I want to bury my face in my hands, but I won’t miss this moment. The sheer honesty makes my hands shake.
“Do you think I’d be here, freezing my ass off if I didn’t?”
“Honestly, I don’t know why you’re here! Because I’ve been alone all this time anyway! And you’re inside with some woman that your parents hope you end up falling in love with.”
“Don’t you bring my parents into this—”
My shaking hands want to hurt him, want him to shut the hell up and feel. Instead, I push him and he grabs my arms so hard, it pinches.
We’re screaming in the middle of the street and I wonder what once made this love and if it’s here still.
“It’s like you don’t hear me, you don’t care to hear me,” I yell, my hands on my head, as if the outside pressure will keep it from exploding with frustration. “We don’t speak the same language anymore.”
“I don’t even recognize you at this point, Denise!”
The rest of the words are muffled out in the ringing aftermath of that explosion.
Because I can’t recognize myself, either. This screaming woman, I don’t know who she is.
But . . .
Couldn’t he see?
Couldn’t he see my suffering?
Couldn’t he see I just needed someone to lift me out of this abysmal place?
My hands are still shaking, my eyes are closed, and my head starts to reject this entire conversation, jerking violently from side to side.
Hands grip my wrists and I open my eyes.
“Don’t walk away,” he says, his tone lower but still angry.
I hadn’t realized I’d even moved.
“I stay here, and then what?” I hear the exhaustion and defeat in my tone.
“I don’t know! I have no idea what to do from here because it isn’t like I’m staying.”
We can already know something deep in our hearts, know it deep down, and still hold a veil of denial over it. Push it back inside us and just never pay it any mind. That Gavin would be heading back to Pakistan and I’d still be alone was something I knew. But accepting that this was likely going to be the end for us?
That was the part that had my fists clenched, my nails digging into my palms.
I feel the pain on the outside and it distracts from the pain on the inside.
“So, what do you want, Denise? What will make this better?”
A random passerby would think we were just a couple arguing. That we were finally coming to a solution and that Gavin was a good man; one who would do anything I suggested to make this work.
But I know better.
He isn’t looking for a solution.
He’d be looking for holes in my suggestions.
His stance, the way he let my hands go, the way he posed the question, as if he’s daring me to make the impossible, possible.
“I just want a place in your life,” I whisper. He shakes his head now.
“We both know that isn’t true.” He grabs my wrists again but this time, gentler. A lot like the man I’ve been missing. “You want to be my whole world. And you deserve that.” His hands drop my wrists and move to my shoulders and up my neck, squeezing gently before cupping my face. “But we both also know that isn’t something I can give you right now.”
I let him kiss me, soft and sweet, little presses of nostalgia against yearnful skin.
Because for the first time in weeks, I understand him.
We’re two people, afraid to let go, afraid of missing out on something that once felt like fate; so tired of holding on because of the madness it was turning into.
But it felt like Gavin was finally ready to let go.
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.”
EVOL Page 5