I woke up with a start, as if someone had yanked me out of sleep. I didn’t like that feeling. It was disorienting and something I wasn’t used to. My body normally woke up gently, at the same time every day. But I knew it wasn’t six thirty in the morning. It was pitch black. I’d fallen asleep sometime in the early evening, on the couch, on top of the unfolded pile of cold blankets. My eyes hurt from crying so much. Raya had comforted me the best she could. But after we’d hung up, I couldn’t stop crying. I’d cried myself to sleep.
I checked my phone, there were zero messages. I was right, it wasn’t my normal wake-up time. It was threeAM. I sat up and a stab of pain in the side of my neck made me wince. I must’ve slept at a weird angle.
I rubbed at it and looked around. The small light over the stove was on, but other than that, I could barely see. The sink was dripping, I’d never called a plumber, and the fridge was humming.
I’d never felt so alone.
I lived by myself in Los Angeles. Most mornings I woke up alone. But this felt different. Maybe because when I woke up at home, I immediately started moving, getting ready for the day. I hardly had a spare second to think. Or maybe it was because I hadn’t woken up alone for the last three days and the contrast was stark.
I pressed my palms to my eyes. I hadn’t gotten ready for bed the night before, and the mascara on my lashes felt crusty and stiff. I made my way into the bathroom to shower. I had put the shower fern I’d brought from home inside. Even that didn’t help me feel less lonely. I absentmindedly performed the routines of washing my hair and body, then got out, dried off, and dressed myself.
Then I was staring at my phone again. It was too early to go back to the hospital. It was way too early to call Raya for our daily business talk.
I pulled up Elijah’s number in my text app.I’m sad and I miss you.I typed those words, then immediately erased them.
I don’t know how you can convince me that you didn’t know about Fake Dr. Franklin when you were so willing to lie for Michael about the whole thing, but I need you to try.
I thought about actually sending that one, but instead, I slowly erased it as well.
You don’t want to talk about it? Change my mind? Nothing?That one I sent.
I immediately thought about unsending it, but then I saw the three dots light up on my phone indicating he was typing back. It was three forty-five in the morning, and he was texting back. He must not have been able to sleep either.
I’ve been called a fling, a boy toy, and a liar all in one weekend.I didn’t think you wanted to hear anything I had to say. I didn’t think you’d *believe* anything I had to say.
I blinked. He wasn’t wrong. I knew he’d heard my mom call him a boy toy. I didn’t think he’d heard Raya call him a fling, but he must’ve. And I had definitely implied he was a liar.
Shit.
WasIthe one in the wrong here?
No. He told his brother I had daddy issues and was temporary. He defended his brother when he lied and used us and then acted like I was the one overreacting, the onetaking this all too seriously. And now, instead of fighting for me, for us, he was just abandoning me. I was not going to repeat history. I could not become my mother.
For the record,I typed.I did not call you a fling or a boy toy, but I’m sorry other people did. As for the liar part, we’re obviously both liars. And the biggest lie of all was thinking this could work.
You knew this could never work, he replied.
I sucked in some air, the words stabbing me in the gut. That hurt. More than any breakup before ever had. But was it even a breakup when we were never really together? I couldn’t refer to it as a breakup. Not even to myself.
I lay back down on the couch and stared at the dark ceiling until I fell asleep.
“Are you feeling better?” I asked on the drive home from the hospital. My emotions hovered just below the surface, the sadness, and I was trying my best to keep them at bay. Mom’s fever had broken overnight, and the doctor said she was eatingand drinking like normal and seemed to be on the mend. He discharged her with instructions to bring her back if she got worse.
“Much,” she said. “He said I could start driving soon.”
“Are you not dizzy anymore?”
“That cleared up a few days ago.”
“That’s good.”
When we got to the house, she asked for her scooter instead of her wheelchair, and I thought that was a good sign as well.
Once I had her settled onto the couch with some water and the remote, I said, “I’m going to take a nap.”
Her head whipped in my direction, concern on her face. “You don’t nap.” She wasn’t wrong, I couldn’t remember the last time I took a nap.
“I’m tired. I haven’t slept well.” After finally falling asleep the night before, I’d woken up several times before giving up around six o’clock in the morning.
