Page 62 of Songs for Libby

I needed to eat now, otherwise I would end up feeling sick again. This food was ready and waiting, and though the raging, vicious part of me wanted to throw it back at him, my better self prevailed, and I picked up the fork and started to eat.

The breath that he let out was audible, but I ignored it. I should have said thank you, but I didn’t, because my world was suddenly upside down and backwards.

We ate in silence, which he didn’t try to fill. When I stood to put my plate in the sink, he finally spoke.

“So, I was hoping maybe I could stay for a while, help out.”

I breathed methodically as I watched the water run over my plate. Sean wanted to stay. Help out. He wanted to continue to be here in my space, encroaching and seeing all the things I didn’t want him to see.

I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.

If I could just hold it together for a bit, if I could stuff down all of my messy feelings and show him that I could act like a normal human being, then maybe he’d leave and I could stop feeling all of the—everything. So I took a steady breath and tried to make my voice sound normal and measured. “Listen. That’s a nice thought. And it was really sweet of you to come all this way, but”—I set the dish down and turned to look at him—“I can’t have you here in my house. It’s too much. I can’t handle—” I held my hand out, palm forward, indicating all of him”—this right now. So, thank you. Really, I mean that.” I crossed close to him. “I know I’ve been mad and I’ve said quite a few not-nice things. But that’s just because…”

“I know,” he said without the slightest hint of offense.

“Anyway.” I reached out and wrapped my arms around him in a very quick hug. “Thank you, but”—I swiped at a tear that escaped—”I need you to go.” Because if he didn’t, I was genuinely afraid of the nastiness that would come out of me. I went to my room, hoping that he would respect my wishes and go. That’s what I wanted. It was for the best.

It was.

I heard a fair amount of movement and shuffling coming from the main part of the house for about fifteen minutes.

And then…nothing. I waited another fifteen minutes and when the quiet continued, I opened my door and slipped out. There was no sign of Sean or his things.

“Good,” I said to myself. “That’s good.” I went around, cleaning imaginary spots in my kitchen before finally sitting down to watch a movie.

That night as I lay in my bed, an awful loneliness set in. It was different from the numb survival loneliness I had gotten used to. This loneliness stemmed from knowing that I had sent someone away who cared for me. Despite all Sean’s flaws, I did know that.

I called Naomi the next morning. When I told her Sean had come, there were several stunned moments of silence before she just said, “Wow.”

And then she chewed me out for sending him away, but I was adamant. I didn’t need added drama in my life right now. And Sean…was drama.

The next few days dragged by as I did my best to sink back into my numbness. It was a challenge. Sean had cracked me open and all my inconvenient feelings continued to leak out, expanding and morphing, making themselves known.

Out of desperation to prove that I was okay, I asked Gemma to take her lunch hour and go out to eat with me. Gemma and I had both been working at the music conservatory for several years now. She was one of the few people who had not only come to Jonas’s funeral but had tried to keep tabs on me since then. We weren’t really close, but I considered her a friend. We both had a tendency to bring lunch and eat in our offices, but after a moment of stunned surprise, she readily agreed.

See?I thought. I’m fine.

Five days after Sean left, I came home to find a moving truck parked outside my duplex. I hadn’t even noticed the for-sale sign going down on the unit attached to mine.

New neighbors. Just what I needed.

Parking quickly, I speed-walked into the house. Idle chit-chat with new people was not something I could handle right now. I stuck a frozen dinner in the microwave and sat on one of my kitchen stools, leaning from side to side, trying to stretch. How could a barely-there baby bump cause so much strain on my back?

Halfway through my dinner, the doorbell rang. I debated not answering it. I was tired. I was in the middle of dinner. Being polite or social was not on my agenda right now. But I also knew that constant solitude wasn’t doing me any favors. So I crossed the room and opened the door.

He was standing on my porch again. After five days, he was back.

He stuck out his hand. “Hi, my name is Sean Amity, and I’m your new neighbor.”

I blinked. “You’re my what?”

“Your new neighbor. I bought the unit next door.”

My brain felt like it was on the fritz, blinking in and out. “You can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you…you…” had a music empire to run, and songs to write and albums to record. And I had told him to go.