"Can I sit with you?" The tips of his fingers remain on the table as he leans into the chair a little more.
Nodding my head, I let out a small giggle. "Of course," I assure, eyes drifting around the room a split second later.
There's only a couple of older people.... a lot older, who are sitting in the center of the room, pushing pudding around in a little cup. They both look so lost and fragile- two thinks I hope my husband doesn't appear in the eyes of other people, because that breaks my heart.
"No cake today?" He pulls me back into reality, a soft smile trailing across his face as he settles into the plastic chair on the side of the circle table.
I let out a sheepish laugh- I'm not sure it's totally real but he wouldn't know that. "Not today," I shake my head, accidentally allowing a deep sigh to escape me. "And I'm still really sorry about that." I felt so stupid the rest of the afternoon- I didn't even tell the girls what happened.... I also couldn't tell them how hypnotizing I found the man I basically threw cake at to be.
There's something about that him that's so intriguing, yet at the same time, I don't know him well enough to truly determine that. He's very attractive and sensual in a way that most older men just aren't capable of being... Those eyes might have something to do with that too. They're this shade of blue I don't think I've ever seen on another human, almost like a sheet of glass is staring back. They're an ocean full of stories and secrets- I don't need to really know him to know that.
"So? Is your..." he lingers, squinting playfully as one arm falls on the back of the empty chair next to him.
Letting another goofy chuckle fill the air, "My husband," I assure, allowing the tips of my fingers to dance across the white cloth cover the dark wooden table.
"Hmm," he nods his head, creasing a brow as he leans into the table a little further. "You seem too young to have a husband in the nursing home." He's a real flirt- I can tell just by his body language.
"And you seem too young to have a wife in here." I bite down on my lower lip the moment that leaves my mouth, internally rolling my eyes at myself.
I asked Ali about him the other day, after I'd come to the conclusion that I had completely humiliated myself in front of him. She told me that his wife was brought in sometime last week and that's about all she could really share with me, which was plenty. I didn't need to know much more, or maybe I didn't really want to know much more... who knows.
"You a detective?" He grins, taking a quick sip of his coffee, though I'm sure at almost nine in the evening- that it's not actually coffee in his gas station styrofoam cup.
"A writer." I smirk, chin falling into my hands as my elbows rest comfortably on the table.
"That's where I know you from," he snaps his fingers, almost like he solved some type of mystery.... Pat him on the back and call him Scooby Doo.
"You haven't read my books." I know he hasn't, not unless he's into lipstick mysteries, or sad novels.
He cracks another smile, nodding his head in agreement. "You're right, I haven't." Suddenly, just by the way he says those words, I can tell that he's used to getting his way, especially when it comes to women.
There's something undeniably cocky about him that makes my stomach churn. He's a great looking man and he isn't afraid to flaunt his good fortunes, which is a complete turn off to me. There is no denying the fact that he has a way with words and even the ladies.
"My wife has, actually." He adds, which sends another small smile dancing across my lips. "She talked about the one where the son dies for weeks." He raises a brow softly, bringing his cup up to his lips to take a quick sip.
"Hmm, I'm glad." I can feel my heart grow heavy as I push some of my bangs out of my face. "You're a musician?" I don't want to talk about my books any more, especially not that book. I'd rather swallow a jean jacket than talk about my heartbreaking bestseller with a stranger.
"How do you know?" He chuckles, leaning back in his chair as a confused smirk filters up to his eyes.
"The tips of your fingers," I motion towards his hands, "Either you work strenuously in a factory," I can tell by his ego that he doesn't work in any sort of labor intensive business. "Or you can finger pick fairly well." I don't mean to sound strange, but hands that look like two pieces of sandpaper are quite distracting in my opinion.
"Hmm, you're very observant." He looks from me back towards the other old people, who are still very enthused with their pudding. "I like that." He adds, lips turning up casually.
"Mhmm," I don't really know what to say to that, because thank you just doesn't seem quite fitting.
"So?" He repeats that word yet again and I suddenly get this indication that he's kind of nervous. "You're obviously a little young, which tells me old age didn't put your husband here....?" He lingers, trying to get more information than I've been willing to share so far.
Sinking down into my seat, I can feel my hands grow a little sweaty. "My husband had a couple of strokes at the end of last year." I hate talking about that- I wish I could live my entire life without having to, but I know that's just not realistic anymore. "He can't recall things and I'm just not able to take care of him." I know that I don't need to explain anything to anyone, but I always feel so awful when I admit that I was the one that decided to put him in this hell.
"I'm really sorry to hear that." His voice grows incredibly soft, eyes suddenly weaker than they were just moments ago.
Shrugging lightly, I try not to show too much emotion, though my heart really does feel extra heavy. "And your wife?" I watch as his gaze falls towards the tile floor, a nod coming before his words.
"She was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis about three years ago." He announces, curling lips to one side. "It wasn't too bad until she continuously kept getting sick," he adds, raising his brows before letting both elbows rest on the table.
"Time waits for no one, does it?" I have said those words quite often within the months leading up to this moment, because it's just so true.
We aren't young forever, even if we want to believe that we can stop the inevitable reality of what time can do... We can't and we never will.
"Scary, huh?" He chuckles softly, eyes still glazed over with this sense of sadness.
"Stevie?" Her voice fills the room, which causes me to turn in the chair almost instantly. "Hey, there." She trails further into the dining hall, pausing once she's just inches away. "I just wanted to let you know that he's getting ready to go to sleep, if you want to go see him." Ali holds up her hand, wiggling her fingers in Lindsey's direction.
Nodding quickly, I look back at a man that's more enticing than any I've met in a long time. "I hope you have a good evening, Lindsey." I know I can't stay any longer- I have other obligations, sadly.
"You too, Stevie." He nods his head as well. "I'll see you around, yeah?" With furrowed brows, he lets off a smirk.
"Bye- bye," I chuckle, shaking my head softly as I follow Ali back through the room. "How is he?" I ask once we step into a completely empty hallway.
"He's not as upset as he was earlier." She knows that's hard for me- hell I've cried in the middle of her station about a million times in the last couple of months... I'm simple not used to that.
He used to treat me like I could walk on water and now I can't even pour a cup of water without ticking him off. It's hard, very hard for me to grasp. It constantly feels like I'm watching the man I love slip right through the cracks of my fingers, which scares me more than anything.
"I'm glad to hear that."
