Calm Like Home

by Clark, Kaisa

  I can see the questions forming in his eyes, can tell he sees the change in me. It’s in the way his gaze lingers on my face and the concern that creeps into his voice, but I never talked to him about Adam when we were together and there’s no way I’m bringing him up him now. Luckily he’s kind enough not to ask. I’m thankful I don't have to get into it with him, that I can keep him separate from this part of me, the part that is broken, lost, completely spent.

  After tiptoeing around it, sticking to benign topics, he finally says, “I’m going to take a wild guess here and say you could probably use something a little stronger than coffee.”

  I let out a breath. It’s not really a laugh, but it’s as close as I come these days.

  “I’m working tonight. Want to come by?”

  I nod. “I’ll see you later Marcus.”

  After my shift at Milano’s I go home. I make an effort. I dress the way I want to feel, hoping it will somehow lift the cloak of sadness that has shrouded my entire being the last month and a half. I hate that I’m counting up from seeing Adam now instead of counting down. I make my way to The Berg with every intention of pretending to be someone I’m not, someone I used to be. I settle onto a stool at the end of the bar and text Annabelle to let her know I’m here if she wants to come.

  Be there in ten.

  Marcus mixes me a drink. I don’t know what it is, but it’s sweet and it’s strong. I feel it warm my chest with every sip. I’m well into my second when Annabelle pulls the stool out next to me. She regales me with stories about her latest conquest, Parker. Her break from boys was obviously short-lived. I nod along as she tells me about his perfect body and his athletic prowess and how he makes her toes curl, trying desperately not to think about another dark-haired boy who fits that description. I welcome the haze of the alcohol, how it softens the sharp edges, how it dulls the pang of missing Adam ever so slightly. I’m not sloppy, just down, and at the end of the night Annabelle bundles me into her passenger seat and takes me back to her apartment. She makes me sleep in her bed because she knows the couch holds so many aching memories for me. I’m grateful she’s such a good friend. I’m grateful not to be completely on my own.

  This is how I pass the time. I take it one day at a time, doing whatever it takes to get by and I never once call him no matter how badly I miss him, no matter how drunk I get. It's not that I don't think about it. I think about it all the time. Sometimes it feels like the only thing I think about. I’d love nothing more than to call him up and pour my heart out, to let the words spill out of me, to tell him I love him, that I’ve thought of nothing else since he walked out my door, that I’ve missed him with everything I have. But no matter how bad the yearning gets, I always tuck it away, hiding it in dark corners. I owe him that much. He said he needed space and that much I can give him. If not calling is the one way I can stay true to him, the one way to show how much I care, then I will live this torture. I will swallow my agony. I won't let him know what it's doing to me, even if it’s killing me bit-by-bit, piece-by-piece all the while.

  When the urge becomes maddening, when I feel myself slipping and I’m missing him like crazy, when I can hardly contain the words threatening to come pouring out of me, I call Marcus instead. I meet him for coffee and I pretend. I pretend he is light. I pretend he makes me laugh. I pretend he is the one person who matters, the one I drove away.

  I don't know when the “getting over” part comes, because every day that passes is worse than the day before, when it seems like it should be the other way around. There is no closure. There is no respite. All that’s left is despondence. I wonder if this is easy for him. I wonder if I ever cross his mind. I wonder if he regrets his decision, if he’s thought about calling me. But mostly I just wonder if he's ever coming back.

  On Wednesday evening Annabelle shows up unexpectedly at my apartment and I register she’s wearing workout gear.

  “Get your stuff.”

  I stare at her blankly.

  “You’re coming to yoga with me. You need some positive energy in your life.”

  I don’t have it in me to protest so I change clothes and follow her out to her car. When we get there, I try to focus on the instructor. Her voice is soothing as we go through the poses.

  “Connect with your breath. Breathe in love and breathe out whatever is troubling you. Be here, in this room, now. Let everything else fall away. There is no past, there is no future, only now. Take every thought that comes into your head and let it go. Are you feeling stressed, sad, overwhelmed? Let it go.”

  Afterwards we sit in Annabelle’s car as the parking lot empties. I stare out the windshield at the bleak January night sky, feeling something like relaxation for the first time since Adam left. It isn’t peace, not even close, but it’s something. We sit in silence as the cars dwindle, but eventually she turns to me.

  “Did it help?” Her voice is gentle, her expression soft but inquisitive.

  “Yeah, I think it did. It's probably a more productive distraction than what I've been doing.”

  “You want to talk about it?”

  I sigh. “There’s nothing to say.”

  “What happened, Alexa?” It’s the first time she’s asked. It’s the first time I feel like telling her. Somehow she knew I needed time. Funny how that’s the one thing Adam needed from me. It’s the one thing I didn't give him.

  “I asked him,” I say simply. My eyes trail away, out the passenger-side window, the weight returning to my chest, that horrid realization that I did this. If I’d known him better, if I’d respected his boundaries, his need for privacy, this never would’ve happened. But I didn't love him the way he needed and now it's too late. I exhale thickly. “I asked him to tell me before he was ready.”

  She nods. The silence echoes around us. I feel safe, shrouded in darkness, so I go on, my voice sounding every bit as broken as I feel.

  “I never saw this coming, Annabelle. It kind of blindsided me.”

  “I can tell.”

  A light snow has started falling and we sit a while longer, watching the flakes coat the hood of her car.

  “This might not be the end, Alexa. Maybe just a pause.”

  I press my head firmly into the headrest, savoring the pressure being on the outside for once, rather than within. My eyes drift to hers, resigned.

  “The longer this goes on the less I think he's coming back. I think that's why I keep getting worse instead of better.”

  She gives me a weak smile over the console. “I come every Wednesday. You’re always welcome.”

  “Thanks, Annabelle. Thanks for bringing me. Thanks for listening.”

  “Are you going to be okay?”

  Okay... I shake my head at the memory. “I really don't know.”

  Annabelle offers to take me back to her place but I decline, wanting to be alone. When she drops me off at my apartment I traipse slowly up the steps despite the cold winter air around me. I don’t want to go inside, don’t want to face the memories haunting every inch of my apartment. I trudge slowly from room to room, feeling the remains of my yoga-relaxation dissipating with every step. I enter my bedroom last, not even bothering to pull off my yoga pants before collapsing back onto the bed. I try with everything in me not to imagine him next to me, not to remember the way he smelled and the way he tasted and the way he said my name. How it was always so sweet and gentle on his tongue, like it was a word to be cherished and said with care.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing back tears, waiting for sleep to take me over, knowing full well what awaits me. It’s perhaps the biggest betrayal of all: I haven't stopped dreaming about him. It’s like my subconscious didn't fully get the message it’s over between us. I scrape through each day, trying desperately to avoid the thoughts and triggers and memories, but it doesn’t matter once I close my eyes. The second I drift off to sleep he's there, like he never really left at all. Sometimes I dream I see him out. Sometimes I dream we’re still together. Sometimes I dream we never wer
e and things are still fine between us. Every one is painful. Every one serves as a taunting reminder that when I wake up I won’t see his face, my daily reminder he is gone from my life.

  The next morning I decide to finally tackle the Christmas tree. It’s one of the last overt reminders of Adam’s presence in my apartment. Christmas was weeks ago. I know it’s time. I carefully remove the balls, wrapping each ornament in tissue paper and nestling it in the box for next year. I unwind the strands of lights, trying desperately not to think of how they went on, of the glint in his eyes when he wrapped the strands around the tree, trying to ensnare me as well. The branches come off last and finally it’s packed away. I briefly contemplate dismantling the fish tank too, but if I go down that road there’s no stopping. There’s no way to completely escape his memory. I’d have to get a new couch, a new bed, replace my kitchenware, move altogether. And even if I eradicated all visual reminders, the memories will never go away. I’ll always have this damn mole over my heart and a deviated septum and a birthday on September fifth. I’ll still think of him whenever my hair dries curly or if I ever smile that stupid nine-tooth smile again that I never even knew I have.

  When I’m at my lowest I find myself wishing I’d never even met Adam Westbrook. That way I'd never have to know I found that perfect person, my counterpart, the one for me, and that I pushed him away with my own selfish insensitivity. It didn’t have to end, but I couldn’t leave it alone, couldn’t accept anything less than his all, couldn’t accept his timeline. I had to impose my own. Without a doubt, the most haunting part of losing Adam is the knowledge that I have no one to blame but myself.

  Chapter 26

  The Friday before spring semester starts, Annabelle drags me to The Berg to keep me from wallowing at home alone. It has been fifty-four agonizing days of being lost without Adam in my life. Fifty-four days that should’ve been spent soaking in his love instead of drowning in my own misery.

  The bar is packed with college students wanting to get their last few nights of partying in before going back to school. There’s a band playing and the dance floor is even more crowded with people than usual. I try to focus on the music, try to let it sweep me away, but in all actuality I don’t feel like dancing or letting guys buy me drinks. When the band pauses for a break in the set, I lean into Annabelle’s side.

  “I’m not really feeling it tonight.”

  But as soon as the words are out of my mouth, I see it; that thick, dark hair, that perfect smile. I don’t have to take a second look; I’d know him anywhere. My stomach plummets for the floor, the shock at unexpectedly seeing him searing white hot through my middle. He’s talking with Damien near the stage, sipping a Miller Lite, looking completely relaxed and happy.

  “Oh my God, he’s here,” I blurt out, gripping her arm.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me!” she mutters, suddenly furious. I watch her eyes scan the crowd and settle on his smiling face. She shakes her head and turns back to me, no doubt registering the panic written all over mine. “What do you want to do?”

  “I, I don’t know,” I stammer. I’m not sure if he’s seen us, but the last thing I want is for him to think I’m leaving because he’s here. “I have to at least pretend I’m all right with him being here.”

  “Are you?”

  I glance over at him again, take in his grinning face, and force a nod. “I'm fine.”

  I'm lying.

  I'm falling apart.

  How can he be smiling? It’s an actual smile, a wide, full-toothed grin, showing off his perfect teeth and his bright eyes. Here he is joking with his friend, looking as carefree as ever, when these days I can barely hide what a mess he’s made of me. I wonder if I ever meant anything to him at all.

  Annabelle watches me stare and announces, “You’re going to need another drink if we’re staying. I’ll be back.” With that she pushes her way towards Marcus at the bar.

  I fiddle with the straw in my drink, poking at the ice cubes, feeling the pressure building in my chest. He shouldn’t be here, not this bar. He broke an unspoken rule by coming. I respected his wishes. I stayed away. I didn't call the hundred different times I wanted, didn't tell him how much I miss him, that I still love him, with everything in me I still love him. I held up my end. I put on a stoic face and I went through every single day wishing things were different between us. Then he comes here, to the place he knows we frequent, and shatters what little composure I had, takes that away too. He should’ve just stayed away.

  I try to avoid it, but weakness takes over and I find my eyes drifting back towards the stage to where he was standing. He isn’t there; I’ve lost sight of him in the packed expanse. It’s probably for the best. One glimpse was enough to completely wreck me. I edge through the crowd towards the bar, feeling antsy without Annabelle by my side. My heart is pounding in my chest, my hands are clammy, my stomach in knots.

  “Hey, Lex,” someone says behind me. I don’t have to turn to look. I already know. The voice. The name. There’s only one person it could be. The world shifts around me, falling away.

  “Adam,” I say softly, turning to look up at him. And then nothing. I stare at him, speechless. I’m hurt and excited and nervous and broken, and it’s killing me to be this agonizingly close without being able to reach out and touch him. He might as well have ripped my heart right out of my chest simply by saying my name. I just stand there staring up at those dark eyes that have seen every part of me. And I say nothing.

  He takes a step closer, leans in to say something in my ear. His arm brushes mine and it sends a jolt through me. I flinch backwards in surprise.

  “Having fun?” he shouts over the commotion around us, like I’m any other acquaintance with which he might make conversation, like we don’t have all this history flowing between us. His mouth turns up in a slight smile; his gaze is soft. I give a slight nod, my eyes never leaving his face. I try to force a smile, but my face is numb. I probably just look dumbfounded. I wish he would leave, but God, I don’t want him to go. I try to reply, to say something, anything, but after all this time the words won’t come. He’s here and he’s talking to me and as he stares into my eyes I can’t help but think this feels so right. But nothing is right. Without him in my life, nothing is as it should be. And I wonder if he knows. I wonder if he can see it written on my face that he has leveled me in every way possible.

  Damien appears behind him and taps his shoulder, taking care to avoid my eyes. Adam nods in acknowledgement, but doesn’t lift his gaze from my face.

  Finally he says, “It was good to see you, Lex.”

  It sounds so casual, so unlike the beautiful, loving way I’m used to hearing my name on his lips. His eyes linger on mine for a fraction of a second longer and then he’s walking away, disappearing from my life all over again.

  Suddenly the room is spinning around me at dizzying speed. It feels like the wind was knocked out of me. My chest is hollow; it’s caving in. I reach for a nearby chair to steady myself. Annabelle returns and she can tell instantly by the look on my face something isn’t right.

  “What happened? Did he come talk to you?” she demands, looking around wildly for any sign of him.

  I force a nod and gulp the drink she brought me. The cocktail is strong and helps subdue the lump forming in my throat.

  “Well?” she asks, eyes wide.

  I shake my head and clamp onto the straw, willing myself not to cry.

  I quickly finish my drink and am beyond ready to go. My throat is raw and there’s a sinking feeling in my stomach. Somehow that interaction just left me empty. I feel broken. I feel completely shattered. We climb into Annabelle’s car and the last frail strand holding me together finally snaps. As the door closes, deep sobs wrack my body and I double over in the seat. She doesn’t try to console me or tell me to stop. She just lets me cry it out in her passenger seat.

  “How did this go so wrong, Annabelle?” I ask. “How did we even get here?”

  She shakes
her head and steers the car towards her apartment.

  Whatever excuse for solace I’d found in our time apart is destroyed after running into Adam at The Berg. Seeing his face broke me apart all over again. He wrecked me and I let him. Afterwards I’m caught up wondering how he can make goodbye look so easy, like he hasn't even given us a second thought and I can't seem to think of anything else.

  I wish I were handling it gracefully. I know I’ve been anything but. I go through the days in slow motion, blindly fumbling, trying to stay afloat, but the truth is there is nothing left inside of me. All I can see is his smiling face from across the bar replaying over and over again in my mind, bringing back the haunting realization that he is fine with this.

  I stick to servers’ house parties the rest of the weekend, not wanting to be alone but not wanting to risk seeing Adam out again. I turn to alcohol, drinking to excess, drowning out all feeling, much preferring the haze to utter desolation. I drink cheap beer with Javi, dry gin and tonics with Carly, no longer caring about the taste, just craving the nothingness.

  Finally the long weekend is over. The spring semester is starting and I know he’s back at school. There’s no longer any risk of running into him. For the first time ever I’m grateful he is three hundred miles away. I’m completely broken and if he saw me he would know it in an instant.

  I haul myself to class the first day back. I trudge across campus feeling bleak. I don’t care about my classes; I just want to get through the day. I can feel myself slipping, the apathy expanding, pushing everything that used to matter from my mind. I’ve become feebly passive, pathetically indifferent.