I could tell you what I need one more time.
But my voice is hoarse,
And my back is tired from the weight of this;
Unevenly distributed effort.
So I’ll remain quiet as I watch this die . . .
Silent and mourning.
Day 378
“Put your damn phone down,” Sabrina says before she smacks at one of my hands. The sting makes me look up at her, bewildered.
“What the hell?”
“Seriously. I didn’t invite you to lunch just to watch you pine over him.” She grabs my phone and sets it face down on the table beside her.
“I’m not pining,” I mumble.
She snorts, and I eye my phone when it vibrates.
We were mid-argument. Typical.
I hadn’t heard much from him the last few days and the less we spoke, the more I turned into this monster who poked the beast in him.
There would be no resolution if we both kept this up.
Sabrina looks at me and I can see all of my personal opinions looking right back at me. When I’m not clouded by thoughts of Gavin, I think exactly what she’s thinking now, looking at me with those sad eyes.
He doesn’t deserve your best anymore.
But the less love he showed me, the less patience he had for me, the more I poured my love into him, willing him to remember what once felt like fate.
Fate had been fleeting.
I look at my sister, with her ever-present strength, and I hate that I feel like I’ve somehow lost mine. She’s put together and I’m just a wreck.
But that’s how it’s always been. She’s my rock and I’m her tumbleweed. My phone vibrates again and I ignore it, staring at Sabrina instead, finally giving her my attention as she looks around.
Her dark roots peek from her usually perfect burnt orange color.
She tucks her hair behind her ears and glances around some more before briefly touching the crown of her head.
“You look fine,” I tell her.
Sabrina’s always looked a little more Greek than I do. I favor my Irish father while she looked like our beautiful mother.
“I couldn’t get an appointment in time and now I’m wearing a hat everywhere,” she mutters before taking a sip of her sparkling water. No flat water for Sabrina. I sip my own complimentary glass of flat water and look around the restaurant.
She chose the place. If it were up to me, we’d be going to some little hole in the wall that served amazing and authentic cuisine.
Not that the food here wouldn’t be amazing.
But it would also be really fucking expensive.
I ordered a Caesar salad because I couldn’t fathom spending more than fifty bucks on a plate that I wouldn’t finish anyway.
“Quit fidgeting.”
I stop my perusal and cock my head to the side as I glare at Sabrina.
“Oh, this is one of those lunches?”
She rolls her eyes.
“One of what lunches, Denise? Enlighten me.”
“Surrounded by all of these rich assholes, pretending to be like them.”
Sabrina looks around, ducking her head a little.
“You could lower your voice a little if you’re going to insult the entire restaurant. And keep the swearing to a minimum.”
I hear her whisper holy shit under her breath.
“Fuck, shit, fuck, ass, fuck,” I hiss. “Afraid someone will hear me speaking like this and think you use the same language? Because you do!”
One of her brows lifts as if she’s amused by my childish display.
“You done?”
“Maybe.” I pause. “Probably not.”
I sit back and call her a fucking poser just as the waitress brings us our food. When her eyes widen, I smile and grab my plate from her.
“Thank you. I’m really fucking hungry.”
“Ignore her,” my sister says with an apologetic smile as her plate is placed in front of her.
I grab my phone while she’s making apologies for me. A few texts from Gavin are looking back at me.
Gavin: I’m trying to make time for you, but my sister needs me.
Gavin: Why can’t you understand that?
There’s this massive part of me that wants to scream through the phone.
How could someone so short on understanding want the same from me?
I’m so fed up with my own anger, sick of it.
I toss my phone down and start stabbing at my salad. Sabrina is silent as she eyes me over her glass of Pellegrino, taking a long swallow.
“What?” I snap, my mouth full of leafy greens not even nearly drenched in creamy dressing. For such a fancy place, they sure are stingy with the condiments.
“Killing your salad won’t make you feel better, Denise.”
“Maybe tossing it on you will, buddy.”
“Maybe.”
I don’t speak for the rest of our lunch, letting Sabrina drone on about her work while I nod and finish my food.
As we walk out, Sabrina having footed the bill, she turns to me, and attempts to casually say, “Yiayia asked about you.”
Not wanting to get into it, I offer her a nod.
“I told her you’ve got a lot going on, but you’d come around when you were ready.”
Sabrina is still walking when I’ve stopped short, only stopping once she’s looked back and seen that I’m standing a few feet behind her.
“What? What is it?” Her voice edges with annoyance.
“What else did you tell her?”
My sister doesn’t realize that, although I don’t spend much time with my Greek family anymore, or any of my family apart from her if I’m being honest, I know how they operate. And I know my yiayia didn’t just leave it at that.
I spent enough of my younger days in Yiayia’s big, bright kitchen, the scent of food constantly in the air, my little ears picking up every other Greek word. I was exposed to what it was like to be on both sides of their disappointment; both a spectator and a target.
“I didn’t have a chance to say much. You know how they are.”
She pushes her sunglasses on her face. It’s cool out and my jean jacket is more decorative than anything. I shiver and want to rip the Ray-Bans off her face.
“You’re full of fucking shit.”
“What is it with you swearing today?”
“I know, right? Usually it’s you!”
I reach for her sunglasses and she jerks away from me.
“Why are you acting like a friggin’ psycho right now?”
“I don’t need my business going through the Greek channels. Or anywhere else, for that matter.” I press my palms together and I feel like I’m praying to something for patience. “I already have to see the judgment in your eyes. I don’t need it from people who’ve never done a thing for me.”
“That’s not fair—”
“Oh,” my laugh is without humor, “you want to talk about what’s fair?”
I start to storm away, toward the nearest entrance to the T. I can hear her heels hitting the pavement as she tries to follow me. But I’m wearing Nikes so good fucking luck, lady.
Much to my surprise, she catches up just as I pull out my CharlieCard, ready to get on any subway that’ll take me away from her.
“You aren’t the only person to lose something. We both lost Mom,” she says, a little out of breath.
I want to lash out and tell her to fuck off about loss. But one look at her flushed face and I just stand there for a beat before continuing on my way, leaving her where she’s standing.
I have some grief that runs entirely too deep to acknowledge in a moment.
And then I have a grief that is ever present these days. It stomps all over my conscience like an unwelcome guest. It keeps me up at night, banging pots and pans and slamming doors in my brain. It presses into me when I shower. It touches me when I’m alone, when no one is around to chase it away.
That grief is twofold.
The loss of a future I was entirely too close to having and the loss of my happiness with Gavin.
I lost one and the other came crumbling down.
I read his text messages again, the sweet ones I have to scroll farther and farther up to get to, while on the subway, feeling hopeless.
Feeling alone.
When alone, I’m at the mercy of my grief.