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Mikey takes my hand. “Waitresses and bartenders at all the surrounding restaurants. We won’t let him fuck the interns. Good ones are hard to come by.” That was like pushing on a bruise to remind me it’s supposed to hurt.
We turn our attention to the faux Housewives of Beverly Hills, and my dark cloud is lifted a little by reality television, my fruit, and this kick-ass sticky bun.
* * *
It’s not glamorous, but it is out of the house. I get to discuss writing with Mikey’s mom. Probably Joan’s intention. Mikey and I drink and giggle way too loudly for the intimate restaurant, but we don’t care. I watch him embarrass his parents, and it’s glorious. I don’t think about Alex for a whole three hours. It’s something to build on.
We retreat to the bar while the grownups drone on about their upcoming trip. I’m buzzed, and my filter is gone. My eyes tear up because I’ve had a wonderful time.
“Enough. There’s no crying in old school old people restaurants!”
“I had a good night.”
“And this is how you show people? By crying. Makes total sense to me.” He looks away from me as if he’s ignoring me.
“This has to fade. No one can stay this sad. I wish I didn’t love him. I wish he shared with me why work is everything. There’s a blocked piece of him that gnaws at me. The part that kills me is he didn’t think I’d listen to whatever he keeps close and keeps me out. Even if we still broke up, what keeps him from letting me all the way in.”
Mikey dramatically pauses. “Oh, you little sweetheart.”
“I know about his dad, but it can’t just be that.”
Mikey turns back to me and fluffs up my dress. “My fruit fly, we’re venturing into territory I don’t belong in.”
“I didn’t mean to put you in the middle.” I grab his wrist.
“You didn’t. He just did.”
I’m confused. “How?’
“I didn’t know he didn’t share his past.”
I slam my hand on the bar. “WHAT?”
He takes my hand and turns towards the bar. “May I please have two flaming horribly sweet and gaudy shots please?”
I stare at him while the bartender makes something purple with sparklers in it. Without speaking, we do them. I understand in our silence this isn’t his story to tell. Somehow, I’m going to sleep better knowing there’s a reason. I kiss Mikey on the cheek as Joan joins us and pulls us towards the exit.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t. I’m sure the sparky grape will give you a headache in the morning.”
“For telling me, but not telling me. It’s not that he didn’t care. I don’t need details from you.” I smile, and it’s a genuine smile releasing dopamine.
I let my philosophy of never finishing a book without the next project lined up slip. In the past, the process made sure I was never alone. I have no ideas in the works because I let him fill that space. It’s time to take back my space.
He hugs me. “My Distraction. What to do?”
“Only thing I’m capable of, write.”
He says, “That’s the best answer.” My bottom lip quivers. “I’ll be in touch,” he says.
“Will you tell him I’m not a mess at all?”
“Not doing that. He needs to know exactly the mess you are. And you still look good despite being a mess. I won’t choose. He gets one question too.”
“Fair enough, Nuisance. Love to Ari. Your much better half.” He punches me in the arm. I didn’t realize how much I missed him. We kiss and part.
We stroll in opposite directions, and I glide along basking in the afterglow of a day well spent. I listen happily as Joan rattles off Daryll’s chores for tomorrow. Daryll holds my hand on the way home. Where she’s loud, he’s soft, but they give me more than I could have ever asked for in life. I climb my four flights and fall asleep with the most closure I can hope for. It’s not because he doesn’t love me enough.
