PROLOGUE
Remind me how we fell in love.
Whisper it slowly.
Start at the very end,
And meet me back at the beginning.
Day 381 Post-Gavin
There are dirty dishes in the sink.
I think this to myself as I add another mug to the ones already piling there and make a mental note to wash them later. Especially since I might be having company other than my sister after work.
My lips twitch at the thought, a small smile gracing my face.
I pull one of my teal chevron-patterned curtains aside to see what the weather looks like. Gray skies, sad masses of clouds that look ready to cry any moment. The watch on my wrist shows me I have less than a minute to get the hell out of my apartment and on the T, not looking forward to the bodies pressed against mine on the subway. I grab my bright yellow umbrella by its hooked handle and, on the way out, my gaze falls on the stack of worn journals tucked between some of my favorite novels on my bookshelf. They’re bound together by mournful black ribbon. I almost reach out to touch them, as if they aren’t all the way across the room.
Instead, I turn on my heel and rush out of the apartment, nearly forgetting to lock the door in my nostalgic haze.
Don’t do it, Denise.
The words are like a safety net, keeping me from plummeting into the abysmal grief that hits me from time to time.
And damn it, I didn’t have the patience for it today.
I reach for my CharlieCard and make my way through the crowds of people rushing to make it to work, same as me. The only difference is, they’re wearing business attire while I’m decked in distressed jeans and Adidas shell top sneakers.
Through the rigmarole of maneuvering through the crowds, swiping my card, and getting on the right subway line, glimpses of the past jolt me. I’m walking through a hellish mausoleum, a place where my memories were once laid to rest.
If I squint my eyes, the couple seated a few feet away looks just like we used to; so wrapped up in each other—too wrapped up to see the impending demise lurking off in the corner. If I close my eyes, I can feel his smile against my cheek.
I fight against the urge to.
Instead, I reach up and wipe my fingers against the phantom sensation, as if I’m cleaning off some invisible smudge. Without thinking, I tuck my face into my shoulder and keep my eyes on the windows that only show the tunnel we’re zooming through.
The car stops, and I push through, past the sickeningly sweet couple, to get off at my stop. No more memories, nothing else to deter me from having the spectacular day I’m hellbent on having.
“It’s going to be a great day,” I chant to myself over and over and soon I’m reaching for the door of the first store I’m working at today.
I’m greeted by young women talking over one another, pointing fingers, and one older woman standing amidst the chaos with a panicked expression.
“Denise,” someone screeches and, in an effort to keep my optimism intact, I close my eyes and take a deep breath. When I feel like I have a grip on my sanity, I open my eyes and respond with a smile.
“What’s up?”
“Well,” the store manager, Paige, starts off, “one of the girls left the back door open and now we’re missing boxes of shipment.”
I snort and Paige groans, hiding her face with her hands. Her usually pin-straight blond hair has flyaways every which way and when she drops her hands, I notice how pink her cheeks are.
“What am I going to do?” The question is shrill.
I adjust my purse’s shoulder strap and sigh as I decide to offer the advice I’d given her many times before.
“You have to start hiring quality workers, Paige. We talked about this.” I put my arm around her shoulders and walk us out of earshot of the others. “The pretty ones get the shoppers in here, sure. But try for pretty and responsible. Or, hell, just responsible.”
Poor Paige. But anyone could’ve seen some sort of disaster coming just based on the employees manning the store. Paige is freaking out and they’re still in the front of the store, arguing amongst one another.
“You might want to . . .” My phone vibrates, and I see my sister’s name, but I let it ring, trying to diffuse this situation. “Might want to get the girls working on something,” I finish telling a pacing Paige. She nods, and I scroll through my phone to call management, unsure what the missing shipments mean for me since the items inside those boxes were what I was meant to display.
After speaking to the very patient district manager for a few minutes, I’m told to switch a couple of mannequins up and head to another store.
By now the doors have opened and a few morning shoppers are sifting through racks and neatly folded piles.
I spy one of the employees with her arms crossed, rolling her eyes at the mess one particular customer is making as I walk to the backroom to put my things away. I remember those days, I think to myself with a smile and shake of my head.
I store my jacket, crossbody bag, and umbrella in the back and get to work. I start removing clothing and accessories from the mannequins and walk around the sales floor, coming up with styles that are vastly different from one to the other but also reflecting the specific section of the boutique each of the mannequins is set up at.
Mixing denim with tulle for one, fishnets and sequins for another, leather and lace, humming the old Stevie Nicks song under my breath.
I always loved “Leather and Lace.” Certainly more than the heavy techno that was currently playing in the store.
“Denise,” I hear Paige call from the register, pulling my focus from my task. My hands pause their quick work and I look over at her.
“What’s up?” I tug at the top I’m adjusting on the mannequin. The same top is hanging in all available sizes on the wall and I make a mental note to move them to a closer rack.
“Your sister’s on the phone. Says it’s an emergency.”
The mannequin hits the ground with a thunk as I rush to the front of the store.
I forgot to call her back. What if . . .
I don’t let myself finish the thought.
Nothing can stop me from making my way to the phone, my worry intensified, but then I hear my name again, this time quiet and a little unsure.
A voice I thought I might never hear again.
“Denise.”
I almost walked right past him. Almost.
There is no question in his tone. He knows it’s me and I know, as soon as my name is uttered, that it’s him.
My feet have no choice but to turn so I’m facing him, some distance between us.
Your feet point toward what your heart wants. The memory echoes in my mind and I fight several urges; to hit him, to hug him, to beg him to never leave, to tell him I never want to see him again.
To tell him all I ever see is him, even when he was half a world away.
He looks a little broader, with more facial hair. My fingers itch to reach up and scratch his beard just to see his lips purse the way they used to.
That hellish mausoleum I’d walked through earlier this morning had shit on the living and breathing man in front of me. It was like all those thoughts simply created a path that led him right to my doorstep. Or, in this case, to my job.
Ignored texts over the year and change since we’d last talked because I knew, deep down, him telling me that he missed me and vice versa was never going to fix anything. And so, the last thing I told him . . .
Don’t tell me you miss me if you aren’t going to do anything about it.
Here he is.
Challenge accepted.
“Gavin,” I whisper.
I want to ask him what he’s doing here but it’s a stupid question.
What grown man comes to a boutique that caters to young, trendy women, alone?
And I start to question . . . is he here to purchase something for someone new in his life? Had he found what he’d been looking for all along? I glance at his left hand, to the finger sitting between his middle and pinky, letting my breath go when I see it’s bare.
Then I look at his face, at his eyes, and I know.
He’s here for me.
Intentions, intentions.
“Why are you here?”
His presence is overwhelming and all at once I realize I’m standing in front of a familiar stranger. Someone I once knew, someone who once knew me . . . some days, better than I knew myself.
And here we are.
“Well, I’m not here to shop,” he answers with a chuckle, but my face remains stoic. I once loved the sight of his amusement.
If I’m being honest, I still do.
But that’s my little secret.
“Denise? Everything okay?” Paige asks, an edge in her voice.
I glance at her and back at him and . . . it all comes rushing back. The crying and the frustration and the sheer anguish.
I shake my head at Gavin and continue walking to the register. But he grabs my wrist.
It’s a light hold. Nothing to seriously keep me from walking away. Still. Coupled with the hold he’s had on me all this time, I stop so suddenly, it fucks with my equilibrium a little.
He moves closer, his mouth near my ear. I can feel his breath as he exhales and then inhales before he finds the words to say.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t know what to do and . . . I’m so sorry that I didn’t try.”
I think back to those journals sitting on my bookshelf, wrapped in black ribbon, and to the trek here, filled with both pleasure and misery at the thought of what we’d shared. I think about the last year without him and about the months prior when he wasn’t there, physically and emotionally. And I think about the moments between us that made it impossible to just walk away from him; the laughter, the adventure and conversations, the love.
Our love was filled with too many highs and lows to be pushed aside for a narrow path.
“I’m sorry, Denise. Even after all this time. I need to apologize for everything.”
What do you say to the man who’s finally telling you everything you want to hear but . . .
“Denise?”
A third, male voice chimes in and only one word comes to mind.
Fuck.