With the echoes of kids playing in the water not far away, I remember what that one customer at the coffee shop in California used to say to me. He was a psychologist, always harping on about closure, quoting this study or that. I used to roll my eyes and focus on brewing his coffee, but now I’m wondering if he’s right.
Maybe I need to close out my old life before I can move on with this one. Say goodbye to the past to know what I want for my future.
With an unsteady breath and more sweat on my palms than is advisable with a phone this close to a body of water, I pull out my cell phone and text my ex-boyfriend.
Me: Hey. Sorry to pop in like this but I was hoping to find out, from your perspective, what went wrong with our relationship. Feel free to delete and block. We both know I would.
I hit send before I can chicken out and shove the phone back in my pocket. I kick at the water, watching the way the individual droplets fall, immediately absorbed into the whole. My hand flutters to my chest, a constant rubbing motion necessary to ease the ache that’s taken up residence there.
Silas.
I already miss him like a phantom limb. He’s way too hot and too nice to be referred to as a limb that’s been chopped off, but it’s true just the same. I’m a scaredy-cat though and can’t seem to fully wrap my brain around loving the man yet. It’s too soon, isn’t it?
What do you want, Betsy Mae?
Nana’s words repeat in my brain. Why am I judging my feelings based on some imaginary timeline? Why can’t I fall head over high heels for a man in less than a month? Why can’t a connection built in the workplace equate to a healthy relationship? Why can’t I let myself be happy without comparing myself to my mother?
“Ugh!” I kick the water extra hard, then nearly tumble right off the rock when my phone buzzes in my back pocket. I snatch it out and nearly vomit when I see my ex has texted me back. I forgot I changed his name in my phone. It gives me a sick, little thrill to see his new nickname.
Asshole: Honestly, B, it felt like we were just going through the motions. You were always stressed about your career or lack thereof. No real female friendships to speak of. I just felt like you relied solely on me for your happiness and it was too much pressure.
Asshole: I’m sorry for cheating though. I shouldn’t have ended things that way.
I read his texts three times, then stare out over the glassy surface of the lake, trying to absorb it all. I know it takes two to make a relationship work or, conversely, fall apart. There’s two sides to every story, and it brings me a measure of relief to know that his cheating wasn’t because I wasn’t enough. Pretty enough, fun enough, feminine enough.
Why do we women immediately think we’re not enough?
He’s not wrong. I was constantly stressed about my student debt and career. I had no real friends. He was my only outlet and even I know that’s not healthy.
Me: Thanks for sharing and thank you for the apology. I wish you the best.
As I shove the phone back in my pocket, I feel that heavy weight on my chest lift just the tiniest bit. I actually meant what I texted him, and that feels good.
“Guess you were right, you old fucker,” I say out loud, referring of course, to the old psychologist waxing on about closure.
“I frequently am,” a female voice trills back.
I spin on the rock to see Birdie standing further up the embankment, a powder-blue caftan covering every square inchof her skin. A floppy straw hat creates a circle of shade where she stands. She beams at me, like it’s perfectly couth for me to call her an old fucker.
“Birdie, hi!” I wave and stand up, carefully making my way over the rocks until I’m standing on the brown grass in front of her. “I didn’t think anyone was out here.”
Birdie pats my cheek with her heavily ringed hand. “Your conversation is safe with me, darlin’.” She tilts her head behind her. “The cemetery is over there a space. I try to come by once a week and see my Bernie.”
My brain flits through all the people I know and come up empty. Bernie must be Birdie’s late husband. Wow. Bernie and Birdie. That’s adorable. And confusing.
“You must miss him. When did he pass?” I ask, hoping that’s not too forward.
Birdie spins, hooks her arm through mine, and pulls me away from the lake. She’s surprisingly strong for being an old person. “Going on twenty years now, but it feels like yesterday. That’s the way of it when you love someone.” She pulls me into her side tighter. “Having a partner in life will never be a mistake, you know? You’re smart to have waited, but I’ve found that if you wait too long, life will pass you by and you’ll be my age, wondering where the heaven your dentures are.”
I open my mouth to set her straight, but end up snapping it shut. I’m not sure what she’s heard about me and Silas, but given this is Birdie, she probably knows everything. Hell, she probably knows more about my business than I know. Wouldn’t put it past her.
“Now, if that young man does you wrong though, you tell Miss Birdie and I’ll help you make his life hell.” She winks and lets me go as we get to the cemetery parking lot.
I wait until she’s in her car before I make my way over to the lake parking lot. My shoulders are definitely burned, but I thinkit was worth it. With a bit more of this magic shit called closure, perhaps I can be a fully emotionally functioning adult, capable of loving a good man like he deserves.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Silas
