Salty

Thirty-Four | Jose Cuervo and More Letters

Thirty-Four | Sloan

It had been a long time since we'd stayed up all night discussing boys. Even though both of us had been lacking sleep from the night before, there was a lot to discuss. Wine was involved, and two showings of Pretty Woman on VHS. Although I had all the fixings to make us the spicy carbonara I'd forgotten about making in the haste of Steve's illness, we spent the night binging on literally anything from the cabinets that was unhealthy.

We laughed. We cried. For the first time, I was opening up about Steve and the parts of him being gone that still hurt. I explained my fears that came with having a deceased husband—ones Steve knew I was going to have and still eased the anxiety of loving someone else. I also explained my fears for Ollie, who was uncharted territory. These were two completely different men. The way I'd fallen for them was unique to each. With Steve, I always knew what I was getting into. There were no secrets, nothing about him I didn't know. With Ollie, I was learning as I went and falling along the way. There was still much to know about each other. When I voiced that concern to Hallie, my best friend was more than supportive.

Our conversation was not limited to just those two men. For the first time in years, Hallie finally admitted that she was coming to terms with TJ choosing someone else. As much as she wished her life with him was going to be forever, she now understood he was gone. It didn't mean Hallie didn't miss that friendship, just as I did, and just as Steve obviously did, too. TJ's letter was still stuffed into the pocket of my coat, and even though Hallie and I both were dying to read it, we had a pretty good guess what it contained. It was TJ's letter, and after a night with my best friend where I broke down and thanked her for taking care of me this year, TJ's store would be the next stop today. It helped that it was on the way to Mulligan's, where I needed to have a serious talk with a certain chef about how I'd been a shitty person this past week.

It seemed like forever ago since I'd walked into Thomas Jones Consignment and asked for a job from an old friend. I no longer needed to scrounge for pennies on the floor of my car for gas to get to work. Steve's bills were slowly being paid down. Part of me missed the Karens and their expired coupons. Hearing Hallie admit she missed her friendship with TJ made me feel the same. While Hallie was far from fixing that relationship, I believed TJ and I were on the mend. He really had been good to me, given the circumstances.

I crutched my way to the back of the store where the cash register was located. I could hear the beeps of items being scanned and followed them to their source. TJ—dressed again in a nice button-down, baby blue shirt with a matching tie I could not get used to seeing—was bagging the items and handing the plastic bag over the counter to the customer with a smile. He thanked them for their business and asked them to come again before lifting his attention to the gimp, who was next in line.

"Oh, no." He laughed with compassion. "What happened?"

"I lost the battle with a shard of glass," I said, explaining for what felt like the millionth time since it happened only two days prior. "Hurts like a bitch, but I'm tough."

"You are," he agreed. His hands fell to his pockets while retaining the smile.

TJ knew I was obviously here for a reason. He was waiting for me to spill it. The day I'd asked for the job here, I turned down the conversation of the person I was about to bring up. Steve's death had ruined me. Selfishly, I'd forgotten I wasn't the only person who loved him. Fishing through my coat pocket while trying to keep my balance, I found the small envelope that had fallen from my own letter and pulled it free. I extended it to TJ.

The smile fell from his face. "What is that?"

"Oh, come on, TJ. It's two capitalized letters, but you and I both know you recognize that terrible handwriting."