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I smiled against him. That was exactly what I needed to hear. “Good.”
He set me back down, and I braced myself against the wall. It looked like I was casually leaning when, in actuality, I was holding onto it so I wouldn’t throw myself at his feet—or worse, follow him inside and go to Everett. A girl had to have some dignity.
As the doors closed, I held my right hand, palm open and fingers spread. When I was alone, I looked over at the ring he gave me many years ago.
Someday I won’t have to say goodbye to him.
I walked back into my apartment and stood in the center of my living room. There used to be a time when I loved it there—the quiet above the chaos—but now I just felt lonely. Instead of it being a dull hum, it was a loud roar. I looked over at my separator, which hid my view of the bed. I didn’t want to sleep in it without Dexter. I sat on the couch and waited for the storm of emotions to blow over.
When they didn’t, I turned on my television and watched romantic comedies until I was too sleepy to drag myself to my bed.
* * *
The thingabout secrets was their ability to pop up anywhere at any time.
I was in my studio, painting, when my hand stopped mid-brushstroke. I walked over to my phone, ignoring the missed calls and texts and when I saw the day’s date, I dropped everything. My phone rang, and I grabbed it from the floor and answered it quickly.
“I forgot,” I whispered. “How could I forget?”
Miranda’s voice came in soothing and gentle. “No need to beat yourself up, dear. I have the flowers. I’m on my way to your place.”
I heard the honking of city traffic. “No, no. I’m at the studio. Stop by my place and have Larry let you in. Grab the white box beneath my bed. Let me—I’m a fucking mess. I have to shower. See you soon.” I was numb when I ended the call. I was living in a fairytale. I’d almost forgotten.
The shower was quick. I tried to be thorough, but I couldn’t get over almost going the whole day without…I felt terrible. My palm pressed against the smooth tile as I emptied my stomach. When the vomiting stopped, I was wracked with sobs. I sank to the bottom of the shower and rocked myself. I didn’t deserve the comfort of it.
When I heard banging on the studio door, I wrapped myself haphazardly in a towel and yanked it open.
Miranda hurried in, her arms full. “Here,” she said, shoving something black in my empty hands. “I figured you didn’t have anything to wear.”
I eyed the low black pumps she set on the floor and got dressed slowly, zipping the side of the black dress up with a drawn out pull, and when I fumbled with my hair, Miranda took over, smoothing the strands and pinning it up into a high bun. She handed me my diamond studs, and I wondered how this woman thought of everything. I slipped on my coat and put on my shoes. When she handed me the box, I was grateful I didn’t put on any makeup. Tears coursed down my face.
This box was all I had left.
“Let’s go.”
Sometimes I hated that Miranda was such a force. But I needed it, and I was grateful for it.
She was a witness to the wreckage, after all.
When we got into the car, she told the driver where to go and sat back, looking at me. “You shouldn’t be going through this alone.”
“I’m not. You’re here.” I watched the traffic, hoping she wouldn’t say anything else. I couldn’t listen to it today.
I felt her face turn forward and we rode silently. When the driver stopped, he got out and opened her door. She hugged her coat closer to her body, fighting against the flurries that had begun to fall, and when he held out his hand, I took it. He leaned in close and whispered his condolences. I nodded and grabbed the white box, pristine and bright against the dirty Seattle winter backdrop.
We headed down a narrow path, one I could walk in my sleep. I knew how many steps it was to my destination.
Forty-five straight ahead, twenty-seven to the left, and only six to the right.
We stopped, and I closed my eyes. Miranda took the box from me and handed me a bouquet of daffodils. I stepped forward and finally opened my eyes. The small grave marker was always a shock to me. I read the words Miranda and I picked out years ago:
Anna Cruz-Andrews
January 11, 2008 - January 11, 2008
I held you for your whole life. I’ll love you past mine.
I placedthe flowers down and turned to grab the box before sitting on the grass just above her. I lifted the lid and smiled at the softest white blanket with her name stitched in pink.
