An ice cube came flying over the top of her menu and went down the front of my shirt, making me squeal. The menu lowered.
“Mmhmmm…” she said, mimicking me. My drink had no ice cubes so it was even funnier when the tiny slice of cucumber I threw stuck to her collarbone. “Any news from you-know-who?” she then asked, removing the food from her skin and popping it in her mouth.
I glared over the top of my menu. We hadn’t talked about Graham in days. Maybe even weeks. Definitely one week.
I’d gone from sad and numb to angry and numb, and was now back to sad, grief hitting me like a wave as I’d stared at my bed a few nights ago, realizing I’d never roll over to find him sleeping beside me ever again. The pain hit me like a punch to the gut and I’d folded in on myself and cried into my duvet. My therapist told me it was normal, but as far as Addie knew, I was managing just fine.
“Why are you trying to ruin my good mood?” I asked.
“Sorry,” she said. “I was just curious. You two have really just cut ties, haven’t you. Usually people linger but?—”
“I guess we’re just grown-ups,” I said, avoiding her gaze across the table. “Also, my therapist is amazing. I have a mantra and everything. Came up with it myself.” I smiled like a little kid, proud of taking her first steps.
“Tell me what it is.”
“No.”
“Tell me!”
I put down my menu and folded my hands on top of it.
“No more Graham,” I said. She nearly spit out her sip of drink as she burst out laughing.
“Lior. That’s?—”
“Helpful? Healthy?”
“Sure.” She gave me a placating smile and I felt relief as the waitress came over.
We put in our orders and then moved on to other subjects, namely me moving to Seattle.
“What’s the timeline?” Addie asked.
“The movers are scheduled for November twelfth.”
“So you’ll be here for Thanksgiving?”
“I’m always here for Thanksgiving.”
“You know what I mean. A resident of Seattle once again.”
“I will.”
“Well then,” she said, raising her glass. “Cheers to that.”
The next week was spent choosing items I wanted to take with me to Seattle. Pink couch? Yes. Deck furniture? No. Books? Duh. Bed? My mind was immediately filled with images of Graham, sleeping, naked, on his knees between my legs. Fuck. The bed needed to be worshipped, mourned, and then burned. I’d get a new one for new memories to be made in… with all the pets I’d adopt from Addie’s nemesis’s adoption events. I’d be a cat and dog lady and my home would become unsuitable for guests. It would be perfect.
I walked through the house with a clipboard, several sheets of paper organized by room, and three highlighter pens with coordinating stickers. Pink for move, orange for donate, and yellow for sell. It took me three days. When I was done, I decided I was glad I had another visit with my therapist the next day. I was at the end of my emotional rope. Leaving this space, again, was harder than I thought it would be.
“Lior,” she said, her voice warm as she ushered me into the familiar, cozy space that was her office.
“Hey Hestia,” I said, sinking into large beige couch that took up one side of the room.
Hestia Galanis was a godsend. I’d found her by accident early on in my career when we were both attending the same gallery opening. She’d walked into the bathroom where I was tearfully wiping at the skirt of my brand-new Alexander McQueen minidress that was dripping with olive oil from the messy hors d’oeuvres I’d waited a second too long to put in my mouth. She quickly taught me about soap and oil while removing a handkerchief from her purse.
“Use this instead,” she’d said. “It won’t leave pieces of paper towel on the fabric.”
Ten minutes later I was standing under the heated hand dryer and the stain was barely visible. When I’d asked if she was a magician, she’d laughed and said no, she was a mother and she was Greek.
