Abandon

Chapter Twenty-Two

Poetry is defined as a literary work in which special intensity is given to the expression of feelings and ideas by the use of distinctive style and rhythm. This is also what music does. I’ve never considered myself a poet. And the fact that I haven’t written a song in more than three years makes me even less worthy of this title. But waking up next to Senia in the guest bedroom sparks a flash of inspiration and I think of two lines:

The day our wires crossed,

You were broken, I was lost.

I’m sure the logical conclusion would be that now, somehow, Senia is whole and I am found. The truth is love isn’t like that. I think I’m finally starting to realize that love isn’t about fixing things or people. It’s about sticking around when things can’t be fixed.

I slide out of Senia’s bed, smiling as I think of how tonight this bed will be put out of commission as she joins me in the master bedroom. I quietly pull on some boxers then head downstairs to make the usual fried egg and toast I see her making for herself in the morning. When I get downstairs, I find my phone on the kitchen island. I try to check the notifications, but it’s dead. It always happens when I forget to leave it charging at night. Who fucking cares? I fucked like a champ last night.

I fix Senia’s breakfast – tripling the quantities so I can have some and in case she wants extra – then I carry it all upstairs on a tray my interior decorator left on the coffee table a few months ago. When I enter the guest room, the sight of her hugging her pillow and smiling takes my breath away.

“I made you the usual,” I say, taking a cue from Chris and Claire and how well they know each other’s breakfast choices. She scoots back so I can set the tray on the bed next to her. “I’ll be right back. I have to put my phone charging.”

I hook the phone up to the charger in the study then I head back to the guest room. Senia is sitting up, cross-legged, on the bed with a piece of toast in her hand, grinning. This domestic stuff isn’t so hard.

I sit down next to her and plop a fried egg onto a piece of toast then chow down. “What are your plans today?” I ask through a mouthful of food.

She reaches up and wipes something from the corner of my mouth before she answers. “I have to read this physics paper so I can have my response ready when classes start in a few weeks. I hate physics.”

I pour us both a glass of orange juice from the pitcher and take a sip before I respond. “I don’t know shit about physics, but I can help you if you need something else done.”

She chuckles. “Are you gonna wash my laundry?”

I roll my eyes as I place the glass of juice down. “That’s what I’m supposed to do, I guess. I’m done recording but you’re still studying. I have to be the one to step up, right? Give me your stinky laundry and I’ll throw it in the laundry room. I’m sure Lily will do a great job washing it tomorrow.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“That’s why you love me.”

Her smile disappears as she brings the glass of orange juice to her lips. “That really happened, didn’t it?”

She’s referring to the fact that we both said those three words last night, so I nod. “Yeah, pretty crazy, I’d say, considering both of our track records.”

“Well, I think I’ve confessed my love for every guy I’ve dated since freshmen year, but don’t let that make you self-conscious. Last night was … different.”

“Different?” I say, because I’m not quite sure how to respond to the fact that she’s used those three words so casually in the past.

“Well, first of all, I don’t think I’ve ever had three orgasms in the span of ten minutes.”

“I was just easing you in. Next time will be better.”

She shakes her head as she dips her toast in the runny egg yolk. “That. That’s what’s different. You always call me out on my shit.” She takes a bite of toast and I reach across to wipe some of the yolk from the corner of her mouth. “I thought I was going to show you some tricks last night, but I guess it’s hard to teach an old dog new tricks.”

The word “Tricks” triggers a deep nausea in the pit of my stomach and I have to swallow my vomit. I set down the piece of toast I just picked up and stand from the bed. “Be back as soon as I can.”

I set off to the study to clear my head and check my phone. When I see I have a missed call and a message from Lily and four missed calls from Grandma Flo, I panic a little. I call her right back without bothering to check the voicemail messages.

“Oh my goodness, I’ve been trying to call you all morning,” she declares when she answers the phone. “And I tried calling you last night about the presents you left. Did you get my messages?”

“I didn’t listen to them yet. What’s so urgent? I can pick the presents up another time.”

“Oh, my,” she whispers. “Oh, no, no, no. I’m so sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to, but Lily came over this morning and when she called you to tell you she won’t be coming in tomorrow, I saw your address on her phone. I asked if I could copy it down. I just thought maybe I could send you and Senia’s gifts to your house since you both left in a hurry. I didn’t want you to have to make another trip back here.”

I don’t have to listen to any more to know why she’s apologizing for taking down my address. “Where’s Elaine?”

“She’s on her way.”

The dead silence that follows this sentence is filled with all the things I’ve never told anyone. All the tiny lies I’ve told myself over the years about how none of it matters. It was a moment in time that can be forgotten – maybe even erased. I’m nobody special and the things that happened to me a million years ago affect no one, just me.

But it keeps getting more and more difficult to believe that when I see the fallout. The broken trust I’d begun to repair with Grandma and Molly when I invited them over last weekend is nothing but dust now, settling over the wreckage of my past. And it’s not their fault. It’s my fault for believing I could just walk around the wreckage. Pretend it wasn’t there. Pretend it didn’t matter.

It so obviously matters. Nothing has ever mattered more.