hot tears threatened to spill. In my frustration I kicked at the monstrous outdoor trash can with my bare foot and then grew furious all over again when that crushed my toes.
I hopped around cursing the trash and the trash men and Grady for leaving me this horrific responsibility.
The trash had always been Grady’s thing. As far as I was concerned, Grady might as well have been a magical fairy that made my full trash bags disappear and new ones reappear. Even when he was sick, he still managed to take care of the trash for me. I had done it sometimes if he had to stay in the hospital, but he had always reminded me when the trash needed to be moved to the curb.
Now he was gone and I had no one to help me with this monumental task. It seemed so silly that I couldn’t remember this one thing. We had plenty of trash to keep my mind on it. I had to take the trash to the garage at least once a day, sometimes two. It was really amazing how much trash the five of us could accumulate.
But I couldn’t remember. And it infuriated me.
I had forgotten last week too, so now both of our huge outdoor receptacles overflowed. The indoor trash can at my side mocked my efforts. How could we go another week with this much trash sitting around here?
Thankfully, at the beginning of November it was finally cold enough that I didn’t have to worry about making the entire neighborhood smell. Just my house.
I kicked out at the trash can again, blind with my frustration. I had never felt rage like this before. I was usually a calm, rational person. But I couldn’t stop this tide of fury from swelling. It rose high over my head and then crashed down on me with disconcerting strength.
“God, you’re such an asshole!” I screamed at it. “I hate you!”
“Are you talking to me? Or the trash can?” A calm voice called me out of my darkness.
I looked up to find Ben Tyler watching me. He leaned against the garage frame casually in a very nice navy blue suit. I had never seen him dressed for work before. We must usually leave for work at different times every morning or I was too busy with kids to notice him.
His hair had been combed back, more professional than he usually wore it. His shoes were polished and his shirt was nicely pressed. He looked like a lawyer this morning. I thought this image of him might be difficult for me to reconcile with the usually laid-back version of him I experienced, but this morning, despite my trembling frustration, I found it easy to put this label on him. I could now picture him in a corner office, barking orders at a pretty secretary and charging ungodly amounts of money per hour for his time.
He really was a lawyer. And if clothes measured any kind of success, he was probably a good one.
“The trash can,” I finally answered his question. “I hate it.” That pointless admission made me realize how ridiculous I was acting. I pushed my hair out of my face and stared down at my feet. I realized for the first time how cold they were against the icy garage floor.
“I hate it too,” he said seriously. “God, have you heard what an asshole it’s been lately?”
I lifted my eyes to meet his dark ones. They twinkled at me, forgiving my crazy outburst. He should be judging me right now. I was acting insane. But instead, I saw only gentle understanding.
“I forgot to set the trash out,” I confessed, although I was certain it was obvious. “And I forgot to set it out last week. I’m frustrated.”
“I can see that.” He walked forward until we were only a foot apart. “I haven’t seen you around lately.”
His topic change startled me. I found myself looking away again. It was true, we hadn’t really seen much of each other since Emma and I had interrupted his date a few weeks ago. We had said hello in passing and I spoke to him briefly at the mailbox one time. But I had been trying to keep my distance.
Seeing him on a date with a young, beautiful woman made me realize how different we
I hopped around cursing the trash and the trash men and Grady for leaving me this horrific responsibility.
The trash had always been Grady’s thing. As far as I was concerned, Grady might as well have been a magical fairy that made my full trash bags disappear and new ones reappear. Even when he was sick, he still managed to take care of the trash for me. I had done it sometimes if he had to stay in the hospital, but he had always reminded me when the trash needed to be moved to the curb.
Now he was gone and I had no one to help me with this monumental task. It seemed so silly that I couldn’t remember this one thing. We had plenty of trash to keep my mind on it. I had to take the trash to the garage at least once a day, sometimes two. It was really amazing how much trash the five of us could accumulate.
But I couldn’t remember. And it infuriated me.
I had forgotten last week too, so now both of our huge outdoor receptacles overflowed. The indoor trash can at my side mocked my efforts. How could we go another week with this much trash sitting around here?
Thankfully, at the beginning of November it was finally cold enough that I didn’t have to worry about making the entire neighborhood smell. Just my house.
I kicked out at the trash can again, blind with my frustration. I had never felt rage like this before. I was usually a calm, rational person. But I couldn’t stop this tide of fury from swelling. It rose high over my head and then crashed down on me with disconcerting strength.
“God, you’re such an asshole!” I screamed at it. “I hate you!”
“Are you talking to me? Or the trash can?” A calm voice called me out of my darkness.
I looked up to find Ben Tyler watching me. He leaned against the garage frame casually in a very nice navy blue suit. I had never seen him dressed for work before. We must usually leave for work at different times every morning or I was too busy with kids to notice him.
His hair had been combed back, more professional than he usually wore it. His shoes were polished and his shirt was nicely pressed. He looked like a lawyer this morning. I thought this image of him might be difficult for me to reconcile with the usually laid-back version of him I experienced, but this morning, despite my trembling frustration, I found it easy to put this label on him. I could now picture him in a corner office, barking orders at a pretty secretary and charging ungodly amounts of money per hour for his time.
He really was a lawyer. And if clothes measured any kind of success, he was probably a good one.
“The trash can,” I finally answered his question. “I hate it.” That pointless admission made me realize how ridiculous I was acting. I pushed my hair out of my face and stared down at my feet. I realized for the first time how cold they were against the icy garage floor.
“I hate it too,” he said seriously. “God, have you heard what an asshole it’s been lately?”
I lifted my eyes to meet his dark ones. They twinkled at me, forgiving my crazy outburst. He should be judging me right now. I was acting insane. But instead, I saw only gentle understanding.
“I forgot to set the trash out,” I confessed, although I was certain it was obvious. “And I forgot to set it out last week. I’m frustrated.”
“I can see that.” He walked forward until we were only a foot apart. “I haven’t seen you around lately.”
His topic change startled me. I found myself looking away again. It was true, we hadn’t really seen much of each other since Emma and I had interrupted his date a few weeks ago. We had said hello in passing and I spoke to him briefly at the mailbox one time. But I had been trying to keep my distance.
Seeing him on a date with a young, beautiful woman made me realize how different we
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