Page 84 of That Friendzone Feeling

“Settingup remote cameras.”Elliotkicks off his rubber boots.

“Something’snibbling its way through my rhododendrons.”Maggieslices two thick chunks of white bread from the loaf. “Andthrough whatever other shrubs still have leaves on them this time of year.”

Elliottosses his parka over the back of a dining chair and joins me at the giant marble island. “Mom’sobsessed with finding out what’s doing it.”Heclaps me on the back. “Goodto see you, by the way.”

“Obsessedmight be taking it a bit far,” she says, slathering the bread with mayo. “Ijust can’t ever catch what’s doing it in the act.”

“Summersays it’s probably deer,” he says.Hewalks around to the coffeepot and pours himself a mug.

SummerisOwen’sfiancée.Beforeshe moved toSanFranciscowithOwen, she lived in an off-the-beaten-path cabin not far from here, so she’s familiar with the local wildlife.SheandOwenstay there whenever they come to visit.Andthey’ll be getting married here, on the grounds ofMaggieandJim’shouse, this summer.

“She’sprobably right.ButI’dlove to be sure,”Maggiesays, grating a mountain of cheese onto a slice of bread.

“Onceyou’ve had your sandwich,Elliot,I’llcome out and help you,”Ioffer.

“IfIever get the feeling back in my hands,” he says, cupping his warm mug.

“Ha.Youtechy types are a bunch of softies.”

UncleJimappears through the door, carrying an open laptop. “Hey,Walker.Couldyou maybe put your professional skills to use by helping me with this?”Heplaces the computer on the counter in front of me.

“Oooh.”Hisattention immediately turns to the stove where a sandwich sizzles asMaggieplaces it in the pan. “Ifyou’re making grilled cheese,Iwouldn’t say no.”

Shehalf turns and plants her non-spatula-holding hand on her hip. “IsMaxgoing to appear in a minute and ask for one too?Followedfive minutes laterbyConnor?Thenwill there be a phone call fromTomasking me to mail one toLondonfor him?”

“Wecan’t help it if you make the finest grilled cheese this side of the moon,”Jimsays as he walks over and puts his arm around her shoulders. “Youknow you’re my favorite wife, right?”Heplants a kiss on her forehead.

“Oh, go botherWalker,” she says, pushing him off with an affectionate smile.

Thesetwo are the picture of a happy, loving couple.Theirmarriage is everythingIaspire to have.Nextweek will be their thirty-sixth wedding anniversary—they got married onValentine’sDay—and they’re obviously still in love and tease each other like the very best of friends.

They’reliving proof that a relationship is nothing without a foundation of friendship.Idon't doubtEmilyandIwould be as happy asMaggieandJimthirty-plus years from now, if onlyEmilywould see the light.Butshe never will.

Myaunt and uncle always lift my spirits, though.Visitingthem is the exact opposite of being in the city.Timehere helps me climb out of my own head, gives my thoughts room to breathe.Butthe agonizing ache in my heart and my gut thatIhave to give up onEmilyremains.

AllIcan do is try to distract myself for the next twenty-four hours.

Iscroll up and down the screen onJim’slaptop. “Whatis this that you want help with?”

Hestrides toward me. “Wine.”

“Thereyou go,”Maggiesays, pushing the next grilled cheese off her production line towardElliot.

Hemoves his coffee to one hand and grabs it. “Mmm, thanks.”

“Elliot, will you please sit while you eat?” she chides.

Herolls his eyes and grabs a stool across fromJimand me. “Oncethe baby of the family, always the baby of the family,” he says, then sinks his teeth into his sandwich.

Ilook back toJim. “Wine?”

“Yes.Iwant to make some.Andsince you’re here,Ithought you could help me figure out what equipmentIneed.”

Alwaysgrateful for any way to help the folks who raised me,Iseize this opportunity with both hands. “Ofcourse.”

WhileIcan’t throw wads of money around like the guys,Icandothings.Imight not have contributed as much cash to the house, butIwas here to lend a hand the day they moved in.WhenMaggiewanted to lop off the tops of some overgrown bushes,Icame up for the weekend and climbed the stepladder so she wouldn’t have to.AndItakeJimto games—basketball, baseball, or football, he doesn’t care, just loves them all—wheneverIcan persuade him to leave home.

Yes,Iwant to make them happy, but it also takes the edge off my guilt that so much of their hard life was my fault.