by Rylee Swann
I have his attention now, have made a little chink in his armor. He’s thinking about my words, weighing them carefully.
He picks at a nacho on his plate, speaking to it, not to me. “Well, she’s not the reason.”
I’m making progress, but it’s not time to rejoice yet. I have to get to the root of Isaac’s problem, and that’ll take some time.
“Not the reason you started smoking dope?”
“Yeah.”
“Awesome. I’m looking forward to meeting her.”
And getting closer to Dee. She and Isaac’s mom are friends.
I need to take this one day at a time just like AA teaches. But I will win Dee back no matter how much she fights me.
7
December
Days have passed since Jayson reentered and rocked my precarious little world. I spent the weekend hidden away in my apartment like a bear attempting an early hibernation.
No more of this, I tell myself. It’s a new work week. I cannot allow him to have such power over me. Time to rejoin the living.
My hand on the doorknob of my front door, I startle as Gemma calls my name from the vestibule. I open the door in wide-eyed amazement. “I was about to come up to your apartment for a visit.”
She has this knack of knowing when I need her. She says it’s in me too if I’d just open my third eye.
I laughed the first time she said that to me. Third eye. Until I realized she was serious. I’ve learned a lot from her about wiccans and witches, and find that I agree with some of it. Still, I’m not going to become a witch any time soon. I do enjoy nature, though, and some of the wiccan teachings do speak to me.
Because of Gemma, I have more live plants in my home. I’m closer to nature and I even find myself picking up small branches and bringing them home on occasion because I like the look and shape of them. I’m somehow more grounded and at peace with my surroundings. There’s certainly nothing wrong with any of that.
Opening my door wide, I usher her in.
Gemma is beautiful, especially today with no makeup on. She doesn’t need it. Her skin is a pure shade of white and her long hair shines. Her natural color is black but it’s been a dark shade of purple for a few weeks now. Her green eyes remind me of a cat. She could have any man she wants but keeps choosing the wrong ones. I’ve tried tell her, but she doesn’t listen. Someday she will. Today, she’s wearing a crystal necklace like the kind she’s given me. I like them because they’re pretty, not because I believe they have any special powers. I haven’t drank enough of the Kool Aid Gemma’s serving and I probably never will. She’s a good friend, and that is the only thing that matters.
“I know.” She gives me one of her knowing smiles and taps her temple with a finger. “I heard you.”
It doesn’t matter if I believe in Gemma’s mental powers or not. She’s always here for me when I need her.
“I need a hug.”
Gemma nods, steps over the threshold into my apartment and envelops me in her warm embrace. Resting my head on her shoulder, I let the tears flow. I’d been holding on to them, fearing they’d never stop once released, but I trust Gemma’s calming nature and that has broken them loose.
“I’m so sorry you’re feeling this way, Dee.” She pats my back and squeezes me tight. “Are you ready to tell me what you weren’t saying when you brought Isaac home?”
I pull away and look into her intelligent green eyes. “You knew?”
“Of course, I knew.” She tuts and takes my hand. “Come, let’s sit and talk.
She leads me to my comfortable brown leather couch and I sink into it gratefully. My apartment is the largest of the six in the building—a two-bedroom, two-bath, with an extra space I use as an office. I make a good living as an author, and could afford to buy my own home, but this is all I need. I’m happy here.
Before Gemma sits, she scans the room and tilts her head. “This place needs a cat. Yours passed three months ago?” I nod, remembering my sweet girl. I’m not sad about losing her anymore. She died of old age and had a wonderful life. “That’s enough time. I know how you mourned. Think about getting another.”
I’ve had cats since I was a child and love them dearly. It’s something to consider. The apartment has become too big, too empty of late. “I’ll think about it.”
Gemma sits beside me, perched on the edge of the cushion. She’s wrapped in a black shawl and a leopard print jacket. “Talk to me,” she says in a soft, comforting tone.
“I’m sorry. I should have told you this.” She waves a hand to brush my words off. “Jayson Fox, Isaac’s addictions counselor, is my Jayson. The one I told you about. The one who broke my heart.”
Her eyes widen. She wasn’t expecting this. “Isn’t he from Canada? What is he doing here? Is Isaac—?”
“Isaac is fine. Jayson really is an addictions counselor and works at Mountainside Recovery.” I frown, realizing that his name is rolling off my tongue all too easily. Like no time has passed.
“I see. So, he’s come here for you.”
I shrug, unwilling to admit that might be the truth. “I guess so.”
“It’s flattering, don’t you think?”
I gape at her. Flattering is not a word that comes to mind in this situation. All the same, now that it’s out there it has me pondering. “Huh.”
Jayson held a torch for me all these years. If he wasn’t so horribly wrong for me, maybe it would be flattering.
Gemma chuckles and takes off her shawl. “What are you going to do about this?”
“I don’t know.” I sigh and get up. I’m suddenly thirsty and grab a bottled water from my stash in the corner of the living room. I prefer them room temperature, rather than chilled in the fridge. “You want one?” She nods and I take a second one and hand it to her. “What I want is to not have to deal with this at all. I thought I’d never see him again. My heart can’t take it.”
“I understand. But you know, your heart can take it. You’re a strong woman, Dee. And, the fact is, you do have to deal with this. He’s here. You can’t make him go away.”
I wrinkle up my nose and stick out my tongue. It’s a childish move, and we both laugh.
Gemma twists off the cap of her water and takes a long drink. She’s taking time to think, to offer whatever pearls of wisdom she’ll come up with. Setting the bottle on the coffee table, she smiles softly. “You have to decide what you really want. You once loved this man.”
“To a fault,” I interject.
“Be that as it may,” she continues, “you’ve now been given the opportunity to decide anew what you want. Clearly, he’s already told you what he wants by his actions alone. It is flattering.” She winks to show she’s teasing but there is more than a grain of truth to what she’s said.
“Oh god, he hurt me so badly. How can I—?”
Gemma stands and pushes the coffee table out of the way, catching her open bottle before it falls. Sitting on the floor in front of me, she holds out her hands. “Let’s try something, okay?”
“Okay…” I’m a little concerned about what sort of hoodoo she wants to try on me but I know she wouldn’t hurt me. Leaning forward, I place a hand in each of hers.
“Good.” She squeezes both of my hands. “Here’s what I want you to do. First, think of a perfect memory during your time with Jayson. Close your eyes and relive it. You don’t have to tell me what it is. Just live in that moment. Open your eyes when you’re done.”
I close my eyes and grimace, not wanting to dwell on good times with Jayson.
Gemma shakes my hands, making my arms flop around like cooked spaghetti.
I open one eye and peer at her.
“Come on. Don’t fight the process,” Gemma says, urging me to continue. “This isn’t a spell. You know I’d never do that to you. I do promise that this will help you though.”
With a sigh, I nod and squeeze both eyes closed. The second I commit to her request my mind starts racing with images, like movie clips pla
ying at high-speed. I smile as a vivid picture of Jayson and me at Dave & Buster’s, the restaurant with arcade games, comes into focus. We had such fun that day. He’d earned enough tickets to win me a rainbow-colored horse with fringe for its tail and mane. We named it Mustang Sally. I later threw it out after one of our painful breakups. I sigh. This isn’t the right memory.
Next, a memory surfaces of our very first phone call. We’d been talking via email and by chat for weeks and had been too chicken to take it to the next step. Finally, we set a time and day for our first phone date. I remember it was a Thursday evening. The television show, Friends, was on that night and I made the sacrifice to miss it that week. I’d teased him about it—that he came fourth after Chandler, Joey, and Ross. We wound up staying on the phone for ten hours, talking about anything and everything. It was probably that night that we knew we were in love with each other, though neither of us said the words. It was too soon. Too crazy.
What I didn’t know until much later was that he was drunk that night. It was the only way he could screw up his courage enough to call. I’d never heard him speak before and couldn’t yet recognize his drunk voice. Damn, and that ruins the phone call memory.
A few more images rush past my inner eye and I discard them as quickly as they come. I’ve not found the right memory yet, and then, I smile. A comforting, warm sensation cascades through me, and I know I’ve hit the bullseye. This is the one.
I’m in the kitchen of the apartment we share on Long Island. With sponge in hand, I clean off the counter in preparation for cooking dinner. I’m not what you’d call a Suzy Homemaker by any means, so me cooking is cause for celebration. A reprieve from takeout, at the very least.
Jayson strolls in and peers over my shoulder. “You haven’t started dinner yet?”
He’s placed his hands lovingly on my shoulders, so I don’t let his tone upset me. “It’s still early. There’s munchies in the fridge if you want a snack.”
He bends to the curve of my neck, his breath tickling me. A surprised giggle erupts from my mouth as he kisses the tender flesh. Backing away with a smile, he pulls open the refrigerator door. Glancing to him, I admire the view for a moment. He’s wearing only a black tee shirt and boxers. It’s “No Pants Day,” a holiday he made-up as an excuse to be lazy. He bends over to see what’s on the bottom shelf and I suck in my breath while staring at his tight ass. He’s so hot, he could melt the butter in there. The thought causes a giggle to pop out of my mouth and I quickly turn back to the sink.
Jayson pulls out the ingredients to slap together a quick ham and cheese sandwich and turns to me. “What?”
“Oh, nothing.” I turn on the water to wash the dishes as he grunts. He wants to know what my giggle was about but lets it go.
From the corner of my eye, I watch him make his sandwich. He takes exquisite care spreading the mayo onto the bread and then placing the cheese and ham on it so as little as possible hangs over the edges. The bread topper goes on and he repeats the process for a second sandwich. He has a healthy appetite, and not just in the kitchen.
I hold back another chuckle and suds up the pot I need for tonight’s dinner.
Jayson stacks the two sandwiches, returns everything to the refrigerator and then, lo and behold, scoops the crumbs into his hand and brushes them off into the sink. I’ve never been more in love. He’s usually so messy, and it’s a switch not to have to nag.
He takes a bite of the sandwich, hovering by the sink, and as much as I love him, it’s starting to get on my nerves. He has the habit of waking in the middle of the night and devouring a snack at the sink. Habit, but right now he’s in my way.
Quickly drying off my hands, I reach into a cabinet and pull out a plate. I set it on the kitchen table—a small black foldable card table, since we usually eat in front of the TV in the living room—and point to it. “Sit down and eat.”
He raises a surprised brow and dutifully takes his sandwiches to the table and sits.
With my back to him as I continue doing the dishes, his gaze on me prickles the hairs on the back of my neck. Looking over my shoulder, I take in the big smile on his face.
“What?” I ask.
“Oh, nothing,” he says in a teasing tone.
Laughing, I turn back to the sink.
In another moment, he says, “That movie you wanted to see is on HBO tonight.”
“Which one?”
“The one with the dog,” he mumbles around a mouthful of sandwich.
“Oh, Marley & Me. Cool, I’ll make sure dinner is ready before that.”
“Hey, don’t I get points for knowing it’ll be on?” He’s fake pouting. So cute.
“Well, yeah but you would have gotten more points if you’d remembered the name of the movie.”
“Woman!” I burst out laughing and he can’t help but laugh too. It’s a joke between us from another silly movie we watched together. “There is no pleasing you.”
“Oh, there is, and you know how…” I’ve lowered my voice in what I hope is a seductive whisper.
“Dirty girl. Your mind is always in the gutter.”
“I’ve yet to hear you complain about that.” I glance back at him, a grin on my face.
The repartee continues while he eats and I do dishes. I don’t normally enjoy this chore, but right now, I’m so happy I could burst into song. It takes me a moment to realize why. I always imagined married life to be like this—so right, so warm, so comforting, so…real. There’s none of the drama of when he’s drunk or hungover. He is the very epitome of the sober man I love with all my heart.
If I could bottle this moment and pour it out whenever I needed it, life would be utter perfection.
Tears well in my eyes and make a path down my cheeks.
“Are you okay?” The question floats up to my ears. The voice is wrong, not Jayson’s. I realize that I’d lost myself in the good memory Gemma asked me to relive.
“Yes.” I reluctantly open my eyes.
“Good.” She nods, squeezing my right hand as I now realize she’s been doing for a few minutes. “You’re crying and smiling, so I wasn’t sure.”
I hiccup out a laugh. “I just love him so much.” She raises a brow but remains silent. Wait, what did I just say? “Um, no. I loved him so much.”
Her eyes brighten, a soft smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Okay, you know what comes next, don’t you?”
I grimace and look down at my toes. “A bad memory.”
She nods and squeezes my left hand.
Without waiting for her to say it, I close my eyes.
The memory nightmare comes easily to me.
We’re in the apartment we share together in Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario. He’s just come home and I’m standing in the kitchen staring angrily at the sink full of dirty dishes.
“You said you’d do these before you went to bed last night,” I say to him in greeting. I know it’s not the best way to start a conversation but this has been building. In the past few weeks, he’s stopped pitching in with chores altogether and I’ve had enough of cleaning up after him while he’s either drunk or hungover.
“I know.” His curt tone cuts through me like a knife.
“Then why didn’t you?”
He doesn’t respond and shrugs out of his jacket.
I wait, my annoyance boiling over. This is not going to end well.
More silence from him.
I can’t stand it any longer. “You didn’t throw out the garbage either this morning.”
“What the fuck did you do today?”
Jesus fucking Christ, is he serious with that question? In an angry tone, I rattle off my accomplishments of the day. “Well, let’s just see, shall we? I worked my job so I can pay my share of the rent. I went grocery shopping so you’d have food to shove in your face. I vacuumed and I changed the damned litter box!”
He stares at me with a malicious expression.
He wants me to be upset by his leer, but I’m not. He d
oesn’t intimidate me. I’m not afraid of him.
As if he’s reading my mind, he comes galloping at me fast.
I take a step back even as he purposely bumps into me. Tears sting the backs of my eyes. He’s a big guy, broad-shouldered and inches taller than me. I don’t think he’ll hurt me but the move is scary nonetheless. He’s never done this before.
I stare at him in angry defiance as he glares back, until he stomps off to the bedroom. After he slams the door shut, I brace my hands on the lip of the kitchen sink and lower my head. He wanted to scare me. I don’t deserve this. Why is he treating me this way? Not wanting to cry, I force the tears back, swallow the lump in my throat.
He’s been stressed out lately by the college courses he’s been taking. He wants to be an accountant. He’s good with numbers and the classifieds are always full of job postings. He’s been drinking more as a result, and I’ve tried to be understanding, but I need help around our place. I need a true partner.
Scenes like this have become our life together. The only time he’s the nice guy I fell in love with these days is when he’s drunk.
God damnit! Despite my best efforts, tears start falling in a steady stream. The pressure on my left hand is growing uncomfortable and I try to shake loose.
“Why are you doing this to me!?”
“Open your eyes, sweetheart.” Gemma’s voice breaks through the memory. “You’re okay. It’s just a memory.”
I do as she asks and sniffle back tears.
She smiles and loosens her grip on my hand.
“I don’t want to do that again, Gemma.”
She nods. “I know, sweetie.” She gives both my hands a brief squeeze. “Which hand wins? Time to choose.”
I look down into Gemma’s face to find it filled with sympathy. Her eyes are glistening with unshed empathetic tears. My hands are still in hers. The right hand is the good memory, and the left is the bad. The bad was very bad but he never did hit me, it never got to that point. And, the good was so damned good. There was such love between us.
I struggle with the choice for long agonizing minutes then finally shrug my shoulders in defeat. “I don’t know.”
