When I Look At You

Chapter 2

The next few mornings start the same. You wake up early, regardless of how late you went to sleep. You go on a short jog, make yourself breakfast, and then sit in front of the computer. Typing nonsense in hopes that a story will come to you. It never does. In the evenings, Stevie picks you up for a meeting that you quietly sit through. Afterwards you stay up doing anything and everything but writing. It's Wednesday when you have another meeting with your team. Your agent gives you writing prompts from the publishing company. You figure it couldn't hurt to give the creative exercise a try. The meeting ends and you set up separate documents with the prompts on each one. You click on every tab, reading them over and over until the doorbell goes off. You frown as you check the time thinking it might've been Stevie to pick you up but it was far too early. You adjust your glasses on your face as you stand to answer the door.

"Hi there, neighbor," Leigh greets. "I hate to ask you this, but do you happen to have a screwdriver or something I could borrow?" She holds up a handle, "This fell off of the cabinet and then the door went with it. I would go out and buy tools myself but I'm waiting for a guy to come by and install the internet." She explains further. You didn't really need all of that information, you would have given her the tools regardless but it amused you to have her keep talking to your blank expression. "Or not. I'm really sorry to bother you, I'm sure you have way more important things to–"

You hold her hand up to stop her babbling, "Let me grab my things and I'll help you out."

"Oh, so you think I can't fix my own cabinet?" She challenges.

"No, I don't," you deadpanned. She scoffs, slightly offended but she figured you must've been joking. You turn to look at the mess your place was and decide against inviting her inside to wait for you. "Uh... I'll meet you over there in a bit." You shut the door on her before she can inquire why she can't wait here and when you open the door again, you're happy to see she isn't sitting there. You hurry across the street with your tool box. It hurt you to see your daughter's tiny purple hand print between your red one and your wife's blue one, but there was no way you were ever tossing or replacing this box. It was just something that you were going to have to get used to.

You raise your hand to knock but Leigh opens the door before your knuckles can meet with the wood. "Follow me," she states dryly. "I really didn't need your help, you know."

"Of course you don't. But now when my agent asks why I haven't written anything today I can tell her that my helpless neighbor needed me and only be half lying." You joke and Leigh shakes her head with an amused smile.

"As long as my name stays out of the lawsuit, by all means," she holds her hands up before dropping the handle on the counter top. She walks around the kitchen to sit on a bar stool to keep you company while you work. You ask if this was the only troublesome door and she shakes her head as she points out pretty much every other cabinet.

"Really got your moms' money's worth with this place, huh?" You tease as you assess the damage.

Leigh agrees but tries to remain positive, "You're telling me. It's only inspired me to work harder. Or marry rich, whatever comes first." The two of you share a laugh. Leigh notices the handprints on your tool box and starts to feel empathetic. "How has the group been for you? I've noticed that your friend has been by every night since."

You smile, "Spying on me Shaw?" She rolls her eyes. "It's been okay. I always have to remind myself that even though I've lost more than the people in my group, we all hurt the same. It's not a competition. Y'know?"

Leigh nods in understanding. "I was the only widow in my group for a bit, then when another widow arrived I practically bit her head off just for trying to be my friend. I didn't like that someone else could be having the same experience that I was and look like nothing ever happened to them. She made her marriage seem like a grand romance novel. She was the perfect widow." She says with a slight disgust to her tone. You ask what happened with the girl. "We became great friends. She's actually supposed to come by this weekend. I'm having a sort of house warming party. You should stop by, that is if your agent doesn't kidnap you to write."