“In case of emergencies,” Jae repeats, like it’s a question. “What kind of emergency would you be having that I need to let myself in without you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I fell in the shower or something.” Ipfta sigh and add, “Just take them! It would make me feel better if someone had them.”
“If you say so.”
“In case I lock myself out. There.” I’m pleased to have a real reason.
“I’ll make you an extra set. I had the locks changed.” Jae jingles the keys at me. “I have to get going for real this time. I’m sorry. I told Rishi I’d meet him for drinks.”
It’s 7:30. Time has flown like a plane in the jet stream.
“To talk shit about your date?” I’m sarcastic as hell.
“Of course not.” Jae places his mug in my sink without me even asking.What manners.“I’ll call you before bed, okay?”
“Okay.”
Jae presses a gentle kiss on the top of my head and closes the door quietly behind him—and I am alone for the second time in one night.
So much of my life is spent waiting. Waiting for Grant to come home. Waiting for group therapy. Waiting for a new commission to come in. Waiting for tomorrow, waiting for the day after tomorrow.And now, I spend my entire night waiting for my phone call. I am obsessed with my phone. I check after my shower. No missed calls. An episode of a house flipping show. No missed calls. Lily’s walk. No missed calls. No missed calls. No missed calls.
Although I am anxious, I’m clear on what we agreed upon re: exclusivity, but I still have a thousand unanswered questions and I don’t even know what will come barrelling out of my mouth the second I open it to answer the phone as soon as he calls. I am beyond flustered.
He’s making me feel all kinds of things I haven’t felt in years and all I really want to do is shove them in a used gym duffel bag and drop it off in the closest park.
I want to laugh hysterically, but all that comes up is a strained sigh because as much as I’m overwhelmed, I’m happy with this arrangement.
This is what I wanted, isn’t it? So why do I feel so hesitant?
I plan my next move. Is it better to obsess over the past or the future?
Should I open the can of worms that is crying over Grant’s photo, clothes and things that I’ve preserved over the years? Do I need to grieve one last time before I go into the future that is coming faster than I anticipated?
I picture myself in a familiar scenario I’ve been in many times before: I’m on my bedroom floor, an Arcade Fire vinyl playing over the stereo. I’m clutching the last shirt he wore, with a thousand photos strewn over the floor, surrounding me like a sea of memories.
I’m startled by this daydream when I realize it’s at the old apartment. I have yet to grieve in this new place. What a shame, I can’t wait to christen it with my tears. Maybe I ought to overthink the future instead.
I daydream about what my relationship with Jae could look like. It could really go one of two ways—just fine or really, really badly. We could get along really well. We could be happy. I could see us being together for a long, long time.
And as soon as I’m picturing Jae proposing to me on top of a rooftop overlooking the city, I’m hit with a frightening thought, and I am bent and mangled like a T-boned car.
What if Jae dies, too?
What would I do?
I don’t think I could handle it again. I know I couldn’t handle it again.
I don’t even know what to make of the thought. I couldn’t picture myself losing two lovers. No one pictures themselves losing one. What would I do if Jae died? My chest tightens at the thought of him not being here anymore. Not calling me every night. Not kissing me. Not feeding me food at his restaurant.
What if he’s dead and that’s why he’s not calling me?
I picture him in a thousand different scenarios, all with the same ending: Jae lying cold and dead at a morgue. Being transferred into a wooden coffin. Being lowered into the ground. Me, bursting into uncontrollable tears at just the mention of his name.Just like Grant.
I shake my head and clear the thought. Thinking about the future is supposed to be happy. It’s not productive to think this way. I think back to group therapy. Imagining the pain of losing someone only amplifies it when you have to do it for real. But still, I hold my head in my hands, tears brimming on my short, stubby lashes.
Please don’t die, Jae. Let me die first.
My phone finally rings.
