That little taste of desire, of pleasure, of human connection— well, there isn’t a way to describe it or a price to assign to it. It’s completely unique and invaluable. I’m taking an interest in food again, I’m listening to music for more than background noise, and I’m appreciating the feeling working out gives me. Nothing is about going through the motions anymore. Everything feels intentional and thoughtful, even decisions I make with work. Hell, I’m even fantasizing again. However, Wren has complete ownership over that. She dominates every little fleeting thought I have, her moans, expressions, and laughter keeping my mind plenty occupied and satisfied.
And now, the day has come that she returns with her sister for another fitting. I have butterflies. I haven’t felt such excited, nervous energy since high school when I first met my ex. Even though I want to give myself a hard time about feeling such a way about a woman I’ve met once and hooked up with the same day, I give myself a pass. I want to be excited about life again.
They’ll be here after lunch, and knowing that makes the morning go by so painfully.
Thankfully, after just a few appointments with overly excited brides and family members who undress me with their eyes, we close for lunch. Usually I savor a midday break, but today I'm ready for the hour to be over with. Still, I know wanting it over won’t make it so. I’ll do my best to enjoy my time with Hanna. For the first time in maybe months, I’m providing her lunch; and for the first time ever, it’s something I’ve made myself.
We sit down in the front sitting room for once and I present a pasta with arrabiata sauce, chunks of bufala mozzarella, cooked spinach, tomatoes, and mushrooms. And, of course, some Italian bread from our favorite bakery in town. Her eyes gleam at the feast. “I have to say, I assumed you couldn’t make more than a scrambled egg or oatmeal, so I'm very impressed already, Manny.”
“Don’t say I never do anything for you,” I chuckle and grab my bowl.
“Did you make the sauce yourself?” she asks.
“Yup. Cooked it most of last night to let the peppers really bloom, or whatever it’s called.”
She takes a bite and her face moves from satisfaction, to a glare. “You’ve been holding out on me.”
I raise my arms in defense, bowl still in hand. “I promise. I watched videos all week on how to make this so I could make it for you.”
Hanna narrows her eyes some more, and then smiles wide. “That is just about the sweetest thing you’ve ever done!” She giggles and continues to eat before she is looking at me again. “You know, I don’t know what’s gotten into you these last couple of weeks, but I like it. You seem… refreshed. Renewed, even.”
“I took our talk to heart,” I admit. “I want to start learning to enjoy life again. There’s always going to be growing pains whenever you’re leaving a phase in your life. I guess for a while, I was just too afraid of those. So, thank you for your talk.”
She’s beaming as she sets her bowl down and throws her arms around my neck. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to have this revelation,” she sighs.
“Well, just remember, it’s a process. I’m on a high right now, but doesn’t mean that it’s going to stay on an upward momentum forever.”
“Of course. I don’t want you to go all… Icarus,” she chuckles.
As we resume eating, there’s a knock on the door. I motion to Hanna that I’ll get it. Moving from the couch, I move over to the door and pull the blinds up. Admittedly, I'm hoping it’s Caroline and Wren, early for their appointments. If it hadn’t been for that hope, I would have ignored the knocking.
It’s not Wren and her sister. It’s Dane Montgomery— my ex-wife’s divorce attorney.
Even though I long to just shut the blinds and act like I never saw him, I know such a thing won’t make whatever this is go away. Something is about to hit the fan, I feel it in my bones. It’s never a good day when there’s a lawyer knocking on your door.
Taking a deep breath, I toss open the door and cross my arms. “Can I help you?”
The shit-eating grin on his face is enough to make me itch to slap him. Montgomery extends a large, manila envelope. “You’ve been served, Mr. Efron.”
I cock a brow at him; behind me, I can hear Hanna setting down her food and walking over. “For what?” I ask.
The man just chuckles and walks away. My head is already swimming as I shut the door and glance at Hanna. Her eyes are a mixture of concern and frustration. My feet carry me back over to my spot. Sinking down on the couch, I take a deep breath and open the envelope. I read through the initial page as Hanna looms over my shoulder. “What’s it say?” she ask.