But I’m not okay. I want to cry. It’s so freeing to have permission from someone else who isn’t myself, to cry. I didn’t know how badly I needed it until I had it. It’s what I’ve been missing this whole time. Permission to be this bad a mess.
And he said he’d listen to me talk about Grant.
The thing about talking about dead people is, how much talking about a dead person is too much? What if it’s only been six months? A year? Two years? Who decides? No one everknows the right answer, and so I try to only talk about Grant with other people who have dead people to talk about. I know Jae lost his father, but losing a lover is not the same as losing a father.
Talking about my old lover is a surefire way to make sure Jae never takes an interest in me in the way I want him to. But I’m ready to resign myself to the fact he never will. I want to talk about my past like it isn’t a ticking-time bomb, ready to blow up in my face at any moment. And I want Jae to trust that he can confide in me about his father, and his mother.
I wake Lily up to feed her breakfast and take her outside in time for me to leave for The Red Kettle. Despite everything last night, I am looking forward to seeing Jae again and to painting more of the mural. It is looking like I may finish ahead of schedule. I rush to get ready. As I enter the elevator, the doors slide open to reveal a disheveled, sweaty Jae staring at me.
“Oh!” I’m thrust into people-mode “Hello!” I say a little too cheerfully.
“Hey, Riley,” Jae steps into the elevator. “Were you on your way to The Red Kettle?”
“Yeah, I was.” I take a step to keep the elevator from closing. “Are you going to be late?” It looks like Jae has gone for a run or to the gym. He’s wearing the same shorts as the other night.
“No, no.” Jae waves off any accusation of being late. “Come back up with me. Give me ten minutes to shower and we can walk over together.”
I gulp. I don’t know if I can handle being back in that apartment again—for two very different reasons. “Sure!” My body betrays my brain.
We ride the elevator in silence back up to the fifth floor. I follow Jae to his apartment and try to ease myself out of the oncoming nervousness. It’s okay, he knows about Grant. My chest aches to spill everything I know about this apartment toJae. All of these years later, the desire to share Grant’s memory hasn’t dampened, even as I desperately want to impress a new guy.
As more time passes it feels less and less appropriate to blame my inappropriate behavior on “widow brain”—something they call when all you can think about is your widowness, your loss, your grief. I am capable of having a normal, human brain and I am desperate to channel it right now.
Jae invites me in, and he tells me to help myself to a plate of muffins on the counter. They look freshly baked and utterly delicious, but I can’t bring myself to touch them. While Jae disappears into the hall bathroom, I stand looking out the balcony window. I spent a lot of time on this balcony.
By the time he emerges, looking far fresher than before, I have to bite my tongue to keep from talking about Grant. Despite Jae’s overhaul, I can see my Grant in every nook and cranny of this place. Just a little. I can manage just a little.
“Do you know why all the apartments have French doors instead of sliding doors at the balconies?” I ask Jae. Here it comes. Hook, line…
“I don’t. Does it matter?”
“The French doors are more energy efficient. They keep the heat in and the cold out. Grant was in the architectural firm that designed this building. Every apartment has them.” Sinker.
“Oh, interesting choice,” Jae hesitates for a moment, probably pondering how far I’ll take this. “So you’ve really got roots in this place, huh?”
“Yeah. We were the original renters.” I look at my feet. “But I’m glad you’re here, in it now.”
Jae smiles. “I think I’ll keep them in the renovation. I like all the light they let in.”
“Lily did too.”
We’re almost late now, and as Jae puts on the sexiest bomber jacket I’ve ever seen, he insists that I take a muffin for later. This man is always trying to feed me. I reluctantly take a cranberry orange and stuff it in my bag for an afternoon snack.
We leave the apartment and I press the down button for the elevator. I feel hyper-aware of everything around me. The dull buzz of the hallway lights, the way the elevator creaks as it arrives at our floor, and how Jae and I both reach to press L for Lobby. In the end, I snatch my hand back and let him press it.
“By the way, your date with Rishi is tonight.” Jae says suddenly.
“What?” I am startled out of my own skin. “When were you going to tell me this?”
“Well, I was going to tell you when I saw you at the restaurant—but I’m seeing you now. So, your date is tonight. Meet him at 7 o’clock at Banditos on 22nd. The table is under my name.”
“Thanks for the notice,” I hope he can hear my eyeroll, and not my panicked oh fuck. I have to wash my hair.
I have to somehow make my face not look like my face.
“Your face is beautiful, Riley.”
Beautiful.So I did say that aloud.
