Thirty-three
Elijah
The last two months have moved slowly and I’ve been forcing myself to get out more. Going to more of my usual places. Trying new bakeries, bookstores, restaurants, and lakes. I want to discover joy and beauty on my own, and I do, but not in the same way I did with Silas. His words feel as wrong today as they did when I left him at the hospital. Here I am, sitting outside his work, and not because of Landon but because I need to see his face and smile. To see him living and breathing.
Days and days of coming here, and I still haven’t been able to get enough. I park far enough away, hiding behind larger vehicles and trees, but hoping he’ll somehow spot me.
“Look my way,” I whisper. Let me see those pretty blue eyes shining my way again. He’s on his last customer for the day and as he pauses at the door, securing the lock, I swear he turns my way for a brief minute. His face unmoving, he stares off into space and then walks to the back.
I should leave before he comes outside but it’s always a struggle. My hand rests on the door handle and I fight my urge to exit my car. I watch as he cleans up the flower shop and turns off all the lights. The glass door pushes open, the parking lot lamp post leaves a glare in the reflection, and I start my car.
He glances around and I drive off, heading in the opposite direction from where he walks. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep driving by here and his house like some fucking stalker. But I can’t stay away for long either.
When I arrive home, rain pours down on me and my heart cries out as each drop lands on my face. I didn’t think I’d ever go back to dreading the rain and rushing to get away from it.
Each splash coming in contact with my skin is like acid, burning me everywhere it touches. Once inside, I yank off my clothes, and an old carnation falls from my pocket, landing on the floor.
Crashing to my knees, I wrap my fingers around the disintegrating leaves. I’m carrying around a dead carnation, unable to let it go, unable to let him go. I never thought there’d be more places in my house I’d avoid sleeping in, until I’d laid on my couch and was suffocated by his scent. It smelled like he was right next to me and then I’d wake up feeling hollow when he wasn’t.
I toss my phone onto the coffee table so I don’t spend half of another night writing and saving text messages into drafts. I probably have over a hundred in there. I can’t send them but I can’t delete them either. So many start off with a simple “Hello,” and end in “I miss you” or “Come over and dance with me.”
Heavy with exhaustion and something else more wearing, I walk into Landon’s and my bedroom in nothing but my underwear, clutching the dead flower tightly in my hand. Pulling back the covers, I crawl onto the bed and lay down in my late husband’s spot. I close my eyes and curl into myself, letting sleep slowly take me.
I’m finally ready to move back into the room again. Maybe soon I’ll be able to sit in my living room for longer than five minutes without wanting to have the odor receptors in my nose surgically removed. Landon didn’t choose to leave me but Silas did. Why does that hurt more? Maybe because someone I love who walks the same earth as me is purposely staying as far away from me as he can.