Insipid

by Christine Brae

  “Please understand, Ley. I need time to come to my own conclusions. Will you give it to me? Will you support me while I manage through this? I promise to make myself get better,” I am crushed by her lack of understanding, it moves me to tears.

  Her demeanor softens instantly as she walks towards me and enfolds me in her arms. “Okay, sweetie. I understand. Take the time you need but promise me that you will eventually open your heart up to whoever makes you happy. There’s nothing sensible about falling in love. That’s the beauty of all this. I know you’re afraid to get hurt again, but Lucas is God’s gift to you for everything you’ve endured in the past two years. Welcome him into your life—he wants in, Jade. Let him in. Stop Running.”

  I SIT IN a booth at his favorite steak place across the river and wait calmly until I see his familiar, kindly face slowly approach our table. I invited him to join me for lunch on my way to O’Hare for a flight back to San Francisco the day after Leya and I had our conversation. I stand up immediately to greet him with a kiss.

  “Hi, Father Mike. I’m so happy you could make it on such short notice.”

  “Of course. I’ve been wondering how you’ve been,” he says lightly as I slide back into the booth and he takes the seat across from me.

  I call for the server, who immediately takes our order for some drinks. We take a while to peruse the menus before he starts to ask me for an update.

  “Your mother tells me that you recently had a marriage proposal,” he says offhandedly, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

  I laugh timidly, embarrassed to have to explain to him the outcome of that event. “Oh gosh, my mother! When did she call you about it?”

  “She actually called me about organizing Cia’s next service. She told me about it when I asked her how you were.”

  “Well, then you already know how it went down.”

  “Jade.”

  In the midst of our conversation, the server takes our meal order. I ask for a steak salad while he gives in to a 12 oz. New York strip. I try to change the subject for a bit. “How’s Joshua doing?”

  “Very well, actually. He and Cara have been seeing Father Joseph for their pre-marital sessions.”

  “Oh my! I’m so happy for him,” I gush, genuinely filled with so much joy at his news.

  “They’re getting married?”

  “Yes, seven months from now.”

  “I’m so glad. You see? I told you he would find true love one day. Cara is really good to him.”

  “And he is good to her. He loves her very much.” It’s a fascinating fact that this man always knows just what I’m about to say. “It’s okay that you’re relieved that he has finally found his peace, Jade. And it’s okay to wish the same for Chris too.”

  I shake my head, keeping it down, refusing to catch his eyes. “I destroyed Chris instead of helping to rebuild him. I’m a liar and a cheater. My life has been one big joke.”

  He reaches across the table to take my hands in his. “First and foremost, it was never your responsibility to fix Chris. You lost the most important person in your life. You sacrificed 19 years of your life for her. You are kind and loving and incredibly ethical—a wonderful mother, daughter, and wife. What went down in the past year doesn’t define who you are as a person. You’re allowed to make mistakes.” He gently holds my hands down when I try to pull away. “You’ve never been one to play the victim of life’s circumstances. And I know that you’re not about to start now. Take accountability for your actions, but move on at the same time. You’re lucky that it took months and not years for you to gain some clarity.”

  I completely agree with his statement. “Yes, it’s funny but my head just cleared up as soon as I saw him in Mallorca. After I left him at the beach house, I fully accepted the fact that regardless of whether Lucas and I ended up together, what I had with Chris could never be more than a beautiful part of my past.”

  “Now that says something, doesn’t it?” He starts to cut through his food as a sign that it’s my turn to talk and his turn to eat.

  “I was hoping that we would figure things out together, but he’s so damn impatient.” I sigh wearily. He nods his head while chewing his food, urging me to continue. Lucas’ gorgeous face quickly enters my mind and I miss him so terribly. “Yes, yes. I guess it does mean something. And I’m so afraid that I’ve lost him.”

  It doesn’t matter how much you have, how accomplished you are, how well put together your life is, or that you are loved by so many people. A heartache is a heartache is a heartache. Whether you’re 23 or 43, the tenderness in your heart whenever you hear his name, the time you spend each day living with your memories, the loneliness that you feel despite the love of those around you—these things don’t change. They remain the same.

  He takes a swig of his cocktail before staring straight into my eyes. “Forgive yourself first and foremost. And then, let go of the past. It doesn’t mean that you have to throw away your memories. Keep them safely tucked inside your heart, but leave room in it to make new ones. If you find that you still want him after this, you will get him back.”

  THERE’S NOTHING AROUND the house that reminds me of him. And yet, I think of him every single minute of every single day. It’s been more than a year since I first laid eyes on him as he watched me from the corner of a conference room. It feels like eons ago since he collected his things and moved away, all the traces of our time together are gone.

  I’m on a mission to let go of my past. I immerse myself in my father’s business affairs, I work and travel and piece together the remnants of my life by finding comfort in the solace that being alone now affords me. I call him when these moments of weakness overcome me. He doesn’t pick up the phone and I hang up without leaving him a message. I cry tears of remorse. Of bitterness. Of acceptance. I don’t even attempt to question why it is that he hasn’t tried to contact me. I know him well enough to understand that this is his way of trying to move on.

  Leya tells me that Chicago has seen its last snow of the season and sends me snapchats of the slowly budding cherry blossoms. I make a mental note to call her in the morning. Sometimes, when I miss him, I call her instead.

  Chris and I keep in touch often. He’s seeing someone, a publicist who’s been touring with the team for the past few months. He tells me that it isn’t serious. He tells me that he still loves me. And I tell him that I will always love him. Without Chris, there will be nothing left of my past. I hold on to him if only for that reason, although selfishly I know that saying goodbye to each other will be an inevitable part of our near future. Father Mike was right about the need for all of us to keep moving forward regardless of our incessant longing to cling to what we once had.

  Chris’ love molded me when I was a young girl. It made me strong and determined as a young woman and hopeful about the power of love when I was a mother with a child. I was blessed by the role that he played in my life. I don’t know how to let go of that.

  If Lucas hadn’t busted into my life like a hurricane and swept me up at that particular time, I have no doubt whatsoever that I would still be his. The storm that inflicted chaos in my home carried me to a foreign place; adapting to my new environment will determine the next phase of this, my new life.

  I NEVER STOPPED believing in signs.

  Almost two months after I last saw him, I’m curled up in bed reading Olivia’s latest book recommendation, a page turner that I couldn’t put down despite the fact that it’s two o’clock in the morning and I have a full day of meetings ahead of me. My eyelids are heavy. I’m tired and about to shut my Kindle off when I see a fluttering object right in front of me. I stare at it dazedly for a few seconds until I realize that it’s a moth. This time it isn’t flying in the direction of a light. It circles around and around my head, lightly brushing against my hair until it rests on the pillow next to me. As I lean my head for a closer look, I drop my Kindle through the tiny space between the headboard and the wall.

 
“Shoot!” I say out loud. I’m tired and irritated but know that I need to recharge my e-reader before I turn in for the night. I wedge my arm into the tiny space behind the bed and feel around with my fingers, refusing to remove my gaze from the moth that’s still resting peacefully on the pillow. My fingers touch something hard and cold. I retrieve whatever it is and pull my arm back in to take a look at my new find. It’s a phone. Lucas’ phone. It must have fallen off the bed or night table during one of his nights here. It’s dead of course, so I trudge over to the charger on the wall, sit on the floor and plug it in. It comes to life right with the Camera Roll opened up to hundreds of pictures of us—our tour in Palma de Mallorca, our days at the beach, the sun, the surf, the picnics on the sand, the colorful sails highlighted against the bright blue sky. But what makes me cry—what makes me catch my breath and clutch at my heart—are the numerous pictures of me when we were in Chicago together. There are pictures of me taken while I was asleep the night he stayed over, pictures of me on the dance floor when I lost him for a few minutes, pictures of me at the very first lunch we had at the Italian restaurant, walking slowly across the bridge in four inch heels, telling him animated stories about the river. There is one of me hailing a cab the Saturday of the signing and one of me sitting by the steps staring out towards the river with a cigarette in my left hand.

  The week that meant so much to me apparently meant something to him too.

  “Cia!” I shout as I drop the phone to my side and frantically search for the moth that was just right next to me a few minutes ago. It has vanished. But in its place is the heart that I thought was gone forever. Tonight changes everything. Tonight, more than anything else, Cia has reminded me of something that I knew all along.

  I sit in the dark for a long time and let go of all the tears that have been bottled up inside me for so long.

  I cry about the day I lost Chris to a pretty blonde in denim shorts.

  I ache with the pain that I caused him.

  I lament at the love that I never had for Joshua.

  I wail as I mourn the loss of my daughter.

  I don’t hold back. I grieve and I fret until all my tears have been released and I can no longer hear the sounds of my anguish. This is the dead end of my past. Now to walk around the breakwall, close my eyes and free fall into the future.

  “Hello?” she croaks into the phone, breathy and heavy with sleep.

  “Sorry, Ley. It’s me.”

  “Jade? What’s wrong? Are you okay? Isn’t it 2:00 am there?”

  “Ley, do you know where he is? I need to call him. I love him, Ley. I love him. I have to tell him that I love him.”

  She perks up immediately and shrieks, “This is great! Call him. I don’t know where he is and I don’t care what time it is. Somewhere in the world, it’s morning. Call him, Jade.” She follows up with an afterthought. “And then call me immediately afterwards to give me the full scoop!”

  I dial his number as soon as I hang up the phone with her. It rings a few times but he doesn’t pick up. My heart hurts with extreme disappointment but this time, I decide to leave a message. “Luke, you were right. I love you. I think I loved you from the first time I met you. Whatever the reasons, whatever the circumstances, you were the one that my heart chose to help me pick up the pieces of my broken soul. All this time I was afraid that I translated my loneliness into my need to be with you. It doesn’t matter why it happened or how it happened. I’m just sorry I wasted so much time before admitting it to myself and to you. So I’m glad that I get to leave you this message so you can play it over and over again, in case you don’t believe me.” I laugh nervously before rambling on. “I love you, Luke. Thank you for lifting me up out of the depths of sadness and bringing some light into my life. I would never ever trade a single minute of the time we spent with each other, whether together or apart, for anything in the world. I will always be thankful for this rollercoaster of emotions that you put me through. It made me feel and it made me think, but most of all, it made me feel alive. I love you.”

  “BLESS ME, FATHER, for I have sinned. It’s been three years since my last confession. My biggest sin is the sin of omission. Of pretense. Of tolerating an insipid existence filled with hopelessness and grief. I was unfaithful in mind, in thought, and in heart. For these and for all my sins, I am truly sorry.”

  “Jade?” he asks, despite knowing full well that it’s me kneeling down at his confessional.

  “Yes, Father. It’s me.”

  “I didn’t know you were in town.”

  “I’m here to finally close up the house. We sold it last week and I came to sift through what’s left of Cia’s things. I leave this afternoon for home. I won’t be back here for a long time, until I see you at the memorial.”

  “Are you okay? How is everything going?”

  “I followed your advice, Father. I gave up the past. I’m now living in the present. I’m asking for God’s forgiveness so I can move on.”

  “You have it, Jade. God’s amazing grace has always been with you. I’m so glad that you finally reached out a hand to Him. You must trust and believe that you were never alone. Know that from this day forward, your sins are forgiven. For your penance, I would like you to step into your new life without looking back. Can you do that from now on?”

  “Yes, Father, I promise,” I whisper softly.

  “All right then, bow your head and pray for God’s blessing.”

  I lean my head forward as he raises his hands up to bless me.

  “I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Go in God’s peace, Jade. You deserve to be happy.”

  TODAY MARKS THE third anniversary of the day I died. The setting sun skates across the water surrounded by the orange sky streaked with alternating layers of blue and white and yellow. The water is still and calm with only tiny rolls of waves washing upon the shore. If I looked far enough, I can see her standing at the end of the universe. I can feel her presence close by. I can hear her sweet singing voice next to me. How many times have I imagined what it would be like if I saw her again? Soon, now. Soon.

  I walk sideways along the shore where the water meets the sand, farther and farther from any sign of life. Away from judgment, from condemnation. From things that remind me of the mess I’ve made. My hands are full, my steps are heavy. But my heart… it’s open. It’s free. I’ve done what I could to apologize for all the hurt I’ve caused them. I’ve said the words to tell him just how much I love him. Without me, I know they will all be forced to move on.

  I stop in the middle of nowhere, ready to finish what I came here to do. In my left hand is one single flower. A calla lily. Simple and understated, but meaningful. In my right hand is a little box with breathing holes and a chirping sound emanating from it.

  Let me sit down for a while, I say to myself. Collect my thoughts. Remember why I’m here. I sit for what feels like hours, but in the scheme of things, I know that it’s only for a minute. Slowly, I open the box with the bird in it. The swallow, so tiny, but whose wings are strong and powerful, cowers along the edge of the box, shaking and afraid. I take a deep breath and touch its head with my little finger. Is that what a feather feels like? I’m shaking. I’m sick. I don’t think I can do it. How can something so small scare me so much? How can something as docile, as insignificant as a bird, cause me to change my path every time I come across it? Another deep breath as I lift it gently, my fingers lightly enclosing it before I place it on the palm of my hand. Its scraggy little feet feel like pin pricks on my skin.

  There. That wasn’t so bad now, was it?

  I laugh out loud as I raise my arm up in the air, tossing the bird up high, watching it fly far away from me. Ha! Take that!

  The tide creeps up. The tiny box washes away as I stand up to complete my journey.

  The water is dark. My feet feel cold. With the flower clasped in my hand, I move forward. Slowly, surely. I step upon the sand until I can no lo
nger see my feet.

  I flinch and jump up in surprise. Something rubs against my legs. Seaweed wraps around my toes. I close my eyes and keep moving. My last fear. Fear of the bottomless unknown that is part of every life. This will be over soon.

  Beyond my comfort zone and into the ocean I go. Deeper and deeper until the tide pushes me forward and my feet can no longer anchor themselves on the sand.

  I close my eyes and pray. I pray for forgiveness, but most of all I pray for those who will be left behind.

  As the tide carries me further away, I delight in the numbness that the cold brings to my skin. The muffled sound of the water in my ear. The overwhelming, heartfelt feeling of closure.

  Floating, floating, floating away filled with so much peace.

  The fact that I’m moving away from the security of the shore doesn’t bother me. I bask in the quiet solitude for a few minutes. I hear it in the distance, a sudden roar that starts from its depths and pushes itself outward towards the sky. I’m not afraid. I’m excited to feel the rush of a huge wave conceal me from the world, leading me to wherever, making me feel helpless enough to accept whatever it is that may come next. I feel an overbearing excitement as I lose control.

  Trust in Him. Trust in signs. Trust in your fate. Live your life in honesty. Let your heart choose whom to love; you’ll never go wrong that way. Live life to the fullest and know that those who leave this world ahead of you are watching over you always.

  As the wave washes upon me, I am pulled down towards the bottom of the ocean in a powerful undertow. Still I have no fear because I know that he’s right here with me.