I failed.
I kept telling myself it was a woman’s job to mind the home, manage the upkeep. I lied to myself day after day.
Keegan never thanked me. He just drank more.
Sometimes his achievement chips from AA would replace the bottles on the counter. Rather than feeling pride for his accomplishments, I wondered why I didn’t receive an award for going through the turmoil he was putting me through.
When I had to replace the pricey yellow pillows with cheap navy-blue ones to match the hideous slip-cover needed to cover the stains on our couch, I realized the sun that once filled this apartment had been taken over by an endless view of gray clouds. When I had to throw away my lavish bathmat after the threads came loose from scrubbing and cleaning it in the washing machine so many times, I didn’t replace it again. Instead, I placed down a raggedy towel to wipe our feet on.
I even replaced the photos on the wall, the ones that reminded me of our earlier years together, with pictures of destinations I hoped to travel to someday. I needed something inspiring on the walls, not a reminder of what I would never have again.
He killed my dreams.
I walk out of my apartment unit and take the stairs down to the main office. I knock before opening the door. Rebecca, the woman who works here during business hours, holds up a finger, informing me she’s on a call. She’s a beautiful woman and has always been very pleasant to me. She’s only a few years older than I am, has a couple of kids, and a wonderful husband who does some of the bookkeeping here on the weekends. Their family is the picture of perfection.
Along with the pretty package that accompanies her life, Rebecca has long straight auburn hair, a tiny waist, long legs, and clothes I would exchange for my kidney. I’ve always admired the style and poise of a woman in the real estate industry. She’s the type of woman I look at and wish to be someday.
There are a couple of chairs by the window, so I sit down in one of them, noticing the yellow checkered pillow on the chair across from me. At least it’s sunny here.
“Ms. Taylor, how are you doing, honey?” Rebecca has ended her call. “How can I help you?”
I stand from the chair and make my way over to her desk. “Hi,” I start.
“August, I am so so sorry to hear about Keegan.”
“Thank you,” I utter, holding my breath to contain my unstable emotions.
“Of course,” she says, reaching out and placing her hand down on top of mine.
“I appreciate the thought. I—um, I’m going to be leaving at the end of my lease.” The tightness in my throat returns, and there’s a burning sensation behind my eyes. This is the right thing to do.
“We had a feeling that might be the case. I’ve already spoken to my boss, and we’ve agreed to let you break your lease if and when you’d like to do so. These are unfortunate circumstances, and the last thing we want is to add more difficulty to what you’re already going through right now.”
I cover my mouth with the back of my hand and squeeze my eyes closed. The tears prickle at the corners of my eyes. “Thank you,” I squeak.
Rebecca stands up from her chair and comes around the desk to squat in front of me. She takes my hands away from my face and wraps her arms around me. “Sweetheart. Can I do anything for you? From one woman to another, I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now, and my heart is breaking for you.”
“I appreciate your understanding and flexibility. As soon as I find a new place to live, I will give you thirty days’ notice,” I tell Rebecca through a broken rasp in my voice.
“Whatever you need, okay?” she says, sweeping my hair away in a motherly fashion. She’s probably a good mom.
“Thank you,” I tell her. I don’t know what it is about a nice person bringing my tears out.
I take the couple of hours between handling my lease and the time Chance is due to arrive to shower and fix myself up a bit. I haven’t spent too much time looking in a mirror lately, but my hygiene could use some improvement.
By the time I finish dolling myself up, I feel like a better version of the person I’ve been lately. The urge to smile at my reflection isn’t something I’ve felt before today.
I swipe on a thin sheen of my rose-tea pink lipstick. I haven’t worn lipstick in a long time. It makes my eyes look brighter, and my skin glows.
The door buzzer makes me drop the closed lipstick tube into the sink. Chance is a few minutes early—my kind of guy.
I hit the button on my speaker to let him upstairs, then meet him at the door.
Chance arrives with a dark gray button-up rock-style poplin print shirt and a pair of distressed dark-blue jeans, complimenting his chestnut brown roper boots. His appearance takes my breath away. I love that he put the effort in, more than he usually does. Other than his funeral attire, I’ve only seen him when he gets off work, really, so this is a new side I’m seeing.
“Damn, darlin’,” he says, scratching his chin while gazing at my royal-blue Bohemian sundress. “You’re going to give me a heart attack, looking like that.”
“Oh, stop it,” I tell him, waving him off. “Come on in.” I open the door wider, inviting him inside.
