That first month I was glued to my phone, waiting for his call. He came home every weekend. I stayed the night at his house, not asking either of our parents if it was okay. We did it because we could, because we wanted to punish someone, or something, for the way we missed each other. We joked I’d develop problems walking because of how much we had sex. The misery we felt during the week was soothed by the time he arrived home on Friday afternoon, only to begin again when he left on Sunday.
The second month he missed a visit, and my mom had the flu. Sky and I cleaned houses for her while she lied on the sofa with aches she swore were cancer, and I dropped into bed at night, physically exhausted.
Noah grew busier. He made new friends. Soccer practice was more intense. He had to travel around California for games. There was always something to do, a person to see, a plan to make.Have fun, I’d say when we were hanging up, but I didn’t really mean it. I felt sad and left out. I was frustrated at the universe, at circumstance, for making this so damn hard. We loved each other. Why couldn’t that be all we needed to survive?
He’d call when he could, but I was workingall the time, and seeing those missed call notifications tore at my heart. We began to fight. We missed each other, but it manifested as criticism, one of us finding fault with the other nearly every time we talked. We were reaching for something to save us, not communicating properly, and sinking fast.
I hung up the phone on a cold, bleak day in January. Actions brought us together, but all it took to sever us were words.This isn’t working. We’d both said it. We were broken, desolate. We were bringing each other more pain than pleasure. We agreed it was over. Love wasn’t enough.
I lost him, when all I wanted was to have him.
17
Ember
One Year Later
My feet.
My poor, aching feet.
I reach down, rub a hand over my heel and up my instep, kneading as I go.
“No more doubles,” I tell Dorothy, the middle-aged woman whose shift I covered last night.
“You’re the one who wanted my shift,” Dorothy points out from across the booth. Reaching down, she pulls her cash tips from the front of her apron and lays the small pile on the table. She separates the bills by denomination and stacks them.
The breakfast rush has just ended, signaling the end of my shift. The cafe is mostly empty now. Jack, who has been coming here every morning for years, sits at the counter sipping black coffee.
“I know.” I slide my foot back into my shoe. “Christmas,” I add.
“I feel you, honey.” Dorothy rearranges the salt and pepper shakers, so they’re in their proper place.
Her kids are teenagers. Her husband is a mechanic.Always has grease under his nails,she says,but God help me, I love him. One day Dorothy told me how their family got started early, and not because they chose it that way. After she told me their story, I’d never been so happy fate didn’t take us up on the devil’s dance we did that day at Noah’s parents’ house. We were reckless and foolish. We got lucky. In that one way, we got lucky.
“You going to be okay?” Dorothy’s concerned gaze pins me against the brown vinyl seat.
“Of course.”
“You seem sad.”
“I’m tired. That’s all.” I smile. I am so fine. Better than fine. I’m dandy. Freakin’ dandy. The whole place is covered in Christmas decorations, and people are in a seasonally-induced good mood.
Everything is great.
GREAT.
It’s been almost a year since I last heard from Noah. He disappeared from my life, like a magician in a puff of smoke. I had fantasies he would come home for the summer, we would see each other and instantly we’d know we’d done everything wrong. We’d form a plan, do better. This time I’d come to visit him at Stanford. Sky had a car, and I’d borrow it. We’d make it work, because we’d learned not to rely on love alone.
But, no.
Noah didn’t come back. Or, if he did, he didn’t find me.
I’m still here with relics of him. The yellow bike I ride every day. The lake I avoid at all costs. My lips feel seared by his kiss. Some days I wish I didn’t still love him. Other days it’s all I have.
That and my jobs, of course. I’m still saving money, stashing away as much as I can so that when I take courses at the community college next semester I can work less, and focus on school more. By all accounts, I’m okay.
Things got even worse for my mom after Noah and I broke up, but she’s better now. I constantly doubted my decision to stay, but when she lost two more houses, I knew I’d made the right choice. Sky worked evenings doing her medical billing, even though we told her to spend that time studying, and we made it through. Mom printed flyers, posted them around town, and eventually rebuilt her clientele.
