Complete (Incomplete)

by Lindy Zart

  “It was after that first concert, a few days later, actually, maybe a week. I knew that stupid Dove wrapper was supposed to be a form of goodbye, but I couldn’t let it be. I was consumed—obsessed—with needing to see you again. I figured since you had showed up there, regardless of your intentions, it meant you still cared about me. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. So I came to see you. I showed up at your place. I saw you through the window. You had company. From what I saw, it was obvious you were over me. I couldn't even understand what would have compelled you to go to California when it was so clear you didn't really need or want me. I headed back to the airport immediately and got on a flight back to California.”

  He leans close to me, smelling like sunshine and mint, warming the air between us and causing my pulse to ricochet. In a low voice, he says, “I came back for you, Lily, and you’d already moved on.” He straightens and heads toward the entrance of the supper club.

  I kick at a patch of gravel in frustration. “You have no right to be upset about that! It was over a year after you'd left!”

  He whirls around. “I know that! I know how messed up I am, okay? I know. But I thought...it doesn't matter.” Grayson clenches his jaw and stoically faces the building once more.

  “You didn’t try hard enough,” I blurt out.

  His back stiffens. Grayson slowly turns around, his eyes dark, and his expression blank.

  “You should have tried harder to see me. Why did you just leave?” My voice breaks and that detested wetness has formed around my eyes once more.

  He snorts. “I didn't really feel like breaking up your touching scene with your new boyfriend.”

  “I would have left him. I would have ended it right then. I would have dropped everything for you. I would have done anything you wanted. I thought you were gone. For good. If I’d known you were back…why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Thirteen months wasn’t enough time for me to get over you. Do you know how many women I dated during those thirteen months? None. I’m not saying you had to wait. I’m not saying I expected you to be miserable and pine over me indefinitely, but...I wasn’t over you. The fact that you could move on like that when I couldn't made me doubt that you ever cared as much for me as I did for you.” He faces me, his expression telling me to try to deny it.

  I have to deny it. It is a lie. I loved him like I have never loved anyone—I still love him as much as I did then, maybe more because now I know how quickly love can be taken away.

  “That’s not true and you know it.”

  “Then I show up and you’re kissing Sam Lorenz. You were more than kissing him.” His lips thin and my eyes are drawn down to his clenched hands. “Do you know what I wanted to do to him when I saw that? I wanted to storm into that house and beat the piss out of his face.”

  “It was a year after we broke up. What did you expect?”

  “What did I expect?” He laughs bitterly, shrugging. “It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. It could have been five years later and I’d still want to rip the guy’s head off. Don’t you get it?” he shouts, his calm exterior finally breaking, revealing a ravaged, haunted man. “It doesn’t matter! I can’t get over you! I fucking hate it and I am useless because of it, and it doesn’t change anything. I can’t change the way I feel.”

  I understand this. I understand this ache because I have it to. It never goes away, no matter how much I long for it to.

  “Grayson—”

  “I’m done talking. I’m just…done. I can’t do it anymore. It’s obvious we can’t be around each other and function in a healthy way. I thought maybe we could—I don't know what I thought. It doesn't matter. We are completely beyond fucked up. So I’m going to fix this the only way I know how since it is obvious we don’t have a clue how to make this—us—endurable.” His voice hardens. “I never should have come back. I don’t know what I was thinking, agreeing to that fundraiser. I should have known I’d see you and just get my heart ripped out all over again.”

  “You have no right to act like you're the only one who got hurt.”

  Grayson is expressionless when he says, “I’m leaving after the wedding and I won’t be coming back. I’m going back to California, and I’m staying there,” he vows, turning to leave.

  I believe him. He will do that. He’ll go back and I will never see him again.

  “You should have stayed away,” I choke out, watching his back tense.

  “You’re right.” He doesn’t look back as he heads back into the restaurant.

  I wasn’t okay with him gone, but I was okay enough to tell myself I was going to be okay, eventually. His arrival ruined all of that, proved to me I was lying to myself, and made it evident my happiness was a ruse—showed me that I am only truly happy when I am with him. I want that deception back, but I know I can’t fool myself anymore, not with him showing up like he did and proving me a liar.

  I am not okay. I will never be okay.

  RECENTLY MIA HAS BEEN ABSENT from my life in a way that warrants a confrontation. Normally we talk on the phone just about every day; lately it is more of a weekly thing. I send her a text saying I am on my way up the stairs just before opening the door that leads to her home. The stairs creak as I ascend them and the upstairs is eerily quiet, which makes my feet move faster.

  “Mia? You home?”

  “Yeah,” a small voice answers.

  I stop near the bannister and observe my friend. She is sitting on the sofa wearing a yellow top and white cotton shorts, looking pale and withdrawn. Misery is etched into her pretty features as she sets her cell phone down.

  “Do I need to kill him?” I offer, sinking into the cushion beside her.

  She snorts. “What good would that do? Then I'd just remain miserable.”

  “Can't live with them, can't kill them,” I commiserate. “Want to talk about it?”

  Grabbing the remote from the stand next to the couch, she turns the television off and twists around to face me. “Yes. I do, actually.”

  I blink, surprised. “Okay. Talk.”

  “I'm not a nice person.”

  I don't know what to say to that. It's true; at times she isn't. So I say nothing.

  Mia takes in my expression and says, “See? You're too honest to tell me I'm wrong. I know I'm not a nice person. I say things without thinking, I'm envious of practically everyone, and I push people away. I'm rude and callous.” She pauses. “But I don't want to be anymore. And it's because of Ben. I want to be the kind of person he wants to love. I want to be better.”

  She rubs her face. “I love him. I didn’t even realize it until after he left this last time. I don’t know if I loved him in high school, but the potential was there. Maybe I did. I never told him. I only know when we broke up after graduation it hurt for a long time. I’m bitter about him, resentful, and yet I want him too.”

  “Ben left?” I sort of thought that since Grayson is still around, Ben would be too.

  She nods, looking away. “Yeah. Last weekend. He had to get back to finish a tattoo design for some rich guy or something. I don't know why exactly he had to go. I was mad that he was leaving and wasn't really paying attention to what he was saying.”

  “But he lives there, Mia. He had to go back.” Just like Grayson has to go back. I flinch at the thought, not wanting to accept the inevitable. It doesn't matter, or it shouldn't anyway. I lost him. I didn't even get him back, and I lost him again.

  Scowling, she crosses her arms. “I don't care. We were actually getting along and I thought maybe, I don't know, he would find a way to stay. But then he left anyway.”

  “Did you tell him how you feel about him? Did he say anything about how he feels about you?”

  Tears begin to trickle down her cheeks as she shakes her head. “No,” she whispers. “I was scared to tell him. And he—he didn't say anything either. I don't know what I am to him and I hate not knowing that.”

  “You need to tell him how you feel.”

  Sh
e smiles softly, not acknowledging my words. “Do you want to know what I love most about him? His terrible fashion sense. I shouldn’t say it’s terrible. It’s unique, eclectic. I love that he doesn’t care what anyone thinks about him. I wish I was more like that. I mean, I act like I don’t care, but I do. I care that I have to act like a bitch so people think they can’t injure me, that I have to pretend I’m immune to trivial things like emotions so I don’t get hurt.

  “I hate that I can’t just be me because I’m scared. I’m scared of caring too much, of loving too much. I’m scared of showing everyone the real me. What if they don’t like me? What if they know I love them and then they leave? I feel like...like that is why my dad left. He didn't or couldn't love me enough to stay.”

  I touch her shoulder and feel it tremble beneath my palm. “That isn't true. You know that. It was about how he and your mother felt about each other and it had nothing to do with you. You were innocent, just a child.”

  “Logically, yes. I know that. But I can’t take the risk. I can’t. So I act like this monster to eradicate the potential of getting hurt and I don’t know how to stop, or if I can—if I even want to.”

  “I know the real you. I’m still here.”

  “Oh, Lily.” Mia shakes her head, red curls swishing around her face. “You don’t count. You like everyone.”

  “I do not,” I retort.

  She shoots me a dubious look.

  “I don't,” I insist, though my voice lacks conviction. “Enough about me. We're talking about you.”

  “Maybe we should talk about you instead.”

  “I don't really think so, no.”

  Mia laughs, reaching over to hug me. “I love you.”

  Her hair tickles my cheek and I brush it away. “Was that so hard? Just say the same words to Ben. I know he's crazy about you. Be brave. Go after what you want.”

  “I will if you will.”

  I stiffen and she pulls away. “I am not telling Ben I love him.”

  Her look says I am not fooling her. “You know, you're a bad influence.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Every time we get into one of these discussions, I feel like stuffing my face with chocolate or greasy food.”

  “It's therapy. Is he coming back?”

  “Yeah. In a month.”

  “Call him while he's away. Now. Today. Don't lose him again, Mia, not if you can help it.”

  “And what about you?”

  I stiffen.

  “You still love Grayson.”

  “It doesn't matter. Whatever we had, whatever we felt for each other...it's over.” Saying it out loud is like voluntarily slicing myself open with a knife.

  “No, it isn't. You two still have feelings for each other. If you still care for someone, you have to keep trying. It would be different if you hated him.”

  “Sometimes I hate him. Right now even,” I say petulantly.

  Mia rolls her eyes. “You don't. Not really. Maybe you want to, but you don't. Trust me, I'm a pro at telling myself I feel a certain way when I clearly feel another. It's called being delusional. I need to stop and so do you. Let's pinky swear.” Mia lifts up her hand, pinky sticking out, and shakes it at me.

  I latch my pinky finger with hers. “What are we pinky swearing to?”

  Her brown eyes lock with my gray-blue ones. “We will be brave.”

  “We will be brave,” I repeat.

  “We will not let them go without telling them how we feel.”

  I hesitate. “It's too late for us, Mia. Too much has happened. I wish it wasn't true, but it is.”

  “I don't want to hear any of that. You're giving up and that is unacceptable. Say it,” she commands, raising her eyebrows at me.

  With a sigh, I say it.

  “And we will eat chocolate and greasy food only when it is during a crisis.”

  I snatch my hand away. “I am not agreeing to that,” I declare.

  Mia laughs, bumping her shoulder to mine. “See. You're corrupting me.”

  “No, I just have better standards. Chocolate is essential in all parts of life, good or bad. It is a necessity. Also, it makes me happy. Greasy food maybe I can live without, but chocolate? No.”

  Getting up from the couch, Mia leaves the living room and returns with two glasses of lemonade. She hands one to me as she says, “I told you the pathetic details about my love life. Your time to spill.”

  I sip the sweet and sour mixture, the lemon pulp thick on my tongue. “Mine is much more pathetic and sad and I really don't even know what to tell you.”

  “Take your own advice. Tell him how you feel. It's better to know things, good or bad, instead of wondering forever.”

  “I know. At first when he came back he was so distant—we both were. But then we started talking and hanging out and it was perfect. But it wasn't real. And I think we both realized that. So now we're snapping at each other.” I sigh. “We both have all these walls built up and I don't know if they can or should be taken down. I just feel like...” I close my eyes, trying to put into words the emotional mess we have become. “I feel like maybe there is no going back.”

  Mia reaches for my hands and squeezes them. “You feel like the past is all that you know and you can't get away from it. And you're right; there is no going back. But you can go forward. And when you move forward, the past gets farther and farther away, and before you realize it, it doesn't mean so much anymore.”

  I blink at my friend in astonishment. “Wow. You just made a speech and you're giving advice and making statements that are actually reasonable,” I state, feeling like our roles have reversed. “What happened?”

  “I'm being mature.”

  I give her a look.

  “I can be mature.”

  I keep staring.

  “Continue. Tell me more so I can show you how mature I can be. Go on,” she says, waving her hands at me.

  “I am so confused all the time and don't know what to feel, or even how I should feel. I am so insecure about it all and I hate feeling that way.” I take another gulp of the cold beverage.

  “So stop.”

  “It's not that easy. It feels like everything is against us being together. There is always something keeping us apart, and sometimes it's us. But I love him. And I think he cares for me, but I don't know if he still loves me. We're just too...” I search my mind for the right words to define us, only there are none. “We're combustible,” I finally settle on.

  “Combustible is exciting. Who wants to get along all the time? How boring. You want him, go after him. People break up all the time and who's to say they won't? Show him how you feel and let him do the rest. I don't think you'll regret it.” Mia clinks her glass against mine, her eyes challenging me to be brave.

  GEORGE WILLIAMS ALREADY HAS A visitor. I walk into the small room with one bed and two mismatched recliners; one of which is taken up by Stone's muscular form. His woodsy cologne has snuffed out the old man aftershave scent usually found in the room.

  When he notices me, he flings his legs off the armrest of the chair and sits up. “I knew you couldn't stay away from my magnetic pull.”

  It is unnaturally warm in the butter-toned room and I know it is because George is always cold, no matter how hot it is outside. He is also currently asleep, his soft snores sounding every few minutes.

  “Yeah, 'cause I knew you'd be here.” I smile and set the container of chocolate chip cookies on the dresser.

  “Just like I knew you'd eventually give in to my whims.” He motions toward the window. “It's raining outside. Where else would I be?”

  “I don't know,” I say slowly, not stating the obvious answer of somewhere other than a nursing home.

  “And you brought me cookies. You shouldn't have.” Stone reaches for the cookies and I slap his hand away, but he just reaches for them again.

  “I didn't. Those are for your grandfather.”

  “He's sleeping.”

  “He'll wake up.”
>
  “They're going to go to waste in the meantime.” He shoves a cookie into his mouth. “Mmm.”

  I laugh. “I think you only like me for my cookies.”

  “Well they don't hurt.”

  I lean against the wall and notice Jeopardy is on the television with the volume turned low. It's kind of sweet that Stone hangs out with his grandpa so much. It makes me nostalgic for my own grandparents; all of whom have passed on.

  He jumps up. “Here. You sit. Sorry. I got distracted by the cookies.”

  I shake my head. “Thanks, but I can't stay long. I just wanted to say hi. I had a long day at work and I'm exhausted.”

  His gray eyes take in my blue scrub pants and top. A slow smile forms to his lips. “You look cute.”

  “You never stop, do you?” I can't contain a smile, though I know it will only encourage him more.

  “That wouldn't be any fun. When are we going to go on another non-date? Our last one meant a lot to my grandpa. Did you see how much he smiled? Although, next time, maybe we could do something with just the two of us, something educational, like...skinny dipping.” He wiggles his eyebrows up and down.

  “You're not funny.”

  “Actually, I am.”

  “Stone—”

  He holds up a hand, interrupting with, “I know. You're in love with what's his name. The local superstar. Sam told me. Just...if it doesn't work out, maybe you and I could go on a real date, not a non-date. Or not. I'm just throwing it out there.”

  “Even Sam knows?”

  “He said it's why things didn't work out for you two.”

  I snort. “Yeah. Among other things.”

  “Well, he's with my sister now and they're happy, so I guess it all worked out for the best, right?”

  Behind his easy smile I see the hint of ruefulness. “Right.”

  He taps his fingers on the dresser top. “The thing I want to know is...if he's such a great guy, why isn't he with you? Why'd he let you get away? I wouldn't have.”