“Things can be simple and hard at the same time,” Deb says. “And there’s no way it was easy, taking care of someone in that position. For you or your marriage.”
I lean my forehead on my hand, like I’m shading my eyesfrom the sun. But in reality, I’m shading myself from everything they’re telling me. I hate that it might be true.
Raff is my family. Of course I dropped everything to nurse him back to health. But…is it part of the reason that Vin is leaving?
Deb’s watch starts beeping. “Damn. I’ve got a class.”
“I actually have a meeting, too.” Cherise is looking miserable to leave me here, crying into my sandwich.
“Go. Go.” I shoo them away. “I’m fine. Really.”
“No, you’re not,” Deb corrects me with two rough hands on my shoulders. “But you’ll get there.”
They leave the kitchen and I clean up after our lunch. I’m on autopilot again. Hollow and tired and feeling like a stranger, myself. The rest of the workday jostles me back and forth. I don’t see Cherise again, which is a relief because if I did I’d probably embarrass us both by collapsing into her arms in a fit of tears.
I do happen to hear Deb teaching in Kitchen A on my way out of work.
“My greens ended up soggy,” a student laments. “They should have been crispy!”
“Don’t waste your energy over how you think thingsshouldbe,” Deb booms. “See things for how they actuallyare.Soggy greens are better than no greens.”
I’m shaking my head and smiling as I leave the building. Don’t waste energy onshould.
It’s good advice, especially considering I only have about two teacups of energy left in my entire body.
I make it the five blocks to the train and collapse onto the wooden bench on the subway platform. A young couple walks past me, not even glancing in my direction. He’s walking backwards while he holds her, his fingers laced against herlower back. She’s pouting with her arms crossed and her eyes on anything but his face. They’re having one of those arguments that are actually foreplay.
“Babe, it doesn’t meananything,” he’s reassuring her.
“Of course it meanssomething.She’s your ex.”
“Right, exactly. Thank you for making my point for me.” He’s charming and foppish, bending at the knee to catch her eye.
“What point?” She’s catlike and fierce, her hair is slicked back in a perfect ponytail, and her top is shiny black leather.
“That she’s myex,” he says triumphantly. “Not my girlfriend.”
“And if I were your ex and slid into your DMs, would that be meaningless too?” Now, she’s the one who’s triumphant. Her logic’s got him on the ropes.
He looks momentarily stymied. If he admits that some exes are meaningful, he’s in trouble again. If he says that all exes are meaningless, including her, if she ever becomes one, he’s in trouble again.
His confidence is restored and he goes for broke. “If you were my ex, I’d be the one sliding intoyourDMs. I’d be a lonely loser and I’d probably spend a week trying to figure out the perfect way to saywhat’s up?”
She’s trying to maintain annoyance but her face is looking mighty pleased. She can’t think of a reply that doesn’t undermine her previous stance on the matter, so instead, she just stomps off and he jogs happily after her, clearly forgiven.
There’s a lot going on there, and frankly, I give them about three more months, tops, before the writing’s on the wall, but oh, I remember those days. When you’ve gone absolutely loopy over someone and it’s time to start figuring out if they have a secret shoebox filled with love letters from the one who got away.
A memory blossoms up before me. It’s me and Vin, in ahammock, at his mother’s house, about eight months after we started dating:
“Do you miss Yvette?” I ask, faux-casually. Yvette was his last girlfriend. They broke up about a year and a half before and we recently ran into her at the Union Square farmer’s market. She’s been stuck in my head since then.
“Miss? No.” He’s tucking my hair behind my ear. He’s obsessed with tucking my hair behind my ear. He says I have ears like a fairy and the acoustics must be terrible.
“Well,” I press. “You were together for six months…do you ever miss anything about your relationship with Yvette?”
“Um…” He thinks, his eyes on the stars and his thumb moving down to draw a circle under the sleeve of my T-shirt. “She was the only person who’d ever said they wanted to marry me. That was nice.”
“Oh.” I stiffen.
