Once my mother lost my dad, she descended quickly into more drinking. By the time I was in high school, Mom was in active kidney failure, on dialysis, and battling late-stage lung cancer. There was no extended family to take me in, so I spent the last year of high school in a foster home. The people who cared for me were nice enough. I was fed. I had an allowance and decent clothes. I wasn’t mistreated. But I was basically a stranger living under a roof with people I didn’t know. Who didn’t really want me there. They were not bad to me. And that’s the best I can say about them.
At least they were an improvement in some ways over my own parents.
During that year in foster care is when I developed the one-year rule. I promised myself that I could survive anything for just one year. And if I did, I’d never have another bad year in my life. I’d travel, meet amazing people, do cool things. And I have.
I’ve been on my own ever since I turned eighteen, and I have lived every day the way I wanted to. Making great money. Eating great food. I travel. I have a gorgeous wardrobe. I have enough of what I want to feel happy, but not so much that I can’t pick up and move when the spirit and timing move me. I am a pro at adulthood. I know how to keep people I love close and leave anything that doesn’t make me happy behind.
By every definition that I’ve ever cared about, I should be blissfully happy.
But now, facing the disruption of what should have been another easy year, I’m feeling conflicted.
No, worse than that—I’m miserable.
When I reach home, I see that Benny’s parking spot is empty. He must still be at the restaurant. I’m suddenly gripped by an idea. I should go there. Get my ass back in the car and go therenow just to see him. I don’t know what I was thinking, telling him I needed a night to myself. I met with a roofing contractor in Cleveland this afternoon, and I didn’t want Benny to know the whole truth yet.
The fact that I’m leaving. I don’t see how I’m going to see Benny and not tell him the truth. I know what’s coming, and I don’t know that once I see him, I’ll be able to keep it from him.
I lock my car and grab my purse, stopping myself from running to him. I go into my unit, call Jessa, and then take a long, hot bath. I put on my comfiest pajamas. I climb onto the couch and look out through the windows at the view of the river. Something tightens in my chest. I’ve grown so attached to this place and to the fact that he’s just on the other side of that wall.
I get up and grab my phone from the counter to check the time. It’s almost ten, which means Benny should be home any time now if he’s closing up the restaurant. If he didn’t, he’s probably already next door.
I type in a text and hit send before I can talk myself out of it.
Me: I’m home, and I would love to see you if you’re up for it. Rough day. Fair warning, I might not be good company.
I climb on the couch and turn on the TV. I flip through the channels but can’t settle on anything that will hold my interest. All I can think about is the fact that I might be leaving. I am leaving. The words vibrate in my head until my temples throb. I want to clutch the arms of my couch and slow down time, but I can’t.
I don’t hear back from Benny, and after thirty minutes, my stomach starts to hurt. I’m such a fool. When I told him I was busy, he probably called someone else. He had a whole life before we started hooking up. He’s probably with someone else right now.
Earlier today when I said I needed space, I practically gave him my blessing to go there. I told him I needed alone time, and now I’m telling him I want him. What a freaking mess.
I turn off the TV and decide to try to sleep, when there is a soft knock at my door. My head jerks up, and my pulse starts racing. I rush to the door, check the peephole, and when I see the familiar dark stubble and dimpled chin, I throw open the lock.
I don’t say anything, just stand there staring. Benny looks like he’s been hit by a truck. There are bags under his eyes, and the corners of his lips pull down into a slight frown.
“Rough day?” he asks, pointing to me. Then he points to himself. “Total shit day.”
He opens his arms, and I go to him, resting my head against his chest and holding him so tight, I can’t believe he can breathe.
“Come on,” he says. “Let’s go to bed.”
He comes inside, and I lock the door. He strips off his shoes and coat, then follows me wordlessly to my room. He peels off all his clothes except his boxer briefs, and we climb under the covers. For the first time ever, we don’t fuck like bunnies. We don’t laugh, kiss, or even grind against each other. He rolls onto his side, tucks me close against him, and strokes my hair. We stay awake like that for what feels like hours. No talking. Only him holding me and breathing into my hair.
When my arms start to fall asleep, we roll over, again without a word, and this time, I spoon him. I press my cheek against the hot muscles of his back, an arm thrown over his body. I bury my face against his skin and just breathe him in. It’s so quiet, so still. I hear the soft sounds of his breathing, the steady beat of his heart in time with mine, and tears inexplicably burn my eyes.
This is so good. It’s so good in so many ways. I don’t know if he feels it too, but it’s the most poignant and painful goodbye.
The somber moodfollows us into the next morning. I wake before Benny and get up to use the bathroom. When I come back to bed, he’s lying on his back, his eyes open.
“You still want to spend the day together?” His voice is thick with emotion.
“Yes,” I tell him. “I’ll start some coffee.”
“Come back to bed first?” He sits up, and I climb in beside him. He opens his arms, and I slip under the blankets.
The sheets are warm and wrinkled, and I just want to snuggle down with him and never, ever leave.
The thought hits me, and I realize it’s true.
