by A. L. Parks
**I am sorry about how things went down today. It’s a little crazy right now. I promise to talk to you tomorrow**
Abby stared at the text, so cold. Her heart sank. His actions were so confusing. She hated not being able to talk to him, ask him what was going on, hear his voice before she drifted off to sleep. Pressing the speed dial for his cell, she tentatively placed the phone to her ear.
"Hey," his voice was low, and quiet.
"Hi," she whispered. "I just needed to hear your voice.” She paused, but there was silence on the other end. “Good night, Bryce,"
"Good night, Abby," and he was gone.
The following day was a blur, as Abby did her best to function through the fog of confusion that enveloped her. Bryce was avoiding her. She had not heard from him yet again that morning, and was unsure if she should even bother texting him, only to be disappointed in his non-response. By the time she made her way through the door at the end of the day, she was exhausted and angry. She dumped her purse and briefcase on the floor, and headed straight for the shower. Something about the hot water tended to bring things into focus.
The clarity she found, however, was not what she hoped it would be. It was becoming clearer, with each passing hour that Bryce was pulling away. Why he had not simply just ended it, and why he needed to drag it out was unclear, but Abby was ready for confirmation. She poured herself a glass of wine, and sat on the couch. She picked up the remote to turn on the TV, but then dropped it back onto the coffee table. She was not in the mood for mindlessness. She needed to confront the situation with Bryce, and if he was not going to address it, she would.
He answered on the second ring, sounding tired and unsure.
"I guess I don't need to ask if you're coming over tonight?" her voice was terse.
"Not tonight, Abby," he sighed.
"Not tonight? Cut the shit, Bryce! Why don't you just tell me what the fuck is going on? I mean, if you don't want to see me anymore, just tell me. Because this not knowing crap - sucks! I think I deserve to know what the hell is going on with you," she yelled into the phone.
"You're right, I'm sorry. I should have talked to you about this earlier, but I really have been busy. This new artist is being incredibly difficult to work with. And I’ve decided I should probably replace Sheila as CFO at the Foundation. But that’s no excuse, and it’s not fair to you." Bryce took a deep breath before continuing. "I'm just dealing with some issues that I need to work through. I need things to slow down for a minute, so I can catch my breath. That's all. I just need some space, to figure out what is going on in my head, and my heart."
"Why can't you talk to me, let me help?"
"I have to work through this on my own, Abby. Please try to understand. I promise I will talk to you about it as soon as I figure it out myself." Abby could hear the pain in his voice, and a part of her wanted to reach through the phone, and caress his face and soothe him.
"I can do that," she offered, her voice just barely a whisper. "I love you, Bryce."
"I know, Abby. I will talk to you soon." And the line went dead. Abby finished off the bottle of wine, and went to bed. Her heart ached. Her head reeled. And she felt darkness moving in around her.
Abby kicked herself the following morning for not taking a sleeping pill before she went to bed. She tossed and turned all night long, her mind unable to shut down, sending her through various scenarios of what may lie ahead for her and Bryce. By the time the alarm went off, she had managed only a couple hours of sleep. She spent another day in a complete haze of uncertainty and sadness, and was wondering when someone at the office was going to tell her she needed to pull her head out of her ass or lose her job. She had been completely ineffective at work.
Rob emailed her in the morning to see if she was available for lunch. She had not had an appetite for three days, but knew she needed the distraction. Besides, Rob and Bryce were friends. Maybe he knew what was going on with Bryce, and could let Abby in on the issues. If nothing else, it would be an hour away from the various reports all bearing the name of Bryce’s deceased wife.
Rob was no help on any front during the lunch. He had not spoken with Bryce in a few days, so had no idea what was going on. He had worked overtime to avoid the topic of Bryce during the conversation, which left only work to discuss. Abby picked at her salad, not really eating any of it, which had warranted a raised eyebrow, and a comment that she “looked like shit.”
“Thanks, so much for that, Rob. You sure know how to make a woman feel good about herself.” She responded; her voice clipped.
“Sorry, hon, but you need to eat something. You can’t let Bryce and whatever issues he’s having affect your health.”
***
The buzzing from her alarm brought her back to life. She stumbled into the bathroom, and sat on the edge of the bathtub. Abby took stock of herself in the mirror. She looked like someone had tossed her around and left her for dead on the side of the road.
Weeks earlier she had requested the next two days off from work. She and Bryce had made plans to go away for a long weekend in Newport. But she had not heard anything from Bryce, and had called yesterday to check on the reservation, only to discover Bryce had already cancelled them. Slumping onto the couch, Abby turned on the TV, and tried to watch the morning news. Eventually, she drifted back to sleep. A forgotten memory swam through her dreams. The soft sway of a boat; a beautiful song drifting along the waves, and a red-haired mermaid telling a story of love and loss.
When she woke again, she managed a shower, clean clothes, and headed into the living room. She needed to get out of the depressing apartment that coaxed her into drinking alcohol without consuming actual food. The shower had offered her clarity into her situation, and she decided that Rob had been correct. Abby could not let Bryce’s issues drag her into that dark place where she had existed for so many years after Trevor had died. Bryce had pulled her into the light; but she was damned well not going to let him push her back into the dark. She could live without him; it would lonely and she would be miserable. But she would live, and it would be in the light.
She had decided she would try to call Bryce later and convince him to meet her, talk to her. Right now, however, she craved a cappuccino, and headed to the coffee shop. The place was half full, but Abby and Bryce's booth was vacant as she slid onto the seat, and waited for the blond pony-tailed waitress, Kelly, to bring her the coffee and bagel she had ordered. Before Bryce had become a regular at the coffee shop, Abby had never known the blond girl’s name. But Bryce made everyone his friend, and had brought Abby along.
"You just missed Bryce," Kelly stated, as she placed the large round mug on the table, followed by the plate containing the first solid food Abby had attempted to eat in days. "He left about ten minutes ago."
Abby smiled at Kelly, as she turned to make her way back behind the counter. Her mind filled with visions of her dream. The mermaid swam around and around the boat. She glared at Abby. And in the background, the story the fabled woman told Bryce repeated over and over again. She shook the visions from her sight, and drank her coffee. But as soon as her mind would drift back to Bryce, the mermaid would reappear.
Abby knew she had to talk to Bryce. She needed answers, and at this point it almost didn't matter what the answers were. She could not live in this constant state of flux. If Bryce no longer wanted to be in a relationship with her, she would have to live with it. But the uncertainty was having a devastating effect on her. She could not maintain her sanity while he continued to ignore her, and keep her at arm’s length.
The day was warm, with just a slight breeze. She left the cafe, and crossed the street to the park, hoping the fresh air and a long walk would help clear her head, and organize her thoughts coherently. The dream from earlier kept forcing its way into the forefront of her mind. The story of the mythical being ran over and over in her head. It was a simple story, but it had no real meaning to her, and she wondered why it seemed so important that she share it wi
th Bryce.
She rounded the bend, and decided to rest on the bench she and Bryce typically sat on during their Saturday morning walks. As she looked up, her eyes locked onto him. Bryce sat looking out over the pond, completely oblivious to the world around him. She stopped, and considered whether or not to disturb his solitude. But the mermaid kept jumping into her mind's eye, urging her forward.
Abby sat next to him, as he turned his head to her. After a few seconds, he smiled at her.
"Hey, stranger," she greeted him, a small smile surfacing.
"Hey," he responded, taking a hold of her hand and squeezing it. They sat for a moment in silence. Bryce squirmed uncomfortably, "how are you?"
"Been better," she answered honestly, "but hanging in there. Had a tough night, but got some sleep this morning." He nodded his head, sadness and shame pervading his features. "Did I ever tell you about my dreams while I was in the hospital?" Abby asked.
He glanced at her sideways, "Some of them," he responded, narrowing his eyes.
"I only ask because I had one resurface last night - well, this morning, actually. It never made sense to me - the dream. You and I were on a boat, and there was singing, but we didn't know from where. All of a sudden this beautiful mermaid came up beside the boat. She had long wavy red hair, and a shimmering fin with bands of blue and green and gold...it was amazing. Anyway, she talked to you, and at first I couldn't hear what she was saying.” She paused for a moment, as a couple jogged by them.
She looked back at Bryce, and continued. “It was a story about a fisherman who had seen a mermaid when he was a young man, and had fallen desperately in love with her. He spent his life searching for her in seas all around the world. But he never found her, until he was very old and dying. He told her that he had spent his life looking for her, and that he loved her. She told him that he had wasted his life; that he had passed up real love in order to pursue a love that could never be. The fisherman could never live in her world; or her in his. He had spent his life in solitude needlessly, and now would die alone and lonely. And then she swam away. The old man called to her, but she had disappeared. His heart gave out at that moment. And, just as she had predicted, he died alone and without knowing true love."
Bryce stared at her, a scowl across his face. "How do you know that story? Have I ever told you about it?" He asked accusingly.
"No," Abby answered. "I got it straight from the mermaid in the dream. It’s been replaying over and over in my head all morning long, driving me crazy. I know this sounds insane, but I think I was supposed to tell you about the dream, because I feel so much better now."
She watched him, as he shook his head, looking down at her hand in his. A deep line crossed his forehead, and his eyes were closed tight. "I don't understand," he whispered under his breath. She stood, and he lifted his head to look at her.
"I'm going to go," she stated simply, before leaning in to kiss his cheek. "Please talk to me soon, Bryce. Whatever it is you need to say, just say it."
Abby pulled herself away from him, and walked back down the path. She could not bear to look at him. The pain in her chest was almost unbearable as she clutched at her heart, trying to keep it one piece. Tears rimmed her eyes, threatening to fall and never stop. Somehow she made it back to her apartment, where she fell onto her bed and sobbed herself into exhaustion.
The buzzing and vibration of her cell phone pulled her from her slumber. Disoriented, she answered without checking the caller ID. Bryce's voice caused her to sit up quickly, grabbing her full attention.
"Hey, Abby," he greeted her, his voice tentative. "Did I wake you?"
"Um, yeah, but that's okay. I was just taking a nap. I'm good," she rambled, glancing at the clock. 5:00 p.m.
"Okay, well, I'll let you rest. I was hoping we could meet for coffee in the morning, and talk?"
"Sure," She yawned unexpectedly, trying to pull her head from the fog of sleep.
"Why don't you text me when you get up, and we can meet
after that?" He offered.
"Okay, sounds good," she agreed, and then searched for something to say, anything that would keep him on the line a little longer. She missed his voice, missed talking to him, and needed some reassurance that they were going to be okay.
"Alright, I guess I’ll let you go, then, and see you tomorrow," he stated.
"Okay, bye." The line went dead.
Her emotions were on a high-speed roller coaster; at an extreme high hearing his voice, before plummeting into the depths of the unknown status of their relationship. She considered making herself a drink, but knew it would lead to another, and then the entire bottle. She needed a clear head for the morning, no matter how enticing drinking herself into oblivion sounded at the moment.
She made her way out into the kitchen, intent on forcing herself to eat something. Leaning against the counter, her eyes fell on a bottle of red wine Bryce had found. He was so happy when he came across it at a little liquor store around the corner, informing Abby that it was the perfect wine because "it went with everything." She remembered the nights they shared together; dinner, snuggled on the couch, and making love wherever they happened to be in the apartment when the mood would hit them. It was over. And he had put her through hell for a week wondering what was happening.
A flame ignited in her chest, and began to burn through her body. She had let him dictate how and when they would end this relationship. He had led her on for days, hoping things would work out. And now, he was forcing her to wait another day to hear the truth. Spend another night tossing and turning and wondering what she had done wrong.
She had done nothing wrong. And she was going to be damned if she was going to let him go through another night of no explanation for his actions. She grabbed the bottle of wine, threw her keys and cell phone into her purse, and left the apartment. She would force the issue tonight. Get it out, and start fresh in the morning on her new life – without Bryce. It may not be as happy, or as bright, but she would survive.
Standing in front of Bryce's door, her nerves took over. Her heart rate increased to unhealthy speeds, as her breathing attempted to keep up. Her shaky hand reached out and rapped on the door. She had planned it out during the cab ride over; how she had seen the wine on the counter, thought it was best to get this over with now, and maybe wine was a better beverage of choice for this discussion than coffee.
The door opened, and Abby's heart sank.
"Hey, Abby," Cindy greeted her happily. Abby just stared at the woman for a moment. This was the reason Bryce had wanted to wait until the morning to talk to her, why he needed to get off the phone. He had a date with Cindy.
"We were just about to sit down and eat dinner. Do you want to join us?" Cindy asked, her silly grin plastered across her overly made up face. Abby shook her head, as she offered the bottle of wine to Cindy.
"No, thanks. If you could just give this to Bryce for me." She tried to remain calm, but her mind was racing and her feet tried to keep pace. Bursting out of the building and onto the street, she stopped and tried to catch her breath. She had no idea what to do or where to go. Hurt. Confused. And really pissed off. She rounded a corner, forced to stop for traffic, and looked around her.
She had no idea where she was, or how to get home. She looked down the street to see if a cab was coming so she could get her back to the apartment. Did she want to go back there? It was cold and empty without Bryce. And what would she do when she got there? Drink? Alone? Pass out again on the couch; lonely, alone spinster Abby. Looking down the block, she located an Irish pub, and decided to enjoy an evening with people who knew how to drink. Pulling open the door, the hostess greeted her, and asked if she would be dining alone.
Abby smirked, and then pointed at the bar, as she made her way past the young woman. The bartender approached her as she sat, and asked her what she was drinking. "Whiskey, of course," she smiled at the man, who smiled back and grabbed a glass. She knocked back three quickly, and asked for a fourth. M
ick, the white-haired, just-past-middle-aged bartender, warned her that she should slow down, to which Abby replied, "yeah, I probably should," before downing the fourth.
"What's your name, sweetheart?" Mick asked her kindly. Abby gave it to him, and he continued, "Well, Abby, a person does not knock back four Irish whiskey's that quickly unless something is wrong. You got guy problems?"
"To put it mildly," Abby snorted. "I have a 'guy with an extra girl at his apartment' problem. I have a 'guy that has been ignoring me but doesn’t have the sack to actually dump me' problem."
"Now, Abby, if a guy is going to do that to a sweet little thing like you, he is the one with the problem - not you. Now, when was the last time you ate anything besides a salad?" Mick's Irish brogue bristled.
"A while," Abby admitted. Mick let out an exasperated sigh. Taking the empty whiskey glass from in front of her, he replaced it with a large glass of water, and then disappeared into the back. A few minutes later, he set a bowl in front of her, with the admonition to "eat up" and "put some meat on those bones." Abby took a bite of the Irish stew, and realized for the first time just how hungry she had been. Mick smiled as he watched her
place the last bite in her mouth.
"Better," he asked, as he took away the empty bowl.
"You have no idea," Abby answered. "Thank you so much." Abby sat at the bar for another hour and a half, listening to Mick and one of the other older patrons tell stories of growing up in Ireland. "I'm going to Ireland this year," Abby informed them both, which sent the men into a long list of places that she had to promise to visit while she was there. Abby finally cleared her tab, leaned over the bar to give Mick a kiss on the cheek, and headed towards the door.