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But she stops when I stand up and say, "Mommy, he left me."
—
I wake up to the smell of Mom cooking breakfast. My head is still pounding from all the crying I did last night. And yesterday.
Mom laid beside me all night where he should have been. She refused to leave me. To go home. To let me deal with this on my own. I think that's what I want. To deal with it on my own. Being alone is what I want. But maybe it's not really what I need.
My feet slide out of the white sheets and hit the ground. I stretch my arms over my head, untie the silky red dress. When I stand, it pools at my feet. Scarlet. The color of my bleeding heart.
I turn on the shower faucet, step under it. The cold-water stings as I wait for it to turn warm. When I close my eyes, all I can see is his eyes. Brown. Deep. Like murky water. Gentle. Like the down comforter we sleep under. Warm. Like the water as it cascades down my back.
My fingers slide along the tile as I think back to that morning.
I really love you, Jenny. So much more than you'll ever know.
Then why did you leave me, Kyle?
I turn the water off and grab a fresh towel. I don't bother looking in the mirror or running a brush through my hair. I just want warm clothes. Leggings. A sweater. My hair in a messy, damp bun on the top of my head.
"Morning, baby," Mom greets me, her voice hurting. She's hurting, too. She cried all night long.
"Morning, Mom."
I take a seat at the table, drop my head into my hands.
"I made French toast and eggs."
"I'm not hungry," I tell her.
She exhales. "Neither am I. But we need to eat. Then we're going to figure this whole thing out."
I shake my head as I look up at her. "There's nothing to figure out. He's gone. He's not coming back. There's no way to reach him."
"Jenny," Mom cries. "What are you going to do?"
I don't know yet. But I know I can't live here. I can't work at the Gallery anymore. I can't drive his SUV. I have to...start all over. Without any trace of him. Or I won't move on.
Moving on.
A fresh wave of tears spills down my cheeks.
Mom walks over and wraps her arms around me. "You are not doing this on your own. I'm here to help."
And I love her for that.
But I know, deep down, this is something I have to do on my own.
After I calm back down, I glance over at the door. See his CU Boulder sweatshirt hanging by it. The one he loaned me that first night at the coffee shop.
I stand up and walk over to it. My fingers reach for the maroon material.
I think you're beautiful, Jenny.
Anger courses through me. He wasted so much time. So much damn time. And now he's gone.
I clutch the sweatshirt to my chest, feel myself breaking down again. Then I hear it. The sound of paper crinkling. Furrowing my brows, I lift the sweatshirt up. A corner of white paper sticks out of the front pocket.
My heart slams in my chest when I realize he left this for me.
