42
Ryan left on a Sunday. Nine days had passed since then, and I’d found it hard to do little more than lie in my bed, staring at the ceiling. It was hard to breathe without him, my heart literally ached, and I fully realized just how bad of a mistake I’d made by not going with him. At the time I made the decision to stay, it made perfect sense. I was standing up for myself, ensuring that I wouldn’t be used or taken advantage of like my mother and Renee. But in hindsight, that didn’t even make any sense. I was asking for marriage. They were both married, and being married hadn’t kept them from being hurt. Benny or Khalil marrying me most likely wouldn’t have changed the outcomes of our relationships. Because married or not, they still would’ve been Benny and Khalil. And neither of them had loved me, or if they had, they hadn’t loved me like Ryan did. Because he loved me from my heart to the depths of my soul, made me feel things I’d never felt. Took care of me emotionally. Was there for me in every way.
Benny and Khalil never did any of that.
Ever.
And my ass just let Ryan go. I just let him go. Watched him get in that TSA line and didn’t stop him. Didn’t buy a ticket and go with him. And as I sat in my bedroom preparing to have dinner with my mother and sisters that Tuesday night, the gravity of my decision had never been clearer.
I had fucked up.
I had totally and completely fucked up.
And I wasn’t going to be able to last much longer without him.
He had called me that morning before work, and we’d had a good conversation. Light, mostly carried by him talking about how nice his hotel room was in Arizona. He’d opted to stay in a residential inn rather than rent a place, because he said it just wouldn’t be the same without me.
Shit.
That made me want to cry, but I was able to keep it together until he informed me that he wouldn’t be coming to visit that weekend, the two-week mark of him being gone, because of work. He was swamped, sounded stressed, and apologized profusely, adding that it might be another week before he could visit, if not longer.
If not longer.
He sounded overwhelmed and tired, so I tried to sound upbeat, told him it was okay and that I understood, but he heard the subtle quiver in my voice and apologized again. Then I started full-on crying, hysterical, uncontrollable crying, and he tried to make me feel better, told me he loved me over and over again, reassured me that we’d see each other again soon.
Soon.
All I could think was how uncertain the word soon was, and my mind traveled back to when I was a little girl and would ask my mom when we would get to go to this place or that place and she would always say, “Soon.” More often than not, soon never came. His sincere, reassuring words didn’t even put a dent in my sorrow, but I eventually pulled myself together before an uncomfortable silence fell between us and we ended the call. Since he was working long hours in Arizona, I knew I probably wouldn’t hear from him again until the next morning. And that just felt too long.
I was a mess after we hung up. Lay in bed crying, recalling how I had sat in my bed and watched him get dressed the day he left. That was something I did every morning after he basically began living with me. I’d sit in bed with a cup of something in my hand and watch him get dressed, wishing all the while he could just stay there with me, but the day he left for Arizona was different with a finality to it that nearly suffocated me. That feeling returned to me after our phone call ended, and I cried myself to sleep only to wake up cloaked in the same heavy despair. That weekend visit wasn’t going to be enough and I knew it. It was a temporary fix for a long-term problem—us being apart—but it was…something, something I had been looking forward to. Something that at least kept me from falling completely apart. And now that something had been delayed possibly indefinitely, and I felt like shit.
I thought about hopping on a plane, going to him, and relieving both our miseries, but he was already under a lot of pressure and I knew the last thing he needed was me there distracting him.
A text came through just as I was pumping myself up to put on my shoes and leave.
Nicky: U on ur way? It’s like a funeral up in here with Mama and Nay. Hurry up!
I sighed. I knew what she meant. Renee was still upset about being separated from Robert, although she knew it was what was best for her, and Mama had broken up with Lamar a few days earlier and hadn’t been in the best of moods since. This little dinner was Nicky’s idea, a way to lift their spirits. But she had no idea I’d been in seclusion since Ryan left or that my presence would probably only make things worse, because I was totally and completely miserable.
Letting my hand hover over the screen of the phone for a moment, I replied: OMW
I pulled on my shoes, grabbed a jacket, and headed toward the door. Dinner was to start at six. It was six-thirty, but at least I was managing to leave the house. That was a huge accomplishment for me considering my state of mind.
I opened the door, digging in my oversized purse to be sure I had my phone, and when I looked up, standing before me was Ryan Boyé with his key in his hand and a smile on his face. “Hey, baby.”