The Last Post

by Renee Carlino

  When he came back on, he said, “Hey.”

  “Hey?” That was it? What did I expect? I was calling him out of the blue at ten at night.

  “I don’t know why I called. Yes, I do actually, I called because I forgot to say thank you for today. Sometimes I get in these moods where my mind is somewhere else.”

  “It’s understandable, George.” He chuckled, his voice deep and low.

  “Have you been drinking?”

  “I had a little gin. I have to drink to be around my sister, sadly. She’s a lot.”

  “Well, thank you anyway for today. Have fun.” All right, that’s enough, Laya.

  “I will. You can call me anytime. Just so you know,” he said.

  “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” I ended the call. I wished he had invited me. Micah seemed to be the only person who could get my mind off Cameron at the moment, even if it came in short little bursts. I didn’t know how to be forward and ask if I could meet up with him. And I still got the sense that he was treading lightly with me. Who could blame him; my moods were all over the place.

  I thought I’d clean my bedroom, but thoughts about Micah kept me from doing anything productive. I wished I were at the bar with Micah, his sister, and his friend. It would have made things seem so normal, but instead I was at home.

  Before I knew it, I’d called Cameron and was leaving a voicemail.

  “Cameron, when are you going to let me go? I need to be a real person. I can’t do that if you’re popping into my mind every thirty seconds.”

  I dozed off without finishing my thought. In the morning, I woke up to my phone ringing against my ear.

  “Hello?”

  “Sorry, I know it’s early.” It was Micah. Our date and that late-night conversation came to mind and I wondered if he’d bring it up.

  “Yeah, what time is it?” I tried to check the time, but I still wasn’t fully awake.

  “It’s six a.m. I just couldn’t sleep and I thought I’d get your voicemail so I planned to leave you a message.”

  “What were you going to say?” I sat up, running a hand through my hair—glad that no one could see me now.

  “That I’m sorry I didn’t invite you out last night. It wasn’t much fun—we were kinda just sitting there. I didn’t think you’d enjoy it. I didn’t realize it until later but I should have invited you anyway, but—”

  “You’re rambling. It’s okay.” But it wasn’t. Sure, he was saying all the right things, but still, he didn’t invite me out, and I was alone, here, in my apartment.

  “I don’t know exactly how to be in a relationship,” he said.

  “I’m not sure I would call this a relationship . . .”

  “Well, anytime you’re interacting with someone, even on a semi-regular basis, it’s a relationship.”

  “You know I’m not ready—”

  “But you did want to come and meet me at the bar last night?”

  “Well, I um . . . um . . .”

  “Laya, we’re in a relationship. Call it whatever you want. You can say we’re just seeing each other.”

  “I didn’t say that.” Are we really arguing about whether or not we’re in a relationship?

  “I like you and I think you like me, and we are seeing each other, which qualifies as a relationship.”

  “Then why didn’t you invite me last night?”

  “You’re right. That’s why I’m calling you now to apologize.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Let’s just forget it, okay? I’ll see you around.”

  “Are you kidding? See you around? You might as well had said ‘have a nice life.’ ”

  “Have a nice life, Micah.”

  “Laya, this is crazy.”

  It was true . . . I was annoyed he hadn’t invited me. It all seemed so childish. Neither one of us knew exactly how to navigate what was forming between us. We were emotional babies. I was an injured baby; he was a newborn. We were just stealing Cheerios from each other on the playground and pretending it was foie gras.

  “I’m going back to bed.”

  “What?”

  “Yes, it’s six a.m. on a Sunday. We’ll talk later,” I told him.

  “Okay, I guess,” he said, irritated.

  Almost immediately after I hung up, I went to my computer and posted to Cameron’s page. Afterward I shut it down and crawled back into bed.

  LAYA BENNETT to CAMERON BENNETT

  I just want to run. I don’t know how to do anything. I want to get out of here. Let’s go to the Adirondacks. Remember when we did that and swam in the freezing lake? I want to go again. But does it really matter what I want? Three. Two. One. See ya.

  When the phone rang a few hours later, I had a feeling it would be Micah again. I didn’t answer with a hello. I said nothing at all.

  “Laya?”

  “I’m here.”

  “I read your post on Facebook. Do you want to run from me? Is that what you meant? I’m really sorry about not inviting you last night.”

  “That post wasn’t about you,” I lied.

  “It seems like you turn on a dime. One minute you’re nice, attentive, talkative, and the next you’re despondent and short?”

  “I don’t know, maybe because my husband died,” I said.

  “What am I supposed to say?” he said. “I don’t know how to act, Laya. Your husband died tragically. I don’t think anyone could get over that and I won’t pretend to know what you should do or how you should behave. The only thing I know is that I don’t think you want to find yourself alone, depressed in a cabin somewhere, growing a disgusting beard. Take it from me.”

  I laughed. I gave myself permission to laugh for just a moment. “That’s funny, Micah, if not totally strange.” Hm. So he had had a beard.

  “I just wanted to clear the air and make sure you were okay,” he said.

  “I think I am okay,” I said even though I still felt tired after sleeping for so long. “Hey . . . I have to go.”

  “Okay, I hope you feel better. I am sorry, okay? Um . . . well, see ya,” he said.

  I cringed. “Bye,” I choked out.

  14. Crumbling Bricks

  MICAH

  I immediately called Mel after my conversation with Laya. I needed to process the conversation with someone else.

  “What’s up? What kind of life havoc are you creating now, drama queen?” she said.

  “I’m not dramatic.”

  “So, were you calling me to see how the weather is in Maine? It’s cold as fuck.”

  “Mel, do you think I’m selfish?”

  “Yes, unequivocally.”

  I swear, why do I call her?

  “But you said I was nice.”

  “Yeah, like in a you want everyone to think you’re nice kind of way.”

  “That’s not true!” I said. “Last night, when we went out, Laya called.”

  “I know. I remember. I was there.”

  Mel was infuriating sometimes.

  “Well, you were swept up in that chia-seed conversation.”

  “Move on, Micah.”

  “Anyway, after I thought about it, I think she wanted me to invite her, so I called and apologized.”

  “Why didn’t you invite her?”

  “I didn’t really think about it at the time.”

  “Is that totally true, Micah?”

  “No, I didn’t think she’d want to meet us.”

  She paused, which meant she was either going to say something really mean and vulgar or heart-wrenching and profound.

  “Well, you can’t know if you don’t ask. You can’t sit around, overthinking someone’s motives or wants and needs. Sometimes you just have to ask.”

  “It’s hard for me to find the right words. I’m not as expressive as you.”

  “I think it’s because you’re afraid you’ll say something stupid and not live up to your Ivy League persona.”

  “I’m not like that at all. I resent that.”

  “Well, then I
don’t know what to say. You asked for advice so I’m giving you some. Quit your obsessing.” And just like that, after her tough love, she switched topics. “Hey, I’m going to Mom’s in two weeks for dinner. I’m leaving Kenny at home, otherwise he might comment on her use of food preservatives. Do you want to go, too?”

  “How come they don’t invite me? They don’t visit me at work anymore either. They make excuses, like ‘Dad’s tired.’ ”

  “Well, now you know how it feels to not be invited somewhere and then to hear about it later. Just come with me.”

  “Are you saying I do that?”

  “I’m saying you did it to Laya. And by the way, Mom and Dad hardly ever invite me over. Okay, I gotta go harvest some carrots and weed with Kenny in the greenhouse.”

  I really needed to reevaluate why I turned to Mel for advice. Walking from my room to the kitchen, I noticed Jeff’s door was open. I heard a female say something in an irritated voice.

  “Hey, Micah?” Jeff yelled.

  Oh great, what does he want?

  “What?” I yelled back.

  “Come in here; we need a third-party opinion.”

  I wasn’t in the mood to play mediator for Jeff and whoever he had in his bed, but I went anyway. When I poked my head into the doorway, I saw a naked woman lying unabashedly next to Jeff in bed. I looked away. “This is Lonnie. She’s not shy.”

  “Hi, Micah,” she said before pulling the sheet up, probably for my benefit more than hers.

  “What’s up?” I said.

  “So, Lonnie here is from Chicago. There seems to be a strong desire in all Chicagoans to argue with New Yorkers about who has better pizza and hot dogs.”

  “New York pizza and Chicago dogs,” I said.

  Jeff looked shocked and Lonnie just smiled. “We’re even,” she teased Jeff.

  “How can you say that, man? It’s such a betrayal.” Both Lonnie and Jeff were laughing and I was just staring, unamused.

  “Is that all you need?” I asked.

  “What’s wrong?” Jeff said. “You having woman problems?”

  Lonnie sat up. “Maybe I can help.” She pointed to the edge of the bed, covered herself more and sat against the headboard. “Sit. I’ll give you some advice.”

  “Really?” I said, wondering why I continued torturing myself by listening to other people’s opinions about my love life.

  “Tell him how it is, honey,” Jeff said. I was fairly certain Jeff had just met Lonnie and he was already calling her honey, but who cares?

  “I’m seeing a girl. It’s complicated. I barely even know her and I keep fucking things up.” I sat at the end of the bed, making a concerted effort to ignore the fact that my roommate and the woman he was with were naked under the covers.

  “But you have feelings for her?” Lonnie asked.

  It was true. I did have feelings for Laya. I was intrigued by her, her beauty, her unselfconsciousness, her talent and wit. I didn’t know if I wanted to pursue anything with her or if she was even emotionally available. It seemed like every encounter ended strangely. I knew she was lonely, but I didn’t pity her. Maybe I was being selfish to keep trying. Maybe I just wanted to prove to myself that I could somehow make a woman who once had a charismatic, successful, good-looking husband fall in love with me.

  “Yes, I do have feelings for her,” I told Lonnie.

  “All women want is to be wanted, appreciated, and respected. At least the good ones. Yeah, there are bitches out there who want Gucci bags, drink expensive champagne, and feel loved by receiving material objects, or being married to the rich guy. Then there are the women who talk incessantly about themselves and need constant praise and validation regardless of who it’s coming from. But I promise you there are also women out there who just want to experience another person, have a connection, bring meaning to their lives by exploring life with someone who gets them.”

  I looked to Jeff. “Who is this woman? She’s like the Einstein of emotional intelligence.”

  “She’s also good in bed,” Jeff said.

  Lonnie rolled her eyes at Jeff. “I was just in a relationship for ten years, then I dated a total asshole who would never tell me where he was, or what he was doing. He didn’t understand communication is a necessary component of respect. He felt entitled, like ‘Why should I tell her? I don’t owe her anything,’ but that’s the thing. He only cared if there was some chance we’d have sex that day. Every other day he was too busy. He made me feel insignificant. What I’m saying is, if you like the girl, ask her questions, tell her about your life. Share personal details with her. Don’t fuck around with other women while you’re trying to get to know her. At least wait until you have that conversation.”

  “There aren’t other women,” I said.

  “Okay, it’s easy.” Lonnie spoke softly. “Take it slow, then.”

  I nodded. Who would have known I’d get profound, if not slightly abrasive, advice from the stranger sleeping in Jeff’s bed?

  “Thanks, Lonnie,” I said as I headed into the hallway. I wished I lived with her instead of Jeff.

  “Anytime!” she yelled back.

  15. Command Module

  LAYA

  My phone rang, jolting me out of sleep, “Hello?”

  “Hey, it’s Izzy.”

  I hesitated. Izzy was my only friend from grade school, actually my only childhood friend period, but it’d been a while since she and I had talked. Correction, she’d been calling me, but I ignored her. I had basically shut out everyone I knew after Cam died.

  “Hi. How are you?”

  “Good. How are you?”

  “I’m okay.”

  “Listen, I’m sorry I didn’t make it out to California for Cameron’s service.”

  “It’s okay.” I couldn’t blame her. She’d only met Cameron once or twice.

  “Why haven’t I heard from you? I’ve left so many messages on your phone. The only reason I knew you were alive was because I called your dad’s office and asked. He said you were just busy. Are you back at the hospital working?”

  “I have been busy,” I said. Busy with my thoughts, but she didn’t need to know that.

  “Well, I hope not too busy to grab lunch with your old friend.”

  “Um, okay, sure. When?” I knew I needed to get out and face the world eventually.

  “It’s just that I pick up Alexander from nursery school around lunchtime.”

  Didn’t she just ask me? “We can go somewhere kid-friendly.”

  “Yeah, but Alexander is only two and you know how two-year-olds are.”

  I had no idea. Why would I know that? Sometimes people just want you to know how busy they are and how fulfilling their lives are.

  “Well, when you figure out a time that works, let me know. I’m sorry I didn’t return your calls. I was trying to get my head straight,” I said.

  “Laya, I’ve seen your Facebook posts.”

  “I gotta go. Call me when you want to grab a bite . . .” The thought of juggling friendships was exhausting to me. I went to my computer, almost mindlessly, and posted. I don’t know why I did it.

  LAYA BENNETT to CAMERON BENNETT

  Hey, Cam, do you think we should have kids? I mean, with your lifestyle? Do you think that would make sense? With the risks and all? Would I have to give up my job? Could we balance it all? See ya. Three. Two. One.

  Later that day I went to my dad’s office. I had questions and felt like we were just skirting around issues all the time. I felt like he scrutinized me for grieving when I thought that of all people, he should know how it felt.

  Micah wasn’t there. Devin saw me walking in and waved me over. I didn’t even ask Devin about Micah, but apparently they talk about me because he said, “You just missed Micah. He went out to meet with clients.”

  “Good to know. Thank you.” I waved, and scurried down the hall toward my father’s office.

  In a sense, I was relieved Micah wasn’t there. Our last conversation hadn’t exactly
ended on a pleasant note.

  As I made my way down the long hall, I stopped outside the gallery room where they kept all the models from buildings the firm had designed in the past. It was beautiful to see all their creations in one room. I stared blankly, wondering how my father had pulled it all off after losing my mother. How did Dad do it? How did he build this place from the ground up while swimming in grief?

  Since Cameron died, I felt naked when I walked down the street. Everything reminded me of him. Everyone was giving me timelines, and all that did was bring up old wounds. I would lie in bed and smell him, but he’d rarely sleep in that bed. I had gotten rid of all the stuff we had bought in California with the exception of that bed. Everyone suggested more grief counseling, but every time I went, I would talk about Cameron and sob and sob. It wasn’t cathartic at all for me. It didn’t help me. Even the crying just exhausted me and made me feel fatigued for days.

  I shuffled past a few other offices and into my father’s as he was just ending a call. He hung up and smiled at me lovingly.

  “What’s going on, baby girl?” he said as I sat down across from him. His question ignited something inside me. He knew the answer, yet he asked anyway. My eyes fell on one of the frames on his desk—the one of him and Mom at their wedding. I picked it up and traced Mom’s smiling face with my finger.

  I didn’t want to bring up more pain, but it had been far too long that he had avoided this conversation with me. “Why don’t you ever talk about Mom? Why didn’t you move on and remarry?” My voice grew louder. “Why didn’t you explain grief to me?”

  Dad leaned back in his chair, not answering right away. He was stoic and seemed resolute. “Which should I answer first?”

  I nearly scoffed in disbelief that he was finally going to open up to me. “Answer this: How long did it take you to stop being mad at the universe? How long did it take you to get over it?”

  He looked me in the eyes and said, “I’ve been waiting for you to come to me and ask questions.”

  “Why didn’t you come to me first? You’re my dad.”

  “I wish I had. I know I wasn’t a perfect father. I’m still not, Laya. Watching you go through what I went through brought so many buried feelings to the surface.” My father was never a good liar—or someone who would readily admit he’d done something wrong. Tears welled up in my eyes and his were soon to follow. “I wouldn’t wish this relentlessly horrible feeling on anyone.”