“Okay.” He wrinkles his nose. “Stinks in here.”
I look up at my handiwork. The stink comes from the last of the paint fumes I don’t want him inhaling. Gavin’s office was our last project in the renovations. He told me we could skip it until we could afford to do it right. Just another example of the sacrifices he made in our everyday life to keep me happy.
Each day, since I started on the project, I’ve had to push aside the idea that he won’t ever get to enjoy it. It’s been two weeks, and he’s still not answering my texts with anything more than the days he’ll be picking Noah up after school, and if he’ll be keeping him overnight. Where is anyone’s guess. I don’t get the luxury of knowing that either, and I refuse to press Noah and make this situation any harder on him.
Daily, I reach out, hoping he’ll give this new me a chance, but with every attempt, it feels like he’s pulling farther away.
Once I’ve ripped up the carpet, I study the room. It’s a blank canvas, and I feel hopeful about the idea of what it could turn out to be. With all my restlessness in the past few months, and in my selfishness, I haven’t done anything so productive, and I hope Gavin takes it as a sign. Maybe it was a guilt project at first, but as I scan the room, I decide it’s progress.
Sleeping is still hard, and maybe it always will be. My body’s new constant is about five hours a night. The nightmares are the worst after a bad day, so I do my best to unwind on the porch swing with a sip of wine, the sound of crickets chirping while Noah reads to me.
It’s the little things I’m doing for myself that are easing the day-to-day ache. And I have to admit, without Gavin’s constant watchful eyes, I breathe a little easier. As much as I don’t want that to be the case, it is.
Still, I want him home. I’ve extended two dinner invitations he’s turned down. He doesn’t want to see me or talk to me, and the space seems impossible to breach.
It’s because of my emotional affair.
Affair being the key word—Gavin made it clear to me exactly where he stands with that.
So, I’ll rip carpet, scrub our floors, flip through our wedding photos to jog our best memories, and I’ll miss him. I’ll keep texting him dinner invitations until he accepts one.
And in the dead of night, when I wake up with my nightgown soaked, I’ll give myself a few minutes to miss him. To let my heart grieve the love I felt. To miss the sweet caress of his voice. I pray to God this pain eases and that someday I can lay that piece of myself to rest.
I sit in the grass in a T-shirt and shorts, plucking at the thick green blades between my fingers. The nature-made carpet feels cool on my skin as the spring sun shines down and the breeze whispers through the trees above. It’s eerily quiet. For the first few minutes, I feel obligated to speak, and it angers me. I’m not sure what should come naturally anymore, with all I’ve dealt with, but I don’t want anything I’m saying to seem insincere or rehearsed.
I want only the truth, and soon my lips move on their own accord with simple words that express exactly that.
“I miss you so much,” I confess. “I’m sorry for being so absent. God, you don’t deserve it. I hope you aren’t so pissed you can’t forgive me.”
Words start flowing like water as I look up. “You meant so much more to me than being ignored, being discarded.” I sigh heavily and turn my face up to catch some of the sun that trickles through the branches of the trees.
“It’s crazy how much of my life has changed without you in it. It was you and me against the world, and I was so good with that.” I brush my knees free of debris. “You really have no idea how much someone has a bearing on your life, until they’re gone.”
Swallowing hard, I look up again as tears stream down my cheeks. “You were falling for Morrero. I knew it. I saw it, and I didn’t bother to ask about it, because I was too busy pouting about being there.”
Letting the pain rush through me, I glance at the letters on the tombstone, Jessica Alicia Mullins, and feel the finality of it.
“Who knows, if you two got together, maybe I would have been able to call you a pus-say one day too.”
Do they have to have a family to matter?
I’m being haunted by two ghosts, but in this moment, I feel Briggs with me, and I’m grateful.
“I feel guilty for making you go on that mission, and I thank God every day that we were close enough that I felt your words that day were real, that you meant them, that you loved me enough to try to make it easy on me.” I fist my eyes. “I can’t do it. I can’t talk about this yet, okay? You’re going to let me off the hook for that, for now.” Inhaling in spurts, I’m trying to catch my breath. “I-I’m s-s-still getting used to the s-s-s-suck.” Turning my face away from the gravestone, I close my eyes tightly. Chest shaking with sobs, I press my hands against the ground for support and suck in a few slow breaths.
“So, this is absolutely horrible,” I say with a laugh, as I pull my knees to my chest and grip my hair, “at least from this side.” Wiping my nose, I can’t stop the myriad of emotions racing through me. “Jesus, how the hell am I supposed to get over you?”
Soldier up, Katy.
Her voice is as clear as day. She wouldn’t want me sniveling at her grave.
“I’m doing my best. My shrink would kick your ass for that advice,” I say with another laugh. “She’d say it’s counterproductive,” I ramble on, refusing to acknowledge she won’t ever answer me.
“Noah’s good.” I burst into more tears as I think of him in her arms the day he was born. “He’s thriving, actually. You’d be so proud. He won a spelling bee last week.”
Covering my nose and my mouth with the collar of my T-shirt, I muffle my sobs with the fabric as I stare at the etched letters.
Soldier
Daughter
Friend
“Menace, prankster, hussy,” I say, adding to the list. “They sainted you, but I guess I’ll play along.”
The burn reaches my throat as I try to speak, and fail. Losing all composure, I sob as the sunlight burns my shoulders. After a few minutes of free bleeding, I rise up on my knees, hiccupping before I whisper into the silence.
“I need your help,” I plead with her. “I know I shouldn’t expect it after what happened, but I need you to help me a little. I don’t know what to tell your mo—,” I choke as I try to speak and let out a guttural cry. “I d-don’t know what to tell your m-mother. Help me out with that, okay?”
I press a few fingers to the word friend on her marker.
“I’m pretty sure you’re still having to bargain your way into heaven. But if they’re keeping you at the door, babe, just know it’s because you’re their favorite. Because I promise you, you were mine. I’ll be back.”
I stand and stare down at where she lies.
“By the way, if you’re watching the shitshow that is my love life from above, I could use a little direction on that, too. At the very least, could you ghost kick Gavin in the ass?”
Chapter Fifty
Katy
“Mooommmy!” I hear Noah call from outside my bathroom door where I study my reflection. Another breakthrough. More homework from my shrink.
Great, now I get to stare at my saggy boobs.
Nervous laughter bursts out of me as I try to give myself a fair assessment. “Be right there, baby!”
“Hurry up! Hurry up!” he calls as he bounds out of my bedroom.
Closing my eyes briefly, I give myself a little grace. Advice from the soldier who greeted me the minute I returned home.
Grace.
Concentrating on my reflection, I slowly peruse the peaks and valleys of my body.
The burn scar is what bothers me the most, it’s menacing and covers a large part of my lower abdomen. I’ve gained weight, a majority of it in the last month. It’s showing in the way my jeans fit.
While Briggs might have bounced back, my recovery has been a different story.
The doorbell sounds as I clasp my bra and pull on jeans and a T-shirt. I’m not feeling the self-love just yet, but at least I’m beginning to see a difference.