The Weight of Life

by Whitney Barbetti

  “Fair enough,” I said, wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans. “But what did you mean, that you’re not like me?”

  “You’re strong. Rock solid, unshakeable.” She sipped her tea and carefully set it down. “You lost Colin, and then you left someone else you loved in London. Don’t worry,” she quickly added, before I could ask her anything. “Jude didn’t tell me much. He’s fiercely protective of you. But I can tell you’re still hurting. You just bounce back faster than the rest of us.”

  But this time it didn’t feel like I was bouncing back fast. Knowing that Ames was still in London, moving about his day, seemed almost worse than the finality of death. Which was an absurd thing to think, but if I was being honest about my feelings, there they were.

  “I don’t think I’ll ever feel quite the same,” I said honestly. “Not comparing him to Colin, but it’s different this time.”

  “It should be different. It is for me.” She smiled then, a sight that was so rare when she wasn’t around Jude. It completely transformed her face. It was easy to understand how Jude could love her, all her soft edges, her deep and quiet thoughts. “Forgive me for being frank, but did you love him?”

  “I did. I do. He’s special.” I played with the tines of my fork. “He’s incredibly romantic, even when he’s not trying.” I thought of the night he took me to Big Ben, and the ink of that memory bled down, filling my eyes. “Oh, yes. I loved him.” I could hardly swallow, such was the significance of my love for him. “But I betrayed him. I intervened without talking to him first about something.”

  “Why don’t you call him? Talk it through?”

  “I don’t have my international phone anymore. And I’m afraid to talk to him.” But maybe messaging him, not seeing his face, would be easier.

  “I can’t imagine you being afraid of anything.”

  “Giant Huntsman spiders,” I blurted out. “I went to Australia once, and in the middle of the night, I opened my suitcase and rifled for my flashlight and brushed across the legs of one.” I shuddered. “Every time Jude gets a job in Australia, I’m like,” I crossed my arms over my chest and shook my head. “Never again.”

  Trista laughed softly. “So, you’re afraid of spiders and talking? For as chatty as you are, I find that surprising.”

  “I’m not afraid of talking. I’m scared to talk to him, in case he’s still angry. What if he doesn’t feel for me the way I feel for him? And if he does, what then? He’s in London. I’m in Colorado.”

  “You make it work. That’s what you do.”

  “You make it sound so easy.”

  “But you know it’s not. And that’s what’s important. It doesn’t matter if it’s easy, not if it’s worth it.”

  I pointed at her with my finger. “You and Jude and all your weird wisdom. No wonder you’re perfect for each other.” I let out a sigh. “I’ll need to message him. I’ll do it when we get home.”

  “Good.” Trista nodded. “It’ll be okay. If you were with him long enough to love him, I’ve no doubt that he feels the same for you. You’re magnetic, Mila. It’s easy to love you.”

  I hadn’t expected to go to lunch with my former boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend and find a friend, but that’s exactly what had happened over three refills of tea and bacon and tomato paninis.

  When we got back to the house that night, after Jude and Trista had gone to bed, I curled up in my corner of the couch and added international texting to my phone plan before writing out my first text to Ames.

  I typed out a million different responses, a million different ways. And decided that I didn’t want to pour my heart out over text. What I needed was to initiate the conversation.

  Me: I’m so sorry, Ames. I miss you.

  My thumb hovered over the send button for a long, long time, until finally I pressed it and then tossed my phone to the other end of the couch, afraid to see if he’d reply.

  By the following morning, I didn’t have a reply. I tried not to let it bother me, tucking my phone away as Jude drove me back to the dance studio, where I took my place in the space Jude had rented out for me for the morning block.

  I started with the slower song again, until I felt limber and like I’d stretched enough to work on something harder. I shed the oversized sweatshirt and adjusted my black leggings in the mirror. Even though I danced facing the mirror, I so often closed my eyes while doing the routines that I didn’t pay attention to my form the way I should have.

  For the first time since leaving the U.K., I put the song River on the stereo. I didn’t want to forget the choreography, especially since I’d only practiced the routine for a few hours. I put on the heels I’d brought with me and adjusted the tie laces in the front. Even though I’d never be performing this song on a stage, doing the routine was something I could do for myself. Something empowering that gave me purpose.

  The song kicked on and I faced the mirror, starting through the moves Lotte and I had practiced. My mind was a scrambled mess of thoughts as the chorus approached and I tried to remember the steps. But watching myself in the mirror proved too distracting. It was as if every mistake I made was magnified by the mirror, and I became increasingly frustrated with myself.

  I stalked over to the stereo and restarted the song and stepped in front of the mirror again. I drew in a deep breath before the song began and then moved along to the beat, imagining my body was an instrument playing in time with the beat.

  When the chorus hit, I had more confidence this time, but I was again so distracted by my reflection that I faltered, and my ankle twisted in the heel.

  “Fuck!” I yelled, pissed that I was screwing up the dance and that my ankle was sore. I channeled the words of one of my old dance coaches to bear the pain like a badge and kept the heels on.

  The song began and I faced the mirror, this time closing my eyes to keep from distracting myself. I moved through the song, relying mostly on feeling, and it flowed naturally through me, as if the moves had been in my bones all along, waiting for me to listen and follow.

  When the song stopped, I opened my eyes and smiled proudly at my reflection. My ankle no longer ached, and it was as if a weight had been lifted off me. Dancing was addicting in that way.

  I had thirty minutes before Jude picked me up again, so I turned the repeat mode on and started the song again, eyes closed as I faced the mirror.

  In the opening of the song, I swung my arms back and forth to the beat and tossed my head back, staring up at the ceiling before I dropped to a squat and pushed myself immediately back up to standing. I popped my chest to the beat, felt my hair fly all around my head and completely surrendered myself to the rhythm.

  It moved through me like water, making me feel as connected to it as any actual person. When the beat kicked in, I felt it deep in the pit of my chest. During the second verse, I clutched my chest and tossed my arm out, opening my eyes briefly to check my posture in the mirror.

  And that’s when my heart leapt right into my throat.

  Because in the reflection, behind me by the door, stood Ames.

  I missed several beats as I stared at him, our gazes meeting in the mirror. He was just a dozen feet behind me. I could turn to him. But I couldn’t. Not yet.

  As if I hadn’t missed the beats, I picked up where the choreography did just before the chorus began again. I stomped with more fury, more power, across the room, away from him—but not intentionally.

  Ames was here.

  I had to keep reminding myself to breathe, because staring at him was undoing me slowly.

  I became a slave to the song, to the way the lyrics spoke for me, to the look Ames was giving me.

  After the second chorus, I closed my eyes and felt tears gathering at the corners. But I kept moving, shallow breaths and strong movements. The only thing that betrayed me was the look on my face in the mirror as tears spilled from the corners of my eyes and down my cheeks, falling across my chest like rain splatters with my movements.

  The tears didn�
��t stop, they just kept spilling out. The significance of the song wasn’t lost on me, because my tears flowed over me just like a river. And all the while, he kept watching me, his face sad.

  Ames was here. It was like seeing a ghost, watching him watch me.

  When the chorus kicked in for the final time, I could hardly breathe. But I was committed to finishing the dance—I just wasn’t sure if I was finishing it for him or for me.

  He moved a little more into the room, making him easier to see as he stood under the can light. The entire time I danced, I didn’t turn around once—wanting to watch him in the mirror. Where it was safe.

  I knew the second the song was over, that I would be left alone, back to my normal self, with him. I was equally afraid and excited for it.

  When the beat finally stopped, I stood still for a moment, trying to suck in a breath, but completely unable to. Tears were still dripping off my chin, but I made no move to wipe them.

  Slowly, I turned around to face him.

  After having the room so filled with sound, hearing nothing but the gasps of each mini breath I took was terrifying. I’d said once before that looking at him was like waking up, and it had never been truer than in that moment.

  “Mila,” he said, and my chest squeezed tighter.

  I looked at his hands, wishing and not wishing he would touch me, if only to see if his skin vibrated like mine did when I was around him.

  “I feel like I can’t breathe,” I choked out. I wanted to reach inside and open my rib cage, allowing myself more room to breathe around all the pain and longing that mingled in my chest.

  “Come here,” he said, but before he could get the ‘here’ out, I was already across the room and in his arms, legs wrapped tight around his waist as he held me.

  “Shh,” he said, and I realized I was sobbing. The combination of finishing the song, of seeing him here, of the feelings his presence alone evoked was so immensely powerful.

  As tightly as I squeezed him, he squeezed me tighter. I didn’t know what him being here meant. I didn’t know what he was going to say, and I wanted to hold onto him as long as I possibly could. He was warm, and whole, and calmed down the racing of my heart and the tightness in my chest.

  Finally, after what must have been several minutes, I loosened my grip, thankful he waited for me to be the first to do so.

  As he set me down, I couldn’t look into his face, I just stared at the zipper of his jacket until his fingers lifted my chin.

  “Mila,” he repeated.

  I waited, thinking I was going to explode from wanting. “You’re here,” I said, stating the most obvious fact in the universe.

  “I am. Did you get my text?”

  I shook my head and ran my thumbs under my eyes. “I texted you last night, but I didn’t see a reply.”

  “You texted me after I’d already boarded.”

  Leaning away, I grabbed my phone off the ledge by the stereo and saw several missed texts, from Ames and Jude. Jude’s were giving me a heads up that Ames was coming, and Ames simply said: I’ll be with you soon.

  I swallowed and wiped away the tears on my face with my oversized sweatshirt. “You were already on your way.”

  “I would’ve come sooner. But I had to hire a new employee first.”

  I still didn’t know what him being here meant. “I can’t believe you’re actually here.” I sniffled and felt embarrassed for having cried all over him.

  As if he could tell that I was putting a little bit of an emotional distance between us, he took my hand and pulled me to him. “I don’t know where to start except to tell you how sorry I am. What I said to you is unforgiveable. I was angry, but that was no excuse for me to lash out at you.”

  I curled my fingers into his, but didn’t say anything.

  “I’ve looked after Lotte the last few years, loved her like a sister for longer. I know that you were only trying to help her—to talk to her the way her own sister would have if she was still here. I didn’t respect that, or you, and I am so, so sorry.”

  Now that I was close to him, I could see the worry in his red, tired eyes. The way lack of sleep had bruised the skin under them. “And,” he said, swallowing, “I love you.” Though he was quiet as he said it, there was no doubt of the strength of his words. “I love you,” he repeated, looking into my eyes. “And I hurt you, and I’m sorry. I’d take it all back if I could.”

  I let out a breath, now that I could breathe more easily. “I should have talked to you directly. Lotte reminds me of me, and seeing her so hurt was hurting me. I’m sorry, too, because I should have gone to you before I went to her. Or, I shouldn’t have intervened at all.”

  “No, you should’ve. As Lotte and Sam have made me painfully aware over the last couple of weeks, sometimes I think I know what’s best, when I actually have not a fucking clue.” He laughed, but it didn’t sound like he held any humor. “I shouldn’t have said what I said to you. I was wrong. I endeavor to never be cruel, and yet there I was—to the one person who’d reminded me how good it was to fall in love.”

  I wasn’t sure my ribs were strong enough to contain the beating of my heart. I didn’t know that love could feel like this, could simultaneously hurt and soothe.

  “I love you,” he said again, and I realized I could never tire of him saying it. “Please, forgive me.”

  In answer, I looped my arms around his neck and pulled him down to me. It’d been so long since I kissed him that it felt like I was kissing him for the first time all over again.

  His hands cradled my face and he pulled back, pressing his forehead to mine.

  I dug my hands into the base of his scalp and waited until he was looking at me. “Ames. I love you,” I whispered against his lips.

  In response, he picked me up again and held me tight against him, so tight that nothing—not even air—could come between us. He kissed me over and over, before pulling away to look me in the eyes. “God, I missed you,” he said, his voice low and rumbly.

  “I missed you, too,” I whispered. I squeezed tighter around him. “Saying that I’m glad you’re here sounds like a massive understatement.”

  He set me back on my feet, but didn’t let go. “I came as soon as I could. This is the first time in weeks that I feel like I can breathe normally.” He shook his head. “Listen. I won’t give you absolutes. I can’t promise you I won’t ever fuck up again. Because I will. I’ll probably say something stupid more than once. I can’t tell you I won’t be an arse, because chances are I will. I’ll probably hurt you again. I can’t promise you I won’t, because you’re worth more than empty promises.” His eyes were earnest, searching mine. “But I can promise you that if I hurt you, I’ll hurt more because of it. I can promise that I’ll never stop trying when I’ve done something daft. If that means I must buy plane tickets to the States every time I say something dumb, well then, I’ll need to get another job because that’ll get expensive.” When I laughed, he lifted my face again. “But I’ll do it. Always. I won’t let you slip from my grasp. Not again.” He wiped away the tears that had collected under one of my eyes. “You’re the first thing I’ve wanted for myself in so long, that it’s hard for me to not be selfish and take you home with me.”

  I knew what he was asking, and I didn’t have a moment’s hesitation. “Take me home, then.”

  He blinked and his eyebrows drew together. “You want to go back to London?”

  I nodded. “Yes. I do. With you.” When he still looked at me, disbelieving, I cupped the side of his face. “I love London. And I’ve lived on a couch for the last two weeks and a hotel for five weeks before that—which means I can pretty much live anywhere.”

  “But you travel all the time. I don’t want you to be like Lotte, stuck in one place.”

  “I’ve seen so much of the world, Ames. I think I’m due for some roots. Your entire life is in London, and after being there for five weeks, I can see mine being there too.”

  He fought a smile. “You’
re sure?”

  I squeezed his bicep, right over his tattoo. “I need an anchor, too.”

  The widest smile I’d ever seen overtook his face, and I was breathless from it. He cradled my face in his hands, shaking his head back and forth. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me right now.” He grasped my hands, placed them on his chest. His heart beat steadily, powerfully.

  I leaned up on my tiptoes to kiss him. “This isn’t a sacrifice for me. Being away from you? That would be a sacrifice. A most unnecessary one.” I searched his eyes. “Are you happy?”

  “Happy?” He laughed and wrapped his arms around me, lifting me off the ground. After a quick spin, he set me back on my feet and pressed his forehead to mine. “I didn’t think I could be this happy again.”

  My heart expanded, and I couldn’t get close enough to him. “Ames,” I sighed. I dropped my hand to grasp his. “What are you doing with the restaurant?”

  “Lotte has a potential buyer for the studio.” Judging by the way his mouth twitched, I could tell it was something he was still trying to accept. “So, we’re going to go ahead with her plan. Do what she wanted.”

  “What your wife would’ve wanted, too.”

  He let out a breath. “That’s what Lotte thinks.”

  I wrapped an arm around his waist. “Maybe Lotte will come back, but maybe she won’t. But you know she’ll be happier without feeling like you’re breaking your spirit for her.”

  “It’s hard for me to admit defeat on this,” he admitted softly. “But I guess we’ll see what the future holds for her.”

  His use of ‘we’ made me want to wrap myself around him.

  “But there’s something we need to do before I take you home.”

  I furrowed my brow. “What?”