” I smile and suggest a lovely complement to her hydrangeas.