Tender Hearts

Counting Wins, Not Losses

Tom sat in his living room mulling things over. He'd recently been able to move from Overton to South Beach, his younger brother, Daniel, taking responsibility for the care of their mother and insisting on it. Tom had a sneaking suspicion that Daniel only wanted to keep safe in case any unsavory types came sniffing around, and it was a valid fear. Tom's only regret about the move was the health of their mother. She'd been diagnosed with lung cancer only a month before the move, her prognosis not good.

His studio apartment was small and situated over a Cuban market. In the morning, he could smell the yeasty scent of fresh bread they baked, in the evening, the savory smells of the sandwiches they sold, made with whatever was left of the bread. He enjoyed watching the lines of people wind around the block waiting for the sandwiches, knowing that the owners always saved one for him. It was a perk of being a tenant.

As he took stock of his situation, he couldn't help but feel down. Evie was seared into his brain as sure as a brand on his skin. He couldn't get her out of his mind. Her smile, her eyes, her voice and her laughter- all played in his head on an infinite loop, her scent lingered in his nostrils. And he was in no position to even consider love. Especially hers.

Compared to where Evie was staying, his place looked shabby. Sure, there was a fresh coat of paint on the walls and the floors had been refinished before he moved in, but his furniture was mismatched and secondhand. His bed was the brown tweed sofa, which pulled out into a lumpy mattress. His kitchen table a small, beat-up, wooden TV stand that also served as a catch-all next to the front door. The few clothes that he owned weren't in a closet, instead they were hung on cheap plastic hangers from a wire shelf he'd fixed on the wall next to the bathroom door to hold two stolen milk crates full of linens. He used another crate, full of magazines and covered with what used to be a cupboard door he'd found in an alley, as an ottoman and occasional coffee table. His dishes were cast-offs that he'd procured from well-meaning neighbors, often cracked, chipped or dented. The appliances in his apartment were as old as the building himself, well taken care of for their age, but still, worn.

He sighed, the thought niggling in the back of his mind that he was not now, nor would he ever be good enough for a woman of her caliber. But to his heart, none of that mattered. And he'd always been taught to follow his heart.

The evening before was a bust, that much he knew. They'd left everything up in the air. Even though they ended up getting something to eat at the diner down the street from Evie's, Tom could tell she was distracted. They'd finished their meal, he'd walked her home and departed with a hug and a peck on the cheek.

It wasn't even the uncertainty that nagged him. He could deal with the fact that she'd obviously just gotten out of a bad relationship. What he didn't like was the feeling of inferiority he'd gotten from her ex. The man had looked down his nose at Tom, whether consciously or not, it was there.

There was a knock on his door as he sat, stewing. "Come in," he yelled. The benefit of living in a neighborhood like his was, though it was nowhere near the upper class residences that Evie was used to, everyone in his were generally long-time residences. They were close. They looked out for each other and when he moved in, they'd embraced him like one of their own. No one worried about security because everyone looked out for each other, not that there was much to steal, either.

The door opened to Frank's grinning face. "How was the date?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.