DEP FLASH FICTION
From Heartbreak to Reconciliation
A Love Story
After washing my hands in the kitchen, I dried my hands and hung the dark orange towel over the stainless steel sink divider. I spread the beige kitchen blinds and looked around. The sun sank below the horizon, and darkness stretched over weak rays as a chill that carried an early winter moved through the town. Thick, fluffy clouds released flurries of dancing lacy flakes over the sidewalk, accumulating on aluminum fences and trimmed lawns. The white frosted the maple branches with angel sprinkles.
Thanksgiving arrived in two days. I had no family to speak of and few friends to call by name. I sent postcards with no return address. I told them about how happy I was with a fiance who was good to me. I told them Alison was camera shy, and I’d send a picture in the future — when she felt up to it. It was an open-ended decision of an illustrative exploration, building bridges between a temporal love swap and the reality of another lonely night, tossing in dark satin bedsheets.
I’d call Alison the love of my life, but the pride in me weighed me to my knees. After two years, I hadn’t moved on, but I’d gotten better at calling myself to the carpet and accepting the blame for my mistakes, even if only in my head.
Without Alison, I had no woman, and I was far from happy with the hand God had dealt me. The end of me seemed happier than the life of me. Alison and I’d wanted to bake a turkey or a chicken. I didn’t cook, and she didn’t bake. But we’d figure it out together. When I met her in high school, Alison was a city girl, but you’d never know it. She wore a dress and heels and changed oil or replaced a flat tire on the side of the road. She was what I needed, but I wasn’t what either of us wanted back then. But I want me now; I want us now. We’d talk after reading Raymond Carver or her study Bible. The conversations always led to sweaty sex on the balcony.
Jim Beam had a grip on me two years ago, but I’d dealt a blow to alcoholism. It’s incredible what’ll sober a man up — his love leaving him. Alison Stucky left me, and I lost it all. Mom died, and Dad dropped dead by his own hand. Life left me flapping in the wind to course correct or meet the fate of the graveyard of my past.
I leaned against the counter, facing the marble island where Alison and I did things that’d make her mother blush. It was pine back then, but I remodeled the entire house — hell, I remodeled myself. Alison would love the new cork flooring in the kitchen.
The coffeemaker percolated, filling the air with the rich aroma of black pumpkin spice brew, a comforting ritual amid my solitude.
I opened the pine cupboard above the marble island and shifted streakless glasses and black mugs for my holiday mug in the back. I stood on the balls of my toes and retrieved the mug. I closed the cupboard and rinsed it out. I grabbed the pot of its maker and poured the steaming seasonal blend into my mug.
I took a quick sip. I looked over my shoulder and approached the marble counter, picking a hazelnut bottle to splash into my coffee.
I stirred the brew with a spoon.
The pine radio played Mariah Carey, pushing holiday songs through the Rockville speakers.
Sudden rapping at the door sent shivers the length of my spine. I moved to the living room and set my mug on the mahogany kitchen table. I wasn’t expecting anyone. I crinkled my eyes. If it’s those Mormon boys again… I folded my hand. I moved over the cream carpet with framed pictures on the maroon walls. I positioned the dark leather sofa and matching couch around a glass coffee table with a large TV above the fireplace. I rolled up my sleeves.
“Who is it?”
“Alison,” she said, looking over her shoulder.
My eyes eased into a soft confusion. “What do you want?”
“Look,” she said. “I need your help.”
“Tell me what’s going on first,” I said.
“I’m in trouble, like big trouble,” Alison said, her voice cracking.
I rolled my eyes, unlocked the door, and the brisk air filtered inside. “Is that blood?”
Alison motioned. “I know what it looks like,” her voice cut through the air, her words heavy with implication.
“That knife and blood say you’ve done something you shouldn’t have done.” I swallowed hard, hoping to avoid ten years in prison as an accomplice to whatever she’d gotten herself into.
Alison rolled her eyes. “You going to let me in or not?”
I sighed and took a step back.
Alison pushed through the door.
I locked the door and peeked out the maroon living room curtain.
“No one followed me,” Alison said, as though she had me figured out.
“I didn’t say — ”
“Didn’t have to.”
“Who’d you kill?”
“I finally did it,” she said.
“Killed your stepdad?” I said apprehension tinged in my voice. I picked up my phone.
“What are you doing?” she said.
“I know a talented lawyer.”
“Wait,” she said, approaching me.
Alison grabbed my phone and tossed it on the couch.
“I have a gun, you know?”
“I finally did it,” she said.
“Did what?” I said, ruder than I’d wanted to.
“I killed a chicken at Granddad’s farm.”
I released the tension in my chest.
“He said I couldn’t, but I did it,” Alison said, recounting the deed. “Hell, I didn’t think I had it in me.”
I shrugged. “Am I supposed to be happy or — ?”
“We’re finally going to bake a chicken together,” she said. “Granted, it’s not a turkey but — ”
“I’m proud of you, not just for this, but for coming back.”
“It’s been a lonely two years apart,” she said.
“I prayed for this day.” I tilted my head. “Or night.”
Alison laughed. “We have much to be thankful for.”
“I stopped drinking.”
“Mom knows your new neighbors, and they’ve been monitoring you.”
“I had to stop for me.”
“And I could never give up on us,” Alison said, choking back a lump in her throat. “I prayed for us.”
“Will you marry me?” I said without a second thought.
Alison held up her hand. “I’ve never taken off your ring.” She spilled into my arms. “I can’t wait to pick out a dress.”
“Your mother said you’d look good in her dress.”
Alison lifted her head off my chest. “My mom?” She sighed and returned her head to my chest. “Our moms work at the same firm,” I said.
“My mom blabs too much,” Alison said.
We laughed.
Alison grabbed my hand. “Come and take a shower with me.”
“I think I’d like that,” I said.
(© 2024 AC)
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