THREE
Standing in the middle of this apartment—my home for the last two years—I realize no part of me ever lived here. The walls are grey. Monotone. Boring. Lifeless. There’s not a single picture of us. There is so evidence of my existence in this relationship. Was there ever a chance of surviving, Michael and me? These walls echo no. Michael needed to be number one and maybe in most relationships that works. My number one spot isn’t open, number two isn’t either. That never seemed to be an issue. He distracted me, when I was healing, when dad died. I wasn’t ready to face those big feelings. Honestly, I still wasn’t—I haven’t. All those big emotions are still waiting for me—I don’t think I will ever be ready to reconcile that kind of pain.
It seems he found someone willing to give him more attention and time. Why wouldn’t he? Despite my contrary attitude, he’s hot, successful and has good hygiene. He brushes and flosses daily. He’s part of a family real estate business, and giant one. He loved his mother and wasn’t unkind. It just wasn’t enough. I just wish he’d told me as soon as he felt like he needed more. We would have still ended up at this very point, but no matter how strong anyone might be, the someone else part hurts. It’s disrespectful and that’s the unexpected part of all this. Michael is this kind of man who demands respect, even when he sometimes doesn’t earn it. He would never tolerate his father cheating on his mother—he would disown him, yet he found his way into a situation he claimed to despise.
There wasn’t much for me to pack, just my closest (in this department, I made up for my lack of normal personal items). I found all my journals scattered around the place. I found one treasure hidden in the back of the closet. It was one of Lena’s paintings, one from grad school. This should have been on the walls, never hidden away. This was me, this was happiness. I don’t even remember why it was hidden instead of on display. Wherever I end up, this is the first thing to grace my walls. Nobody will tell me to put my happiness in the back of the closets—why would anyone want to do that? More importantly, why did I allow it?
My work and travel is so exciting and bold, maybe I never realized my home was basically a charging doc and nothing more. Did I make myself small in this relationship? Invisible? That hot angry ball of emotion was straddling my chest again. It was too much emotion, but I wasn’t angry at Michael. I was upset with myself. I had never willingly disappeared for anyone, especially in a relationship. When did I let mediocre become normal? My mom would literally murder me if she realized this is how I was living before today. When did it happen? I need to figure that out and make sure it never happens again.
My entire life just fit inside two large travel suitcases, a carryon, and my laptop bag —plus a very large box for my shoes and a few hand bags- don’t judge me! A small knock on the door broke the silence and my beautiful bohemian best friend walked through the door like she always did. She wore her typical uniform of overalls covered in paint splatters and some other spotty nonsense. I quit asking about the weird decorations on her clothes. She just tells me painters are messy. Today, she wore French braids into Leia buns. I wasn’t ever sure if this was to keep it out of her face while she worked or just a Lena thing.
She rested her head on my shoulder and sighed.
Lena ended the moment while moving to grab the big box. She pushed it towards the front door, but looked back at me over her shoulder to me, “Michael was never the guy that was keeping you! Who shits in their own backyard and thinks nobody will smell it?”
I smiled at her.
Lena continued rambling, “Plus, he only had a mediocre dick.”
I choked a laugh, “What?”
“Don’t get me wrong, he is a nine in the face department,”
she mentioned thoughtfully.
“Really,”
I shot back at her knowing she had more to say. Lena always had more to say.
“Fine! I wasn’t going to ever say anything, but sometimes the perfect opportunity just happens to present itself. You never signed out of Messenger on my laptop and one morning I opened it up and BAM! There it was. His dick! He clearly didn’t believe he was on the average side of things with the amount of dick pics he sent you. So literally, you can move on to bigger and better things.”
Her face and tone were completely serious.
“Lena, delete that and log me out!!”
I scolded her acting like I was mad. “But you’re not wrong, so many pics. Like so many! I’m sure he wanted some kind of response from me or pics back, but I had to start turning my phone off during meetings!”
Loading everything into the elevator, Lena pressed the button to send us down. She had an Uber waiting for us to load my life up. My entire life to this point fit in this tiny elevator with two people. I don’t know what that says about me. I may be a minimalist—except for the large box of shoes. Those bring me happiness and provide value to my fashion. I am a simple woman—but I love shoes. Most almost thirty year olds owned furniture and things, lots of them. I never really did. Plus, I went from living with Lena for a few years when we first moved to the city to naturally moving in with Michael. There was never a need for me to just buy stuff. I could buy things. I could buy loads of things—but why?
Lena grabbed my hand and squeezed it like she did when we were kids. She held tight all the way to the ground floor.
“Would you rather have mediocre sex for the rest of your life or a week of the best sex?”
She says like it was a normal moment in time.
“Right now, I definitely want that week. I don’t want to think about the rest of life, not for a while,” I sigh.
“Do you think people realize when they are just having mediocre sex? Do they just decide it’s okay to settle? It’s one thing if you didn’t know, but if you did, wouldn’t you just think about it every time you were sort of enjoying the mediocre sex? I have many questions,”
she rambles.
The elevator dings and we reach our final destination. The doors opened and morning light met us like a warm embrace. My mind felt like I should be sad, but I wanted to feel hopeful. Change, even when it’s unexpected and leaning towards the dark side of things, is still change. Change is exciting. Change is movement. Change is growth. It’s an opportunity to reinvent myself, discover what went wrong and decide the direction of the new journey. That part is hopeful and kind of exciting.
As my person, Lena lovingly called me out on a regular basis. “I love you, Charlie. I think it’s time to turn off autopilot, take some time to decide what you really want out of life and take control. You kill it at being successful in the business side your life. I think you need to decide what you want in the other areas.”
My phone starting buzzing from a text. And again. After that, it started to ring. I looked at Lena and shrugged. “Mom keeps texting and calling to gauge where I’m mentally with all this. It’s very sweet, but also unnecessary. She wants to make herself available if I need to fall apart so she can help put me back together. I love her for that, but we all know that’s not how I process feelings.”
“You don’t process feelings,”
Lena said barely audible.
Looking at my phone, I have to answer it. She will keep calling until I do.
“Hi, mom.”
There was a pause. I felt I could hear her on the other end listening to the cadence of my speech to run it through her mom analyzation machine. She is French. I put nothing beyond her capability!
I listened to her try and rationalize coming to help me. She wanted answers to all the questions I haven’t even asked myself yet. Where am I going to stay? How about with Lena? You can come home? Did I need help finding a place? She could call some of her friends? What do you need? Did you take things from the apartment? What about furniture?
“Mom. Stop! I love you. Thank you for being so concerned. I haven’t even thought any of those decisions through. Lena is with me. I packed and we are heading to a hotel. I have so many points from traveling. I could live in a hotel for a year for free. For now, I will be at the Motto in Chelsea. It’s 24/7 room service, daily fresh towels and a sauna. This is the best way to figure all the things out. Plus, my office is only a few blocks from the hotel.”
After a few seconds of silence, she seems placated with this answer. It was rational, not hasty. It was a safe and luxurious place to think and make big decisions—or avoid them until I deemed it necessary to actually participate in my own progress. We will see.
“Text me the address of the hotel just so I have it. Call me later after you have settled in. Je t'aime beaucoup, my sweet girl. Tu es mon monde.”
She only hung up after Lena and I promised a visit to Boston soon. Lena just smiled at me as she shoved the boxes in the back seat of the Uber, my suitcases fit perfectly in the trunk.
Standing on the sidewalk, I looked around noticing all the signs, people, and shops that were part of the blur. I was absent from a large portion of this reality. That was my mistake. I did that. Instead of thinking too much about things going on in my life, I wasn’t spending any time on the little things. Maybe the important things.
The cabs and Ubers honked in a familiar melody, people chattering as they walked swiftly by the two of us. Lena just watched me as I peeled off the veil. I will miss being able to walk to Nobu for sushi and Frances Grille for local beer, but everything else just seems foreign to me. The Financial District was never my scene. This isn’t my story.
Lena’s hands wrapped around my shoulders squeezing to bring me back to her. She pulled me towards her and into her embrace. She felt warm. It was soothing, like a subtle vibration coursing through my body. Talking in a big breath of air, ready for the next part of my own new life.
“Thank you,”
I smiled at her.
“Stop that! We don’t thank each other for this kind of shit. THIS, this is what we do. We show up, no matter how messy life gets. I will always show up. Always,”
she promised me a little violently.
“I know. I’m so lucky to have you,”
I told her. I really did know. She was the one person, beyond my mom and sister, that I could call to bury a body, cry over a guy, ask to pick which shoe, or blindly plan an adventure and she would just show up after packing all the right things. She just knows. She knows me. Even though part of my heart was squishy and cracked, I felt more loved than ever.
“I am the lucky one, mon amour, ma soeur,”
Lena replied.
Giving her my fakest mean face I asked, “I thought you were never going to learn French?”
“Never is a strong word,”
she teased. “I will talk to you later. Love you.”
“Love you most,”
I told her. I meant it.
I drove away from the building I spent the last two years of my life in and kind of felt like I needed a nap.