I’d kept only some of Hannah's things. Bit by bit, I started donating items; putting some things aside to pass onto Diane and Sarah. Things like her grandmother's jewelry; expensive blouses; and dresses that I knew Sarah would like. I donated her romance books, as well as a few baubles she kept on mantels and throw pillows that used to give our place a bit of personality, making it a home.
But there were a few items of Hannah's that I couldn’t bring myself yet to throw away yet—things that were sentimental to my memories of her. There was her old college shirt that sheused to sleep in, and the fuzzy socks she liked to stroke against my leg in bed. I used to tease her about wearing them to sleep—even in summer.
There was her silk pillowcase that she swore made her hair healthy and her cloth hair band with bunny ears that kept her hair out of her face when she did her beauty routine. Little trinkets like her stud earrings and bracelets that were inexpensive but she used to wear every day. Those I had held onto. Eventually they would join the donation pile, but I didn’t want to do too much too soon.
They sat silently, folded and untouched; mixed in with my worn t-shirts and athletic shorts or beside my aftershave and hair gel. It used to be torturous going about my daily routine, shifting and moving my things, watching my shirts and pants succumb to wear and tear while her soft cotton shirts stared back at me without a crease. I was living my life while hers remained untouched and inactive. Ironically, it was how I’d felt and lived since her death—like a stationary object, waiting for life to use it.
I’d been content for everything to stay the same. I lived where I felt closest to Hannah. I went to work and came home to a house full of her memories. I kept my dinner routine at her mom's house. And when the loneliness became too much, I chased the high of physical connection with the hope of feeling just a smidgen of the attachment I felt with Hannah.
Seeing Dr. Grant helped me realize that it was time to let some of the things that kept me tethered to Hannah go. I still kept a couple of photos up; I didn't want to erase her completely. But everything else, I boxed up and placed them in storage. I knew those remaining photos would eventually be regulated into photo albums when I was ready.
I stared at the empty spot beside my socks where her undershirts used to be. The loss was a dull thud, a distant melancholy for a time gone by. Like remembering how simplelife used to be when you were in high school, or the memory of the summer camp I used to look forward to every year.
Of course, my marriage to Hannah couldn't be encapsulated by something as rudimentary as childhood nostalgia. I would always be grateful for the time we had together and I looked back on our love with plaintive happiness. But it was time to start letting her go, especially since I had the privacy and time to do so. If things weren't so strained with Sarah and Diane, I had no doubt that I would have contacted them, needing their approval and support. Diane likely would've helped me in any way she could. But Sarah? She was another story.
An hour later, I was sprawled out on the couch, my belly full of the spaghetti bolognese I’d thrown together. A bottle of beer dangled from my fingers. I was still on my first one and had half the contents left. When I left work, I could practically taste the beer as I rushed home. Now, all I wanted to do was hit the sack and pray tomorrow wouldn't bring me such a headache.
My hand instinctively reached to the coffee table for my phone before I remembered that I left it in my room. On purpose. Partially because I wanted to avoid any more work issues; but mainly, I needed to stop myself from scrolling like a teenager through my crush's social media profile.
Well, it wasn't Maria's profile per se. It was M&M Hair Design, but Maria was featured heavily in the photos and videos. It was a smart move. Not only was she beautiful, but she was also knowledgeable and explained everything in layman's terms. I knew more about a blowout and contouring than I cared to admit.
Since I was an avid viewer of their page long before Mila Mills tagged her in a post, I had a front-row seat at seeing her following and viewership rise. I was so fucking proud of her. Mila Mills was a huge blessing, but the proof was clear as crystal in the work Maria had done. Not one comment was negative.Okay, people were rude to Mila Mills, but that was part and parcel of being a celebrity.
But no one criticized Maria's work. I should know. I scoured enough of her comments to check, ready to report any that had even a sliver of negative connotation. I itched to comment on her photos but knew that would be a stupid move. I had to honor her request not to contact her.
That was fucking hard to do after my run-in with Simon. Admittedly, I may have overreacted; and I'd like to blame alcohol for my heightened emotions, but I couldn't be sure that the outcome wouldn't be the same if I’d been sober.
It was a different kind of anger than the fury that had burned inside me when I'd met Logan. The anger with him had been attached to an immature, jealous idiot who felt entitled to Maria's time and body. Time hadn't diluted my shame, I still recalled every shitty thing I said and thought.
Maybe it was because I knew Simon? Maybe it was because, even though he could be an arrogant ass, I still thought better of him. Or perhaps it was easier to focus my anger on him, to shoulder some of the helplessness I felt at my situation, instead of concentrating on my issues alone. I still didn't regret almost ripping him a new one, though. His only saving grace had been Sofia and the fact that he carried the character of someone remorseful instead of the braggart I'd encountered with Logan.
I rose and stretched with a groan, knowing that if I stayed any longer on the couch, I'd fall asleep on it. As comfy as my position was, my back would thank me later for moving to my bed. I shook my head as a humorless snort came out of me. Only in my thirties and already too tired to finish one beer and doing sensible shit like sleeping in my bed to protect my back.
After going through my lock-up routine and a half-hearted brush of my teeth, I climbed between the sheets and finally reached for my phone. The device almost dropped out of myhand when I spied a name I'd hoped to see on it again, but had given up all hope of it happening.
Maria:Hi, Brian. It's Maria. Do you have time for a quick call?
Maria.
My heart sped and I had to sit up in order to re-read her words. Why was she contacting me? Not that I was complaining. I was fucking ecstatic. But still, it couldn't be good.
My mind was flipping like a Rolodex, running through our every prior interaction, wondering if I fucked up again somehow without realizing it. It wouldn't surprise me.
The session after my confrontation with Simon and Sofia, I decided to mention Maria to Dr. Grant. I was still keyed up about it, unable to believe I had six degrees of separation from Maria this whole time—way less than six.
It hadn't been planned; it just blurted out of me when Dr. Grant asked how my weekend had been. She was the only sounding board I could rely on and probably the only person in my life right now who could look at things rationally and impartially. No judgment and no guilt trip.
I’d been frank with her. I told Dr. Grant everything about Maria—from our first fateful meeting; to the dates I took her on; our conversations that could last for hours; and how close and comfortable I felt with her.
Ultimately, I had to confess to the dinner disaster at Da Vinci's and how I couldn't get Maria's crushed yet dignified reaction out of my mind. When I was pressed on what the catalyst was for my behavior at Da Vinci's, I had to rake through my frame of mind at the time. It had started with Sarah's impromptu visit with Hannah's letters. My guilt and grief overcame me at that point, and the battle I fought between my anguish and my feelings forMaria became muddled. Ultimately, Maria paid the price for my regret.
Dr. Grant's brow furrowed at Sarah's innocuous involvement, her nose ring twisted in thought as she scribbled in her pad.
Logan was mentioned, and my bitter reaction to that; and if that wasn't bad enough, I had to confess to almost sleeping with her former friend in retaliation. Funnily enough, even though recounting it made me feel even more shitty, I also found it surprisingly therapeutic. Like I had a checklist of all the fuck ups with Maria and had a clear focus on what I needed to do to make it right.
If I had the chance to, of course; because after disclosing my plan of action to Dr. Grant, she had promptly put the brakes on it. I was gung-ho on contacting Maria, insisting she needed to know what had gone down that night between myself, Simon, and Sofia.
"Is she still in contact with Simon, Sofia, or any of the other folks at the party?" Her pen rolled between her fingers as she regarded me with an analytical eye.
