by Shafer, Gina
The car behind me honks, jolting me back to reality. I drive the rest of the way home, hoping I can figure out how to remove myself from this life as painlessly as possible and insert myself into my parents’ life seamlessly.
It wont be easy, I tell myself. But I refuse to continue down the path I was headed.
“Coconut, I’m home.”
The small white cat pads up to me as I toss my purse and keys on the side table by the door. The bell around his neck jingles as he rubs up against my legs. I rescued him as a stray kitten one day, driving home from work.
“I’m missed you too, Nutty.” I scoop him up in my arms and go to the kitchen. I’m starving, and I’m sure Coconut is too, by the sound of his meows.
“How would you like to go live by the beach? Nags Head Island… it’s gorgeous, you know?” As I open up a can of food, there’s a knock on the door. I check my watch. It’s late. Like past decent hours late.
I shuffle to the front door, leaving Nutty to his meal. When I check the peephole, I’m surprised to see David, swaying a little, resting his head against the doorframe.
“Babe, could you open up please?” he begs.
I can almost smell the alcohol on his breath through the door. David never drinks this much. I’m suddenly worried. I unlatch the lock with shaking hands.
When I swing the door open, he falls through it. I catch him, almost tripping due to his size. David is huge. Normally he towers over me, but inexplicably, he seems smaller. His hair is less golden and shiny than usual, and his eyes are glazed. At first I think it’s just the liquor making him feel sick or something, but when he drops to his knees and wraps his arms around my waist, dread fills my stomach.
I’ve never seen him be anything other than calm and collected. My boyfriend is the cool guy, the one who’s never bothered, which has always bothered me. Even in serious dilemmas, he’s unemotional.
He speaks into my stomach, but I can’t understand a word he’s saying. “Can we sit down so you can tell me what’s the matter?”
He picks himself up and stumbles to my smoky velvet couch, my favorite piece in the whole apartment. But I’ve already decided I’m selling it. I’m selling it all to bulk up my savings even more. It’s not like I own very much anyway.
“Do you want something to drink? Tea maybe?”
He presses his eyes closed like he’s in pain, gritting his jaw. “I kissed someone else tonight,” he spits out, without even the decency to look me in the eye when he tells me.
For a moment, I’m not sure if I heard him right, the blood rushing in my ears is roaring so loud.
“Whitley, did you hear me?” he slurs. “ I said I kissed—”
I raise a hand to cut him off. Nope, definitely heard him right the first time.
“I’m sorry.” He leans his head on his knees. "I'm so sorry, baby. I didn't mean for it to happen. I was just lonely, and you weren't answering your phone. You never answer your phone for me anymore. I just wanted to feel wanted. I swear, Whitley, even when I was knuckle deep inside of her, I was thinking of you. I promise it won't ever happen again."
Ah, the truth comes out. I sit silent for a moment, taking in David's large body on my small couch, in my small apartment, and realize just how much he never fit into my life. I've been fooling myself for so long.
"So you didn't just kiss her?" I ask, plainly curious. Finding out that my boyfriend cheated on me, especially on a day like today, I should be upset, hurt, crying even. Why am I not crying?
"What?"
He's slurring even worse now, so I decide to send him home. That, and I’m sick of looking at him. He sways from left to right, turning a putrid shade of green before he empties his stomach on my hardwood floor, just shy of the shag carpet in the middle of the room.
"Fuck," I say in horror.
I grimace as he slumps on the couch and falls asleep with vomit staining his lips. Bleh. I turn his face to the side, hoping he doesn't vomit again and choke in his sleep.
I march to the kitchen, grabbing a giant roll of paper towels and a spray bottle of cleaner. I slam both items down on the coffee table.
Coconut peeks at me from the kitchen. I put him in the bedroom and close the door.
I slip on my shoes and snag my keys from the table. Then I jot down a message on the sticky note pad I keep next to the door. When I finish writing, I slap the note to the back of the door, making sure to press hard so it doesn't fall off.
Clean up your mess.
Lose my number.
Have a nice life.
As I approach the elevator, I realize how much I don’t want to be alone right now. Normally, I like being alone. I think more people should like being alone. Being alone forces you to become friends with yourself. A task I still don’t know how to succeed in completing. It’s not that I don’t like myself, as such. I’m just constantly and hyper aware that there is a better version of me in the future that I can never seem to get a firm grasp of. It’s exhausting chasing oneself.
I fish my phone from a jacket pocket and search for the one person I know will always answer my call.
“This better be important, or I’ll probably end up strangling you with one of the million pieces of laundry that camouflages my floor right now.”
“Hi, Maggie.” She’s not technically my sister but close enough. We grew up together, experiencing damn near everything sisters do. After we graduated high school, we moved into a tiny apartment together, surviving in spite of ramen noodles, late nights, and barrels of cheap alcohol. We were inseparable until she met the man of her dreams, got married, and had two twin boys. “Does figuring out Mama isn’t doing well and then coming home to learn David cheated on me qualify?” I walk out of my apartment building onto the cool street.
“Whit, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, Mags Can you put Steve on baby watch for a while and sneak in some wine with your best friend?”
“You don’t even have to ask. Just come over. I’ll open a bottle.”
“Better make it two,” I joke.
“No limits tonight. See you in a bit.”
I scan the lot for my car. I can never remember where I park, and the apartment didn’t come with a designated space. Something I wont miss when I move in with my parents.
I lift the key fob over my head and click the unlock button, searching for flashing lights until I see the silver Honda on the far end of the lot.
When I pull up in front of Maggie’s house, she’s hovering at the front window with a worried look on her face. I smile, thinking of how well she settled into her role as mom.
I walk up to the front door, it opens, and she pulls me inside.
“I was debating whether or not I should run from your wrath if I woke up the boys.” I smile, and she lets out a small laugh.
“Nah, I’ll just make you watch them.” She ushers me inside.
“Then lets hope they’re heavy sleepers.” I whisper and she flicks me on the arm when she passes, guiding me to the deck outside.
Two bottles of wine are on the table, and there are blankets on the chairs. I drop into a wicker lounge and reach for a glass, already poured, and look at the pool. She does the same.
We sit for a while, not talking, just sipping and staring and watching the breeze break across the surface of the water, creating tiny waves. It’s late summer, almost fall, and the air feels nice with the light blanket covering me. I toe off my white Converses and sink further into the cushions.
“So, David….”
“David.” I say almost silently. I feel almost guilty for not being more upset about what he did.
“Whitley, you don’t have to explain. I think I understand,” she says, locking eyes with me.
“Understand what?” I ask.
“Do you remember when Cole broke up with you in eleventh grade? How you wouldn’t answer the phone for two days, then I showed up at your house and your mom said you’d been sick with a migraine but really you just didn’t want
to get out of bed and face anyone?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re older and more mature now.” She smiles. “But you don’t look sick to me.”
I know exactly what she means. “It wasn’t right, Mags. Why did it take me so long to figure that out?”
“Relationships are kind of like a mirror. Sometimes we’re distracted by our own reflection so much, we don’t notice what’s going on in the background. We can’t see what’s staring at us straight in the face.” She reaches for the wine bottle, filling up her glass and offering the bottle to me.
I grab it and pour another glass. “You think I’ve been too worried about myself to notice my relationship was all wrong?” I’m not offended, I’m just curious. Maggie’s opinion is one of the only ones that matter to me. She could flat out tell me I’m a spoiled brat, and I would sit back and take it.
“I think you’ve always had a tendency to do that. You’ve always been so preoccupied with yourself that you forget relationships are important,” she tells me almost timidly.
“But my relationship with David was important,” I say.
“Was it?” She raises an eyebrow.
“You think I’m selfish,” I say, avoiding her question. Because no. It’s clear my relationship with David meant more in my head than in my heart. Maybe she’s right.
“I think you have selfish tendencies,” she says, taking a sip from her wine.
All of a sudden, I want to cry. “I’m sorry if my selfishness has ever affected you.” I pull my blanket higher, covering my arms. It’s funny how the cold seeps in deeper if you let it.
“You haven’t, Whit. But I’ve watched you, frustratingly so, for a long time. You push people away, you don’t let them in. I just want you to have everything you could have in life.” She sits up, looking at me.
“Not everyone wants the husband, the kids, the house,” I tell her, my face heating.
“No, they don’t. But you do. I know you do. I can tell by the way you look at families, mine included. You want that, but no one can ever get close to you if you shut them out and keep those blinders on.” She leans back again, sipping her wine, looking smug.
She deserves that look, owns that look. Because damn it, she’s right. I don’t let people in. Hell, I dated David for three years and our relationship never progressed. And I blamed it on him. In reality, I build a wall around myself so high that it’s impossible to scale. I keep expecting people to climb without giving them a ladder.
“When did you get so smart?” I ask her, smiling.
“I’m not sure. Maybe having twins changed the properties of my brain, and I’m a super genius now.” She laughs, filling up our glasses again.
“Must be that mom-genius I’ve heard about.” I chuckle, taking another swig. The smile fades. “I have to move Mags.” I gaze into my wine glass, studying the bubbles that form around the edges, hoping to find the answers in the deep plum liquid held inside by thin glass walls. It’s kind of ironic, considering that’s how I feel. Like everything inside me could come spilling out with the tiniest crack.
“I figured. How is she?” Maggie asks.
“She’s trying. They both are. But they need me, and I can’t be selfish. I can’t stay here while they struggle.” A tear runs down my cheek, and I wipe it away.
“You know where to find me if you need help.”
That’s all I need to hear. Not that she’s sorry, not that I should hire someone. She understands, and that’s why I call her my best friend. Because she knows when to speak, and when there are no words that can help.
We’re quiet the rest of the evening, laughing a little but mostly just enjoying each other’s company. I may not be moving across the world, but I won’t be able to see her as often as I do now. I’ll miss her.
We stay up late, far later than she should, considering she has to get up with the kids in the morning. Sometime around 1:00 a.m., she falls asleep, huddled on the patio chair. I smile at her snoring, half-open mouth, thankful I have a sister-friend that tells me like it is and shares her wine.
I text Steve, telling him he might want to carry Maggie to bed and thanking for sharing his wife. As I stand and head for the side yard, Steve is there already, staring at his wife with more love than I’ve seen in a long time, pouring like a waterfall out of his eyes. I almost want to look away, feeling like I’m intruding on a moment.
I offer a simple wave and start toward the street, but I’m interrupted when Steve calls to me.
“You’ll be okay Whitley. You’re stronger than you think. That’s what Maggie always says about you. You’re stronger than anyone she knows.” I nod, my eyes filling with unshed tears.
I didn’t like Steve at first. I viewed him as an intruder, stepping on the toes of Maggie’s friendship and mine. But over the years, he’s become a brother to me, and I’m thankful for them both, though I don’t say it near enough.
Steve bends over and plants a small peck on Maggie’s temple before wrapping his arms around her.
Maggie was right. I want that.
I hop into the front seat of my car and start the engine. Any buzz from my earlier drink has worn off. We both stopped drinking after one bottle, and filled our stomachs with garlic bread she’d made for dinner earlier. I can still taste the buttery, spicy flavor on my tongue as I drive home.
David is gone, as is his vomit. He must have even taken the trash out. Huh. Funny what guilt can do to you. I didn’t bother looking around the apartment for him when I got home last night, instead heading straight to my bedroom door and locking it.
This morning I noticed a simple note he left in place of the one I wrote.
I’m sorry.
That’s it? I’m sorry? I fight hard not to roll my eyes as I rip it down and crumple it in my hand before tossing it in the bin in the kitchen.
Moving on….
I’ve been slow waking up this morning, lounging in bed and scrolling on my phone. Hunger got me up, and I went into the kitchen, grabbing one my favorite blueberry muffins while I made coffee.
Sitting at the kitchen table, I look out a small window at the breeze dancing with the trees, licking my finger and scooping up all the crumbs from my muffin and popping them into my mouth one by one.
Once I’m finished, I stroll around the apartment, touching the surface of everything I own. I’m in a weird mood this morning, stuck in my mind. Thinking.
What does all this shit mean?
My phone rings, startling me. I dig it out of my purse. It’s Ray, my boss. On a Saturday.
Shit. I’d hoped I would have the weekend to come up with some sort of excuse for why I need time off. I answer it before voicemail picks up. “Hello.”
“Whitley, good. Listen, since you took off yesterday, I’m going to need you to come in today. Your day off put us behind, and there’s just no way we’re going to be able to play catch-up come Monday.” He prattles on about how he knows I didn’t mean to let down the team blah, blah, blah. I stop listening, realizing I’m not going to get a word in edgewise.
And I realize I don’t love this job. I don’t love this apartment. I don’t think I ever even loved David. Not the way you should love a partner. I suddenly fucking hate this life. Why have I been pretending this is as good as it was ever going to get? Why have I been acting like I needed to be here instead of with my family?
“Whitley, did you hear what I just said?”
“No, I’m sorry.”
Ray sighs, like my existence is an inconvenience to him. “I asked when you could make it in today.”
“I can’t come in today.”
“But— What?” He’s completely caught off guard.
I’ve been nothing but agreeable since I started working for the publishing company, taken on loads of assignments— too much for one person at times—and I haven’t complained. I stuck my nose in my work and shut my mouth. All for the end game. To be an editor.
But what good will that do me if I have no one to sha
re my success with? If my mother can’t remember the late nights helping me with my homework?
“I can’t make it into work today. Or really ever again.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong Whitley, but are you quitting?” he asks.
“Yes. I’m sorry to do it this way, but I have an urgent family matter I have to attend to out of town. I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”
“Whitley, you’re making a mistake,” he grinds out, clearly pissed.
“I’m sorry?” I’m confused. Why the hell is he so angry? He’s never acted like I was an asset to the company. I would have thought he’d be happy to know I was leaving.
“You’ll ruin your career over a stupid family obligation. Do you realize how lucky you are to have gotten this job? How much you owe me for hiring you in the first place?”
He goes on and on, and I imagine the spit leaving his lips, spraying out, and landing on the hundreds of papers always cluttering his desk.
Instead of answering, I hang up. Even though pressing End on that call feels better than anything else I’ve done recently, I can’t help the small tinge of regret that hits me in the stomach. Is he right? Will I ruin my career? Do I care?
I don’t know.
I shower and get ready for the day, hoping to salvage what’s let of it. I need to get this apartment taken care of. I’ve got a busy day ahead.
I don’t pause until it’s nearing the end of the day and I turn to survey the apartment. After a quick phone call to the property manager at my complex, I was released early from my lease. It’s a good thing apartments in this area are in high demand.
I put most of my things up on the “for sale” website in this area. My couch and the rest of my living room furniture is gone. Maggie and Steve came over without the twins to help me load the last of my things into a U-Haul and said an almost tearful goodbye, telling me they would visit soon.