by Roya Carmen
And all the while, I can’t stop thinking about Eli. I know we’ve said goodbye, and I know I can’t exactly fly off to Copenhagen and live happily after. But I can’t help it… he’s in my pores.
I set down my paint brush, and sip my coffee. I know I’ve been stalling. I know I need to do this, and now is the time.
I wash my brushes and wipe my hands. I pick up the phone with a heavy heart. My hands tremble.
“Hello,” a kind voice answers. “Sarah Madison speaking.”
“Yes, Sarah,” I start, unsure. “My name is Gabriella Moore, and your sister, Kayla, gave me your number.” I’m so nervous, I feel sick.
“Yes, Gabriella,” she says. “I’ve been expecting your call.”
Sarah Madison has the kind of voice that makes you feel instantly at ease, just like her sister. The conversation is not too long, yet she manages to calm me, and make me believe that everything will turn out just fine. We agree to meet at her office the following Monday. The process has officially begun. I can’t turn back now.
This is really happening.
I’m drinking coffee and eating a banana when I cave. It’s all the banana’s fault. I eat bananas every morning, and when I start to peel this one, I notice that it has two dark spots which kind of look like eyes. It reminds me of Eli’s silly banana doodles, and my heart aches as I remember all the laughs, and all the sweet moments we’ve shared.
This isn’t even about the sex, which I think about plenty, usually when I’m in bed at night. I replay and replay every beautiful moment we’ve shared as I slide my hands over my body, imagining that they’re his.
It happens so fast, I don’t even have time to stop myself. I pick up my phone, tap on my Gmail app, on the little pencil icon, and tap in the first two letters of his name in the To: line. It’s that easy. I know I’d told myself that it was over between us, but I just need him to know.
I tap feverishly because I know if I stop and think about it, even for a second, I won’t send this message. And I really want to send this message. I desperately want to reach out to him.
Dear Eli,
I know I’ve said we should never communicate again. I was trying to protect the both of us, me especially, and my marriage.
I want you to know that you mean the world to me, and the week we shared was the most amazing week of my life. I’ll never ever forget you, and all those special moments.
You were not an escape, you were not an adventure, not a midlife crisis, not a payback plan. You were just someone I fell in love with. Someone I’m still in love with. Someone I’ll probably always love. You are the most beautiful person I’ve ever met, inside and out.
I’m not sure if you’ll ever get to read this message. I’ve asked you to remove me from your life, and knowing you, you have done exactly as I’ve asked because you care about me, about my marriage.
I also wanted to let you know that I’ve left John — our marriage is over. I thought that you might know this if you ever stalk my social media accounts. I didn’t want you to think it was your fault. It wasn’t. Our marriage was over long before I met you, Eli. You just helped me see that it was broken. With you, I’ve experienced love again, and now I can see that it doesn’t exist anymore between John and me. I was blind before I met you. I see so much more clearly now.
I wish you the best, Eli. You deserve everything and more. I hope that you find someone worthy of you, and have sweet children — I think you’d make a great dad! And I hope you keep creating beautiful art until your dying day.
I love you, Eli. Forever.
Gabriella
P.S. I promise to keep painting, always. And whenever I eat a banana, or see a scooter on the road, or a beautiful work of glass, I’ll think about you.
My finger shakes as I press on the Send arrow. I drop my phone back on the table. I’m breathless and my pulse is racing. I fear my heart might leap out of my ribcage.
I throw my face into my hands.
Why did I just do that?!
I know I’m just asking for heartbreak, hoping for the impossible, and begging for disappointment.
There are a lot of books about children and divorce, I quickly discover as I peruse the Amazon listing. There are two different guides about discussing divorce with your kids. I add them both to my cart. There’s also an activity book which looks fun, and a story book with a dinosaur — I add those too. There are two sweet picture books, one is entitled Two Homes, and the other, When my Parents Forgot How to be Friends. They make my heart hurt a little, but I buy them both.
When I finally check out, I’m happy to discover that I qualify for free shipping. I suppose that’s what happens when you bulk buy. My life is a complete disaster, but Yay, I get free shipping!
I glance at my phone, for the thousandth time. I wish I were exaggerating, but I don’t think I am. It’s been six days and fourteen hours since I sent Eli the email, and still, I haven’t received a response.
I’ve been on edge all week, checking my phone every five minutes. I’ve literally gone crazy. I’ve wanted to cry but I haven’t. It’s what I asked for. I wanted closure. I asked him to block me on all accounts, and erase me from his life.
I’m sure I’m blocked on Gmail, and he never even received my message. That’s what I tell myself anyway.
As if sending an ill-advised message and painstakingly awaiting a reply weren’t bad enough, I torture myself further and creep his Instagram. I want to know if he’s still alive. Maybe he’s had a horrible scooter accident, or perhaps he’s suffered an injury at work, and that’s why he hasn’t replied.
I am crazy.
I’d promised myself that I wouldn’t look at his Instagram or Facebook, or even his website. But promises were made to be broken.
My heart pounds as I tap the first letters of his name in the search box. It doesn’t take long to realize that he’s not there. I can’t find him. My stomach drops when I realize that he’s nowhere to be seen. My heart breaks when I realize that he’s blocked me.
It’s really over.
How can it be over? After all we’ve shared?
I’d been holding up well, but this is when I officially break down and fall into sobs. Elsie wakes from her slumber, and eyes me with concern. She walks tentatively toward me, and licks my face.
“I’m a complete idiot,” I tell her.
Did I just make the biggest mistake of my life?
It hits me then. My family is broken, I’m getting a divorce. I am alone and completely heart broken. Did I ever mean anything to Eli? Did I imagine it all? Was I just a foolish horny woman?
“It’s all those stupid Disney movies,” I tell Elsie. “Cinderella, Snow White… what a bunch of crock. And Little fucking Mermaid is the worst one of them all,” I scoff. “Seriously?! A mermaid who falls for a human prince?! And she gives up her voice to be human and be with him! What an idiot!”
I’m crying again. But this time, it’s in public. The people next to us avert their eyes politely. Maeve rubs my shoulder, and Corrie hands me a cup of tea. “I’ve made it just like you like it,” she says. “A splash of milk and two sugars.”
“Thank you.”
I’m surrounded by my friends — at least there’s that. I’ve just told Maeve and Corrie about the divorce. They’re both still slack jawed.
“What happened?” Corrie asks. “Is this about that hot guy in Copenhagen?”
I’m devastated, but I can’t help but smile a little — she’s so nosy.
“Not really,” I tell her. I take a sip of my tea but it’s still too hot. “It’s about us growing apart, falling out of love. It’s about his affair, it’s about mine…”
“Well, technically, you didn’t have an affair,” Corrie points out. “He gave you permission.”
“True,” I say. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m in love with Eli, and I don’t know if I’ll ever shake it.”
Maeve is wide eyed. “Can you and Eli be together?” she asks. She’s
such a hopeless romantic. “Does he feel the same way about you?”
I shake my head. “I really don’t know how he feels,” I admit. I remember his words when we made love. He’d told me he loved me, but were those just words? “And besides, it would never work… he lives in Copenhagen.”
“You should call him,” Corrie suggests. “Talk things over. You never know.”
“I did,” I confess. “I was stupid, and I sent him a message. I told him all about my divorce and how I was madly in love with him, and it was such a stupid move.”
“Why?!” Corrie asks. “What happened?”
“He never replied,” I tell her. “It’s been almost two weeks.”
Her face falls. “Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry,” she says softly. “The guy sounds like a dick.”
“Well, maybe he didn’t get the message,” Maeve chimes in. “Maybe she should send him another one.”
“C’mon, Maeve,” Corrie scoffs. “She’s not doing that. Should she fly over there too, and get on all fours at his door, and beg?!”
“Anyway, who cares,” I say, trying to put on a brave face. “I’m moving on. I’m going to take some new art classes, and maybe volunteer at one of the galleries, and spend more time with the kids… when I have them.”
“How are the kids?” Kayla asks. “Are they okay?”
I smile at her. “They’re fine right now. We haven’t officially told them. By the way, this is still under wraps,” I tell them. “No one knows but you guys, so don’t tell anyone.”
They all nod in unison.
“I’ve bought some books about divorce, and we’ll read those together. John and I are on the same page, and we’ll do this right. We’ll both show them more love than they’ve ever had.”
Maeve is crying now, and Kayla is on the verge.
“I’m okay, I swear,” I assure them. “We’ll all be fine.”
Maeve reaches in for a hug.
Corrie pipes up. “Hey, you and I can paint the town red,” she says. “And I can show you all the best dating sites.”
“I’ve heard your stories, Corrie,” I tell her. “I’m definitely not ready for dating. I don’t know if I’ll ever be.”
“Sure, you say that now, but just wait until you get really horny, and you’ve had enough of your vibrator.”
“Coooorrie,” Maeve scolds in hushed tones.
I shift my gaze to the people next to us, and they turn their heads swiftly. They’ve been spying but I really couldn’t care less.
“I just hurt so much right now,” I say. “He never got back to me, and I know it’s over. We’ll never speak again, never see each other again. And I wonder if I made it all up in my head. Maybe I never meant as much to him as he did to me.”
“You did,” Maeve says. “I know you did.”
Corrie shifts in her seat. “Men can be such assholes.”
“You’ll get past this,” Kayla tells me. “You’re beautiful, smart, and strong.”
I finally take a sip of my tea, and quietly thank the Lord for my friends.
Chapter Forty-Five
LIFE IS BETTER.
Everything’s going smoothly. John is furnishing his new apartment, and has been more absent lately — the kids haven’t even noticed. I’m deep in the middle of my annual spring cleaning, organizing and getting rid of tons of stuff. I’ll probably have about ten boxes for Goodwill. I’ve been packing John’s things too, and that’s been kind of tough.
I’ve finally taken the elephant painting out of my closet, and hung it over the fireplace in my studio — it looks perfect there. The purple accents in the painting tie in perfectly with my purple loveseat. I’ve also sat the little mermaid on my windowsill. She lives there now, looking down at the pool down below. It’s quite fitting, I think. Speaking of the pool, we’ll be opening it soon, and with spring finally here and the summer coming, I know my mood will lift.
I set the beautiful paperweight on the corner of my desk. Underneath it is a stack of information leaflets and applications I’ve collected; art classes, volunteer opportunities, and Marketing jobs — I’ll let destiny lead the way.
It’s been almost a month since I sent that message to Eli — I don’t regret it anymore. I needed to write him those words. Whether he read them or not is not the point. I still think about him every day… I think I always will.
But every single day, it hurts a little less.
I think about Paper Island. That day was perfect until I ruined it all. Eli had written, ‘Be happy, my beautiful Gabriella’ on the scrap of paper he hung in the tree next to mine. It’s all he ever wanted… my happiness.
And for him, I resolve to be happy. Even if that means being happy without him.
Every day, I think about him, and what could have been in an alternate universe. My mind full of him, I doodle absentmindedly and scribble in my notebook. I’m not sure if I’ll ever share this one…
My bookshelf is full…
Lined with stories,
And adventures.
Little knick knacks
I’ve collected over the years.
One of my favorite books
Sits on the top shelf.
I’ve only read it once.
It was colorful and exciting.
It moved me,
And will stay with me forever.
It was meant to be opened only once,
And I’ll never touch it again.
Content to simply gaze at it,
And remember…
The beautiful story it told.
I flatten the skirt of my dress nervously. It’s been forever since I’ve been on an interview. I feel confident. I’ve worn my best suit, a slim-fitting red two-piece. Red is my best color — it’s my power color. I always feel confident when I wear red. John says I look fantastic in red. And I never forget to apply matching lipstick. I’m a force to be reckoned with.
I check my watch. It’s 10:57. Any minute now.
I look at my watch again. 11:09.
And again. 11:24.
And again. 11:31.
Finally, a petite young blonde in a sleek black suit makes an appearance. “Gabriella Moore?” she asks.
I stand eagerly. “Yes, that’s me.” I offer her my hand, and she leads me down the hall to a large stylish office. “Mr. Walker will be right with you.” She gestures to one of the modern white leather chairs across the giant desk. “Please take a seat.”
I settle my rear down on the stylish chair, very tentatively. My curious gaze darts across the space. It’s elegant, and the art is stunning.
“I’m so sorry I’m late.” The man’s voice makes me jump, and I stand to greet him. He’s tall and absolutely gorgeous. I’m a little flustered as I shake his hand.
“Ryan Walker,” he says. “Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Moore.” He assesses me very quickly, but I don’t miss his onceover, the swift shift of his gaze along my body, down to my red heels, and back up to the classic silver necklace I’ve worn just for the occasion. “Please take a seat.”
I hand him my résumé with a smile. I wish I could snap a photo without him noticing — Corrie would go gaga over this guy. He’s just her type; tall, dark, and handsome, and in a nice suit.
He peruses my work experience and education. “Have you ever volunteered before, Mrs. Moore?”
“Yes.” I beam. “I’ve volunteered at my children’s school, and for the Breast Cancer Foundation. It’s all there on the second page.”
He flips the page. “Oh, I see. Yes, there it is.”
He lifts his gaze and studies me for a beat. “I need to be honest with you, Mrs. Moore. You’re more than qualified for this position. In fact, you’re overqualified. As you know, this is just a volunteer—”
I know,” I cut him off. “That’s all I want. I’ve been at home with my kids for years, and I’m ready to get out there again, but they’re still small, and I’m not ready to leave them too long. I’m not looking for anything too time-consuming. This is
perfect.”
He smiles, for the first time, and he has quite a nice smile.
“And your gallery is beautiful,” I add for good measure. “I’d love to be a part of it.”
“Thank you,” he says and his gaze falls back on my résumé.
He flips to the third page where I’ve included some of my work. “You’re an artist yourself, I see. Great work.”
I smile and blush. “Thank you.”
We go over the duties and hours of the position, and we chat about art, and some of our favorite artists. He mentions many local artists I’m not familiar with, and I nod knowingly. I mention famous artists I like, such as Klimt, Matisse, and Van Gogh. I also mention Eli. “And there’s this glass artist I love,” I tell him. “He works out of Copenhagen.”
The conversation flows easily, and before long, his assistant knocks on our door. “Your twelve o’clock is here, Mr. Walker.”
He rises and apologizes. “Sorry, Mrs. Moore. Sadly, I need to end our meeting.”
“I completely understand,” I say. “Thank you so much for your time.”
I walk out of there, giddy as a school girl. I have a good feeling.
I sing along to the radio as I drive home. It’s about noon, and I try to figure out what I’ll have for lunch. I decide on the leftover lasagna, and an Oreo cookie for dessert. I’m sure I’ll get the job. It’s not a paying job, but that doesn’t matter. It’ll get me out of the house, and I’ll probably meet tons of new people like me; artists and art lovers. I’ll be surrounded by art.
I park my car, walk around the garage, and…
I drop my purse.
I stand frozen for an eternity, not believing my eyes.
Eli is sitting on my stoop. Those eyes… that smile. He hasn’t changed a bit. He stands up slowly. He’s wearing dark jeans, his work boots and the same jacket and scarf he had on when I last saw him. The old vintage satchel I bought him in Christiania hangs across his chest. “It’s just as chilly here as it is in Copenhagen,” he says.
