It’s just me, being a human that cares about another human.
I turn off the phone screen and return to bed, slipping under Donavan’s arm—the one that is love.
Even still, my heart keeps wondering.
Gramma Elle
“The only way to get over a man is to get under another.”
“HEY, GRAMMA.”
The steps to where she’s sitting have seemed to double, then triple, then... just never stop. I climb four steps, and four more appear over and over. I’m trapped in a funhouse of illusion.
“It’s exhausting, isn’t it?” Gramma asks, staring down at me on the mind-bending staircase with sadness in her eyes.
“What is?” I ask, breathless and still climbing the steps.
“Wondering about him...”
seventh chance
MARCH
2 MONTHS LATER
thirty
“WAIT, NOT THAT RUG,” Donavan says to the movers as they unroll my “vintage” rug in the living room that I, in fact, did not have imported from Italy. I bought it online like a normal human.
The two men, dressed in navy t-shirts, freeze, looking from Donavan to me.
I set my mug of coffee on the marble countertop. “No, that’s where I want it.”
The men nod and continue unrolling the stained rug in the family room. I slide the concrete coffee table out of their way—but just barely. It’s very heavy.
Donavan’s chin snaps back. “Babe, you’ve had it for years. We can buy a new one. I thought you said you were going to donate what you could and send everything else to the dump and only keep what’s important.”
I stand and wipe my brow. “I did and this is one of the things that is important.”
“This rug?”
“Yes,” I breathe, then take a sip of my coffee.
Donavan looks puzzled. “It has a stain on it. I promise you I can get it replaced. I don’t care what the cost is.”
My heart flips as he mentions the stain, and my eyes shoot to the crimson puddle in the upper right-hand corner of the rug. “The couch will cover it. Don’t waste your money—give these hard-working men a better tip instead.” One of themen who introduced himself as Justin meets my gaze and I unapologetically wink at him.
Donavan laughs as he steps closer to me. His hand drifts from my shoulder blade to my lower back and he kisses my neck. “I love you,” he says through a smile.
I turn to look at him so I can see his face and remember this is who I love and who I need to think of in this space. Because truth be told, I love the rug but I also love the memory of the stain. I know I should be ashamed. I know I should erase every lover I’ve ever had before Donavan.
But JP wasn’t a lover. He was a longing.
I don’t believe in soulmates but if I did, I think that’s what a soulmate would feel like: longing. JP could have been that. Someone who knows the movieDances With Wolvesand quotes other stupid movies and is willing to discuss his views on heartbreak and books and family issues within hours of meeting. Logic tells me this is whimsy—a touch of a dream I’ve never dreamt.
But this here in this room is my reality. The best love I’ve ever known, kissing my neck and saying he loves me. I nuzzle into Donavan’s neck and murmur, “I love you, too.” I draw back and look up at him. “Can you believe we’re doing this?”
“What?” He smirks but the truth of what I’m saying is buried in his smile.
