If I listen hard enough, I can still hear that little heartbeat.
Steady and sure.
Proof that some things keep going even after everything else falls apart.
45
Rina
Even though I’ve been staring at my computer screen for the past hour, the words continue to blur into meaningless shapes. The meeting agenda open in front of me may as well be written in another language. The cursor blinks in quiet accusation, a small flash of light in a room that feels too still.
Every time I close my eyes, I see Oliver’s face when he blurted out that proposal.
Let’s get married.
I’m still flooded with the disbelief and panic that had crashed over me.
The way I’d run before I could even answer.
I press my palm flat against my abdomen, as if it’s possible to will away the memory, but it only grows louder. More insistent. My mind replays the sound, the look in his eyes when he heard it, the warmth of his fingers tangled with mine. The depth of emotion rolling off him had nearly undone me.
We made that.
The quiet whir of the computer and the faint blowing of the vent overhead feels almost oppressive. It’s like I’m back in that exam room again. Or sitting in the car when he turned to me with that unshakable certainty, asking me to marry him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
My throat constricts, making it impossible to swallow, let alone think.
Even the scent of his cologne clings to the sweater draped over my chair. It smells like warm cedar and something darker. It wraps around me until I can’t tell where memory ends and longing begins.
Before I realize what I’m doing, I shove my laptop into my bag and then scoop up my keys. I can’t sit here surrounded by pieces of him. The half-empty to-go cup of herbal tea from Lakeshore Sweets he dropped off this morning. The sweater he just so happened to bring yesterday because I complained the office was cold. The sticky note in his bold, slanted handwriting.
Don’t forget to eat lunch, boss lady.
By the time I reach the parking garage, the chill hits like a slap. I walk faster, my steps ringing off the walls.
I don’t even think about where I’m going.
I just drive.
The city flashes past me as I merge onto the freeway. The autumn light is flat and cold, the kind that turns everything a muted shade.
When the exit for my mother’s neighborhood appears, I take it without thinking. A few turns later, I’m pulling into the same cracked driveway I used to race my bike down as a kid.
As I trudge up the front steps, the porch creaks under my weight, and before I can knock, the door swings open. Mom stands on the other side of the threshold, surprise written across her face before concern softens her expression.
“Rina? What’s going on? I wasn’t expecting you this evening.”
It’s a shock when tears prick my eyes. They rise without warning before spilling over. I’m not someone who cries easily, at least I never have been before, but I can’t seem to help it now.
Maybe it’s hormones.
Or grief.
Probably a combination of both.
“Oh my God, Rina!” She pulls me into her arms and holds me tight. I squeeze my eyes shut and just breathe her in. Sandalwood and the faintest trace of irises. It’s a scent I’ve known my entire life. Mom has never been overly demonstrative. She’s exactly what you’d expect from a tenured professor at the University of Chicago to be.
Polished, methodical, and entirely contained.
