Redesigning Rose

Chapter 3.1

I froze at the entrance to the kitchen.

Becky bumped into me, hip-checked me out of the way, and made a beeline for the coffee maker.

“What the hell happened last night?” I asked, stepping around red stains on the floor. Mugs, wine glasses, and high ball tumblers littered the table along with bags of munchies and several empty bottles of booze we had apparently somehow managed to consume.

“One hell of a good time,” Becky said, in between counting out scoops of coffee.

I righted toppled wine glasses and collected the bottles together. The counter was so cluttered with dishes, take-out containers, and enough mugs and Tim Horton’s cups to start a coffee shop, I couldn’t even decipher its color. I moved a pizza box to the floor and shoved a few mugs together to make some room before transferring the contents of the table to the counter so I could clean it.

 I swept my palm across the table to gather crumbs into my hand, but it kept sticking to the surface like my socks were sticking to the floor. “Did we even end up drinking much of it?”

“Judging by the thumping in my head, I’d say we did.”

“God, what a mess. I’m so sorry,” I said, unearthing the bottle of whiskey from under the table.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I had a fabulous time. Don’t tell me you didn’t?”

“No, I did too.” The alcohol had both dampened and magnified my emotions the previous night and now my hangover dulled the enormity of Frank’s transgressions. My body was in survival mode. It couldn’t handle anything such as emotion taking away from the need to recover from what must have been near alcohol poisoning.

“Don’t let me fall for any of his shit, okay?” I said, my voice quiet but firm.

“Will do,” she said, kicking her heels and saluting.

“Thank you,” I said, pulling her into a hug before turning back to tackle the counters.

“Stop cleaning,” Becky commanded.

“Uh…”

“Seriously. Stop. You don’t have to. You’re my guest.”

“Becky? Do you even have clean mugs for coffee?” I asked with as much tact as I could.

Becky jumped out of the chair she had slumped into. “Sorry. I’m a bit of a slob.”

“Go, sit down. I’ll wash a couple of mugs. It’s the least I can do to repay you for putting me up for the night,” I said, snatching two large mugs and rinsing them.

“You should stay with me until you figure everything out. If you can live with the mess,” she added, looking sheepish.

Although we had only met a handful of times before, I felt honored Becky would open her home to me and wondered if I would have done the same if the situation had been reversed. Definitely not with Frank in the picture, I surmised.

At least if I stayed with Becky, Frank wouldn’t know where to find me. And there were no memories of him here like there would be at Mom’s–primping for our first date, the joyous looks on my mother and grandmother’s faces when I showed them my engagement ring, and then ten months later after I had stepped into my wedding dress and turned around.

“I’m proud of you. It takes a lot of guts to leave a marriage. In fact, I think it’s easier to stay. It’s the known versus the unknown. You’ve got the hardest part out of the way. So stay with me until you know what you want to do. I won’t let you do anything stupid.”