You stopped being able to handle my soul.
You no longer had the patience
To get lost in my maze.
And so, I walked alone.
Day 375
“Yes, Sabrina. I will not fuck him,” I try to tell her around the O my mouth is formed in while I apply mascara.
“Yeah fucking right,” she retorts, pulling a pillow from behind her on my bed and throwing it at me, nearly causing me to stab myself in the eye with my mascara wand.
“You could’ve put my eye out.” I push the wand back in the tube and twist it shut before grabbing the clutter of shadows and blush into my makeup bag. I put the bag back in my dresser and finish getting ready.
“No eyes means not seeing him. Not seeing him means you probably won’t fuck him.”
“You’d risk my eyesight just to save my vagina?” I’m in my closet, trying to pick out which shoes would go best with the hunter green cable knit sweater, black skater skirt, and black tights I’m wearing. I grab my black Doc Martens.
“More like your heart,” she answers, and it might be the most sentimental thing I’ve heard from her in a while. I sit beside her on my bed and start tugging my shoes on.
“There’s no saving my heart. That shit’s already a mess.” I tie the laces and look over at her. She looks so classy in her slacks and black cashmere sweater. But the gold turban on her head gives her a twenties vibe that I envy. I don’t think I could pull that look off.
“No need to light whatever’s left on fire.” She’s picking at the ends of her hair and I shove her, catching her off-guard and she almost falls on the floor. “If only you were an asshole like this with him. Then I’d have nothing to worry about.”
“I give you my worst because I know you’ll love me through it.” As meaningful as my words are, I say them casually. Truly we’d dealt with my worst, just the two of us. It wasn’t something I wanted to think about. Not right before I met with Gavin for the first time since he’d moved to Pakistan, almost two months ago.
When I stand up, Sabrina looks me up and down. After a moment, she nods her head.
“Just stand up for yourself, little sister,” she tells me as she touches the ends of my hair with one hand and squeezes my hand with her other.
“Of course.” I step back and grab my coat and bag, kissing Carlos goodbye from where he lies on his smelly dog bed. I glance at my phone when it goes off. “Uber’s here. You staying?”
“Just for a little. I think Carlos would like the company.”
My coat is nearly on when I pause.
“You don’t even like Carlos.”
“Sure I do,” she says from the doorway of my bedroom. When Carlos gets up and ambles toward her, she squats down, awkwardly in her heels.
He pushes his face right into her crotch, and she yelps before falling back on her ass. I laugh as she shoves him away.
“Great. Now I have his slobber on me.”
“Yeah, looks like you pissed yourself a little.” I point to the stain on her black slacks.
She dusts her legs off as she stands, and I toss the coat hanging by the door to her.
“Guess you aren’t staying after all,” I tell her with a smile as I open the door. She yanks her purse from the counter before heading past me, through the door.
“Whatever.” We get in the elevator and she turns to me, her light green eyes a little darker than usual. “Call me if you need me.”
“I’m sure I’ll be okay.” I start to pick through my purse for some sort of ChapStick, coming up with a sheer mauve lipstick instead. I shrug and start applying it.
“It’s okay to need me.”
I drop the lippie in the bag and glance at her.
“I know. But it’s also okay if I’m strong enough to do this on my own, too.”
Sabrina smiles. But it looks a little sad.
“Aren’t you tired of me?”
She leans her head against mine.
“Of course not. I love you most.”
I tug at her hair.
“No way, bro.”
She chuckles.
“Well, I’m headed to Yiayia’s then.”
When I hear our grandmother’s name, my eyes are slower to blink, itching to roll. I haven’t spoken to that woman or any part of that family in . . . about four years now.
I’d gone longer than that before. This wasn’t anything new.
My mother’s family members were all hypocrites and backstabbers, anyway. I hated that Sabrina still kept in contact with them after all this time.
“I’d tell you to tell her I said hello but then she’d probably have a stroke.” I pause. “On second thought—”
“Denise!” She shoves me away and I throw my hands up with a chuckle.
“Kidding! I’m just kidding.” The elevator doors slide open and I walk out. “Well, have fun. Don’t let all the shit talking turn your brain to mush.”
I walk away waving at her from behind and once I’m outside, I pull my large scarf from my bag and wrap it around my neck loosely.
The silver Audi on the curb matches the car picking me up so I slide right into the back seat with a smile. The driver tries for casual conversation every few minutes but for the most part, I’m quiet.
I try not to be rude but I’ve never been interested in meaningless conversation or small talk. Discussing the weather, something I only care about when deciding how to dress for the day, isn’t something I yearn to do. Not when there’s a whole world full of people ready to discuss philosophies or art or music.
The words in my own head are much more entertaining than any passing conversation.
We reach the restaurant, a small Italian bistro, and I offer one last smile before getting out and pulling my scarf closer to my body.
A few steps have me inside and a couple more have me asking for a table for two.
I scan the room but don’t see Gavin. Usually I’m the one running late but I’m a few minutes early today.
Makes sense. I’m humming with excitement, despite the worry sitting deep down in my belly.
I sit at the table the hostess walks me over to and wait.
And, of course, while I wait, nervousness starts to set in.
I saw him a few months ago, I reason with myself.
It doesn’t make sense to feel so nervous to see him but . . . so much has changed.
Maybe I worry that he won’t recognize me. Because I certainly don’t recognize myself these days. I’m the same woman, red hair a little longer but with the same freckles and the same hazel eyes. I haven’t gained any weight, I haven’t changed my appearance, really. But there’s something reflected back at me whenever I look in the mirror that wasn’t always there.
Excitement is trampled by the memories that feel like wounds that are still healing; jagged little scars on my soul.
I look up from the menu and see him walking through the glass doors.
Eyes trained on him, heart somewhere on the floor, and my brain a puddle of uselessness.
But, damn.
Even glass can’t keep his raw energy from reaching me. Part memory, part seeing him; I feel like if I touch him, I’d feel a little shock.
He walks inside, rubs his hands together, and looks around the room. Once his gaze settles on me, my eyes flicker back to the menu in my hands.
It’s hard to keep a straight face when I catch the beginnings of his smile.
It’s hard to know how to greet him when I want to be so happy to see him but . . .
My heart just hurts these days.
He stands in front of me for a moment and I look up.
Gavin is in front of me and he looks happy to see me.
How?
After all of the arguing and uncertainty . . .
Do I hug him?
There’s this moment of confusion between us. How do I greet the man who hadn’t had the patience for my sorrow while he’d been gone? For the man who made me believe in us, only to make me feel like I was the only one truly invested?
Excitement is overshadowed by the reminder that . . .
We aren’t the same anymore.
Nothing is the same between us and my heart hurts too much to pretend.
“Hey,” he says with a smile as he sits down, removing his coat and deciding for me.
“Hi.” No smile from me as I look back at the menu. My face feels so tight, brows drawn, and lips pressed together, like I’m forcing myself not to smile.
I hadn’t noticed the music playing until Gavin started humming along, determined to make me aware of his presence. Ignoring him wouldn’t be possible, even if I were trying to. Even my feet were pointed toward him, though they hadn’t been initially, my legs uncrossing and straightening moments prior.
His hand is on the table and I look just over the menu at it. The dark hair on his fingers is the same. Same square fingernails, cut below the tip of his finger.
I can smell his cologne from here, my nose having been trained in the time we were together and apart.
No one tells you that you can continue to fall in love with someone, even after they’ve left you.
In Gavin’s absence, I’d fallen over and over into this dangerous and unadulterated love. Even while he moved forward.
And all the while, I fell in love with his ghost. It felt more and more like that was all he’d left me to hold on to.
“You’re thinking too hard, Denise. I can almost see the smoke coming from your ears.”
The menu isn’t doing its job: giving me something to focus on so I didn’t have to focus on how broken we are just yet.
“You know me,” I mutter as the waitress stops at our table to take our orders.
I order the chicken Caesar, Gavin orders the salmon.
She hasn’t even left the table when I feel his gaze locked on me, giving me all of his attention. He smiles like there were no ill feelings in all the time he’d been gone. The smile makes me want to smile as well but . . . I won’t wave my white flag just because he looks so innocent.
Not when his words and actions—or lack of—bounced around in my head; unforgiven because he’d never asked for it, never worked for it.
“You want to be mad at me, but you can’t,” he whispers once she’s gone, leaning forward, a secret smile on his face. His beard looks freshly trimmed and I miss the days when I’d reach out and scratch it.
Habits that needed to die: scratching his beard and giving into him.
“I don’t want to be mad at you, Gavin. I want to be happy to see you.”
Stand your ground. Stick up for yourself, Denise.
“So, you aren’t happy to see me?” His head tilts a little. “I’ll admit I was nervous on the way here but once I saw you, it went away.”
“Why?” Without the menu between us, I had nothing to shield me, nothing to pretend to find more interesting than him.
“Because I know you.”
I chuckle at his words and his smile grows.
He has no idea who I am anymore.
How do I know?
Because I hardly know who I am anymore.
You don’t know longing until you’re sitting across from the person you love, the person who has your whole heart, and you can’t reach them. You can physically reach out and touch them but your words, your actions, your spirit doesn’t reach them anymore.
You’re strangers.
But your heart can’t tell the difference.
I can feel a headache brewing and I realize I’m clenching my jaw. I let the pressure go and smile at the waitress when she brings glasses of water over. Gavin looks around the restaurant while I sip from the straw.
We sit in silence for a few minutes, me sipping water and pretending to be interested in some sport or other on the television, him on his phone and humming along to the music.
His presence is becoming infuriating.
“Are you going to talk?”
My eyes widen for a moment at his question.
“Are you?”
It’s a ping-pong tournament at this table. Except no one is winning.
“What is it? Talk to me,” he says, and it sounds sincere. The look in his eyes is telling me to trust him. To let him in.
After all, we’re both here. Maybe we can speak in a way we couldn’t when he was gone.
“I’m just hurt. You weren’t there for me the way I needed you to be.”
The quiet words hold so much weight and they sink between us.
He starts to speak, and I see his mouth move, I hear the words but none of them are remotely close to what I was hoping to hear.
No apologies; no owning up to his part in all of this.
“. . . tried to be there for you but you made it so hard and I had so much going on. Things started falling apart when I gave you all of my attention.”
“You wanted me to speak freely and that’s how I feel. I never wanted things to fall apart in your life because of me and my needing to heal. But I’m not going to take the blame for you not being able to keep up with it all, Gavin.”
I’d grieved alone. That should have never been the case.
“You want me to be sad the way you’re sad about it. It’s impossible, Denise! I didn’t go through it. I was a whole world away.”
By the time he gets to the end of his speech, I’m not looking at him.
The words are on my breath. But what’s the point?
What is the point spilling the truth to someone who is so stuck on their own version of it?
I don’t want a hurt to match my own.
I want a love to soothe it.
Words are pointless, and Gavin is looking at me like I should be offering more.
Like I haven’t offered enough from my own weak hands.
I’m a giver and Gavin is a taker. He will take all the glue I have just to put and keep himself together.
I will fall apart at his feet and he will stare and wonder why.
“You wanted to know. I’m telling you.”
“Yeah, but what you’re saying is ridiculous.”
I feel foolish.
He petted and coaxed me until I rolled onto my back and revealed the softest parts of myself. And then he sank his claws into my belly without remorse. Give me your softest so I can tear you apart like I said I wouldn’t.
“You just needed to be there.”
It’s a whisper and it sparks something in him.
“I see that this hurt you in a way that I didn’t understand before. And I’m sorry. But it’s time to move forward.”
Anger is exhausting. With each flare of it, I just want to sit back and give up. This is the man that I love.
Why do I feel like I’m at war with him?
“I’m trying. I’m . . .” my words falter because I don’t believe them. I don’t believe that anyone should put a time limit on my suffering.
I’ll move forward when I’m ready to,” I say. His eyes settle on mine, as if he can will me to be the person he wants me to be.
But even he isn’t capable of moving the clouds so I can feel the sun on my skin again.
The waitress comes by with our food and Gavin starts eating immediately, chewing quickly and looking around here and there.
I’m picking at my own food, too deep in my own feelings to really participate in this lunch of ours. It was feeling more and more like a waste of time.
Gavin was right. There should be smoke coming from my ears for the amount of work my brain was putting in right now, thinking about forgiveness and remembering it all. The good, the bad, the beautiful.
Gavin, halfway done with his salmon, grabs my plate and swaps it out with his.
And any anger I have melts away at the simple act.
He stabs at the salad and I take a good look at him, not looking away when he notices. He pauses, and I sit back.
“Are we not doing that anymore?”
His mouth is full of salad and I laugh, genuinely, like I’ve been trying not to for a long time.
“I’m shocked you remember.”
He shakes his head and swallows his food.
“You act like I’ve forgotten you or something.”
I want to tell him that it felt like he had but the moment feels so good. Too good to continue to fight.
I take a bite of his salmon and he asks me what I think of it.
“It’s delicious.”
There’s a pause, a moment where his fork doesn’t move, and he is just staring at me.
“What?”
He lifts his chin a little, sets his fork down, and draws his hands together in front of him.
“I’ve missed you, Denise.”
We’re no longer at war. And maybe there are no white flags in sight, but he’s definitely laid down his arms.
“I’ve missed you.” The words come out like a sigh. Like they’d been trapped in my body and are so relieved to finally be free.
“The hardest part of all of this is . . . knowing I will never find someone else like you.”
Elbow on the table, palm hiding my smile, I’m not sure that I can make sense of all that I feel.
In this moment, I remind myself of the woman I was before. Full of hope, carefree.
“How’s everything?” The waitress asks but Gavin and I are still staring at each other.
“Can we have the check?”
“Sure thing,” she tells Gavin.
“Not hungry anymore?” I slide my palm down to my chin, so he hears me.
“Not particularly.”
I hear Sabrina in my ear telling me not to fuck him, but the fight is futile. If Gavin is willing, it will happen.
The longer he stares at me, the likelier it becomes.
He pulls out his card to pay, pushing my hands away when I fumble with my wallet, and when I stand to put my coat on, he asks me what I have planned for the day.
“Nothing much.”
He nods, putting his own coat on. The waitress returns, and he signs the slip. When I move to walk past him, he places his hand on the small my of back. It’s the first contact we’ve had in months and even through my layers of clothing, it shocks me.
He’s so casual, so comfortable in his touch.
Like no time has passed.
“I’ll drop you off,” he offers. And I acquiesce.
Once Gavin lost my anger, I was his.
He unlocks the doors to his car and nostalgia creeps up on me.
The places we went in this car, the conversations we’d had . . .
I get in the passenger side and start putting my seatbelt on.
He gets in beside me and interrupts me, grabbing me close by my arms, eyes looking into mine.
Mine, they say back to me.
He’s slow to move but then his lips are against mine.
This is all the white flag I need. My hands are at my sides. I don’t trust myself to feel him and not let it carry me away.
I don’t want that in this parking lot, in his car, like we’re something cheaper than we are.
He pulls away and whispers, “I’ve been thinking about doing that since I saw you sitting there, pretending not to see me.”
Without another word, he turns the car on, puts on his seatbelt and heads to my place. The radio plays and he hums along, shooting glances my way here and there.
I face forward, my lips tingling, my heart pounding, the space between my thighs aching for him.
He parks smoothly as I admire the skin on his neck, loving that I’m surrounded by his scent.
His presence makes me forget, makes me forgive what I thought was unforgiveable. When he turns the car off, he turns to me, a question in his eyes.
Ready?
I take my seatbelt off and get out of the car. When I hear his car door shut behind me, I make my way inside.
All while we wait in the elevator, there’s a silence between us. The back of his hand brushes against mine and I close my eyes for a second.
I hadn’t been touched in so long, it felt like a part of me I’d long forgotten was coming alive.
We get inside my apartment and Carlos rushes to Gavin. I pull my boots off and watch their interaction.
He pats him on top of his head and pushes him away a bit and Carlos ambles back to his doggy bed.
“I just need a second,” I tell Gavin as I head to my bathroom.
Truthfully, I just needed to breathe and think without him in my space. I owed it to myself and to the person I’d been these past few weeks.
Because Gavin was here. But he’d leave again.
And then what?
I turn on the sink and while the water runs, the sound of it soothing me, I stare at my reflection.
Rosy cheeks and excited eyes are what I see.
The sound of the bathroom door opening has me turning the water off.
“You okay?” he asks.
“I was until you walked in here,” I answer honestly.
“Why’s that?” His hip is against the counter and he’s too close. He crowds me, and it does nothing for my common sense.
“Because I don’t know if I can do this.”
“You don’t have to do anything, Denise. That’s not what this is about.”
“But I want to,” I confess with a groan. “And why shouldn’t I?”
He places a hand on my cheek.
“Because you can’t handle what comes next; no matter what it is.”
He’s right. He’s so right but I find myself balancing my weight on my tiptoes to kiss him anyway.
Sweet little presses that make me yearn for him to take the lead. But he lets me, only his lips moving with encouragement.
“Tell me what you want,” I whisper.
“Whatever you’re okay with giving,” he says between kisses.
No.
No.
I step away and my hands brush against my shower curtain.
“What?” There’s an edge of irritation in his voice.
“Only what I’m okay with giving?”
“Yes, Denise. I’m not going to insist on you giving me more because I can’t do the same.”
“I’m such an idiot,” I say, more to myself than to him. When he touches my wrists, I pull them away. “Did I think fucking you would fix anything?”
“Stop thinking, damn it. Just do whatever feels right.” It sounds like a beg from his soft lips.
“I’m not like you! I can’t just fuck you and forget you.”
“You think that’s who I am?” His arms are spread out and I miss his touch already.
“I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.”
“Denise,” he says, and his hands are on my shoulders, then my jaw, “you know me.”
“Do I?”
He makes a sound of frustration and then he’s like a tornado coming toward me. I welcome him, and he backs us into the shower as he presses firm kisses on my lips, ravenously. He turns it on and even though it’s cold at first, I don’t notice. Though my clothes are sticking to my skin in that irritating way, I latch onto him hard.
When I yank at his shirt, he tugs mine down to free my breasts. I pause my efforts to get him naked when his mouth lands on my nipple and I gasp.
We struggle and it’s some sort of twisted foreplay, ripping clothes and not giving a single fuck.
We’re both finally naked and I can feel his anger as he thrusts into me, stroke after stroke, his body quieting the questions in my mind.
He is a momentary salve on the wounds inflicted by the world. And by him.
I once heard that what can heal you, can kill you. But could the same be said, in reverse?
“I love you,” I whisper in his ear once we’re finished, my legs still wrapped around his waist. He buries his face in my neck before letting me slide down and leaving me in the running shower alone.
And the arms laid to rest feel as though they’d only been hidden behind his back.