“Because of you.”
“Not in the way you think. He writes. He’s smart, Aud. Maybe he’llcome to the US and go to school. Or maybe he’ll go to Europe and find a job at a magazine. Maybe he’ll return to Kabul and decide he loves it, or maybe he’ll go to Ghazni and meet Panra and discover she’s exactly the person he wants to spend his life with. I don’t care, so long as he’s happy.”
I want to mean it. Isowant to mean it.
Audrey props her brush on the lip of the can and crosses the room to loop an arm around me. I let my roller hang at my side and lean into her, trying to smother the sob that’s scaling my throat. We stand, silent, staring at the melancholy gray-blue primer, and I feel an overwhelming sense of solidarity; Audrey is intimately familiar with loss. I’m starting to understand what she’s known for years: love can’t always be enduring—at least not corporeally. But love can be generosity. It can be selflessness. It can be wanting more for the other, even thoughmoreis currently making me feel like my heart’s being pillaged and surrendered for the greater good.
“I’m sorry, Lissy,” Audrey says. “I should’ve trusted your judgment. You deserve that much—more, considering everything you’ve done for Janie and me over the last few years.”
I swallow. I will not cry—not now, not anymore. I will not feel sorry for myself, because meeting Mati, getting to know him deeply and completely, has been a gift. I’m going to lose it to circumstance, but I’ve held it in my hands, and delighted in the perfect weight of it.
That has to be enough.
Later, after we’ve pried open the can of Splashy paint and rolled two coats onto the walls, we lie on my bed with Janie, who’s shaken herself awake from a snooze. We admire our efforts and I admit, only a little begrudgingly, that Audrey was right: The black was dreadful, and this new color, cool and cheerful, is a vast improvement. I feel better than I have in days, and I say as much. Audrey takes my hand and gives it an affectionate squeeze. I take Janie’s and pass the gesture along.
Even knowing that tomorrow will be the worst, I feel lucky.
elise
I love Audrey for being so damn pushy about paint colors. Her chosen blue-green is equal parts tranquil and buoyant, and my ceiling of silver stars is kind of beautiful suspended above it.
My furniture is back in place, and my photos are back on the walls. Early this morning, I processed the one I took of Mati in front of his cottage, printed it out, and tacked it over my desk. A reminder of this summer, of my first love.
He’s leaving, he’s leaving, he’s leaving.
The air in my bedroom smells chemically, of pigment and hard work. I’ve got my window open in an attempt to flush out the fumes while I sit on my bed with my computer, sorting through the digital images I took of Janie yesterday, paintbrush clasped in her little hand. As always, she’s an ideal distraction. I’m cleaning up a picture of heralmosttouching the tip of her brush to Bambi’s nose when I hear voices out front.
I leave my laptop on the quilt and move to the window, looking out toward the street where Xavier’s Jeep is parked. He and Ryan are standing beside it.
Ryan’s leaving for the airport soon, and they’re obviously saying their goodbyes. I’m blatantly spying, but I can’t help myself. Watching them, I suffer their emotions like they’re my own. Xavier’s shoulders are slumped, and Ryan’s crying like a big baby, fogging up his glasses. But as painful as it appears, there’s something hopeful about their goodbye, something honeyed and full of promise. Because, of course, Ryan and Xavier will see each other again.
I think about what Xavier said at the diner last week, his advice regarding my argument with Mati. How, even if he and I move into our individual futures without further contact, I’m better for knowing him. Xavier is right, and he and Ryan are living that sentiment now. I see it in the way Ryan hugs him, laughing through his tears. I see it in the way he touches Ryan’s hand before climbing into his Jeep.
I hurry down the hall and out the front door of our cottage, calling out just before he shifts into gear. “You were going to take off without saying goodbye to me?” I say through the Jeep’s open window.
He reaches out to tug my ponytail. “I’ll still see you,” he says. “You’re stuck with me until I’m done at the MLI, until I ditch Cypress Beach for bigger, better assignments.”
“Want to meet at The Hamlet this weekend? We can drink milkshakes while feeling sorry for ourselves.”
He smiles. “You got it.” He looks at Ryan. “Call me when you get in?”
Ryan nods, sniffling. I link my arm through his and we stand together, waving until the Jeep disappears around the corner.
“Well,” Ryan says. “That sucked.”
“I bet. And to think, you still have to say goodbye to me.”
“About that. I was thinking that we just… don’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“You better believe I’ll be imposing myself on your life even after I get back to Texas. So what’s the point of a drawn-out goodbye when it’ll just make us feel shitty?”
“There is no point. Especially since I barely survived my goodbye with Mati.”
Ryan shakes his head. “I can’t believe you’re not going to see him today.”
“Am I awful?”
