Ocean Breathes Salty

I stared through the windshield ahead of me and squinted at the sun. The bright light was making my headache even worse. I grabbed a pair of black sunglasses that was hanging out of my center console. I was able to relax my eyes as soon as I let them rest on the bridge of my nose.

I let out a deep breath as I turned my key in the ignition. My vehicles engine died down and the AC that was blowing directly into my face came to a halt.

Why exactly was I doing this? I didn't HAVE to apologize to John, it wasn't like anyone was sitting next to me with a gun to my head forcing me into this. Why did I feel so guilty about just a couple of stupid things I said?

I looked out the drivers side window. The green victorian house stood there looking lonely. It was almost as if the home was waiting for Hannah to come back too. The usual pots of flowers that Hannah tended to all summer were nowhere to be found and the front door wasn't decorated in any of the regular decor that made it so much more inviting. Now it just looked sad and lonely. If inanimate objects could be depressed, this would be the perfect example of it.

I waited for a car to pass before swinging open the drivers side door and stepping out on the freshly paved black road. I looked both ways for oncoming traffic before dragging my feet across the street. I followed the pathway leading to the steps by the front door and paused before stepping up and knocking on the door. Instead I turned and sat on the top step.

I didn't even know what I was supposed to say to John. I didn't want to go out of my way to be nice to him, at least not after the shit he pulled yesterday, dragging me out of the party like that. How do you apologize but still make it clear that you don't agree?

I threw my head in my hands and started murmuring fake practice apologies. "I can do this," I started "You just have to say it Meadow." I sighed. "John, I'm sorry for what I said last night," I practiced out loud. "Fuck, that sounds so fucking stupid." I started over "How about just 'John, I'm sorry' and that's it. Ugh," I groaned. "Too simple?"

"No, I think that's good," a voice behind me said.

I jumped up and turned around. John was standing there behind the screened in storm door with a smirk on his face.

Fuck. I was already a little embarrassed of the way I acted last night. Now John has also witnessed me genuinely having trouble apologizing, you know, something you learn how to do in kindergarten.

I decided to shrug it off. It was just John and at the end of the day I didn't really care what he thought of me. I didn't care what anyone thought. The only person who mattered was gone.

I sighed. "Look, I just came over here to say-"

"You're sorry?" John cut me off, "Yeah, I kind of gathered that." He pushed open the screen door and motioned for me to come in. "Come on, I'm making breakfast."

I didn't want to go in there, not again, but it felt weird not taking the invitation after he basically apologized to himself for me. I felt like I still had an obligation to say something about it. If I could just say something, anything, then I could avoid having to step into the time capsule of a home that Hannah is leaving behind.

But nothing came out. I didn't know what to say.

"Come on," John said, again. "it's just eggs."

I reluctantly brushed past him into the cool air that filled the apartment. He shut out the hot Arizona heat as he pulled the door closed behind me and made his way back over to the kitchen. He already had a bowl on the counter full of eggs and milk waiting to be stirred together.

As he pulled more eggs out of the fridge for me, I left my spot at the doorway and sat in a bar stool at the end of the kitchen island. He cracked two more eggs into the bowl. One of the yolks broke and dripped down the side of the bowl into the milk.

"Look," I finally said "I really am sorry." I tried to sound as genuine as possible. "I shouldn't have said that stuff last night."

John started sifting through the scrambled egg mixture with a fork. "You don't have to apologize, Meadow." John glanced up at me once before returning to the food. "You were right."

"What?" I asked shocked.

John turned to the stove and started the gas up on a burner. The back left ignited into a flame and John set the pan down to heat up.

"You were right last night," he started, still facing the stove. "I don't know Hannah like you do. Nobody knows Hannah like you do."

I didn't say anything at first. I just sat there for a minute as he buttered up the pan and threw the eggs on to cook.

I was just confused. He was agreeing with me? Now, I felt even worse. I was a total bitch when I screamed that stuff at John and he was just taking it at this point? I didn't know what to say. I agreed that nobody knew Hannah the way I did, but he was going to marry her. He was important too. Why did I hate that so much? Why couldn't I comprehend that he could be hurting as much as I was?

"Knew her," I finally said.

"What?" John turned around. "You said nobody knows Hannah like I do." I shook my head. "But nobody knew Hannah like I did."

I was quiet and John had to step closer to hear me but he didn't say anything back. He just turned around and started moving the eggs around in the pan, making sure they all cooked evenly.

"I did this for her a lot, you know," John said, stepping away from the stove and pulling a bottle of orange juice out of the fridge. "Made her breakfast." John pulled two glasses out and filled them to the top. He shoved one in front of me and took a big gulp of his own. "I'm not a very good cook, but she insisted she loved it."

I grabbed the glass in front of me and took a sip before setting it back down. I really didn't want to keep talking about Hannah. I looked to the left of me. Across the room several picture frames lined the kitchen wall. My eyes landed on a photo of Hannah and John at Disneyland. Hannah's grin was huge. I remember being jealous that she was taking a trip to California with John. She called me every night she was gone and I was annoyed as she gushed about everything the two of them were doing in LA.

"French Toast was her favorite," John said, "That's what she would ask for every time."

"I don't want to talk about Hannah," I said, feeling myself getting angry again.

John ignored me "She used to drown it in syrup. Like completely covered. Her plate would just be a puddle of maple syrup by the time she was done with it, you know?" John glanced at me. "Why am I telling you, of course you know. The counter, where you're sitting now," John motioned to me and then turned back to the stove. "It would get so sticky. It was like feeding a child."

"I said I don't want to talk about Hannah," I stood up and yelled this time. If he was going to just sit here and ignore me then I didn't have to be here. "I came here to apologize, but we're not friends. I don't want to sit here and reminisce with you about someone who is dead."

I turned, leaving the half full glass of orange juice and unfished eggs behind me.