Chapter 29
Brian
" L isten, we had this lined up for two weeks. My boys have been there since 7 AM, standing around like spare parts waiting for you. I have to pay the council to extend traffic flow because you weren't there when you were supposed to be."
I rubbed the spot between my eyes as I listened to the bumbling foreman apologize and offer excuses I wasn't interested in hearing. All I wanted was for people to do what the fuck they said they would at the time they promised. Was that so hard to ask?
"Just make sure they're there tomorrow— on time," I emphasized before hanging up.
I scrubbed a hand down my face before picking up my phone again to make a few calls. When you worked a job, everything had to run like clockwork. My boys had laid down the shuttering early this morning; the concreters were supposed to arrive soon after to lay down the cement before we continued our job. But they didn't show. Now, I had to make calls to delay our other suppliers by a day.
After a few more hours fielding calls and talking down one of my men when he called to complain about a roofer he was dealing with, I finally packed my shit and got the hell out of there before someone else called with more fires to put out.
I had an invite to come out for a few drinks, and it was definitely needed after the shit show I had to deal with, but the thought of loud chatter and the noise of a bar didn't sound appealing. Crashing on my sofa with a few cold ones by myself sounded better.
After promising to make it to the next one, I drove straight home. The adrenaline of dealing with incompetent people started to drain away, and I stifled a few yawns in the car. It was a good thing I canceled those drinks. I was dead on my feet.
After a hot shower where I washed today's grime away, I moved lazily around my room in a towel. I was tempted to climb into bed and call it a night, but I hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, and my stomach protested.
When I went to grab a fresh shirt and sweatpants from my drawer, I paused briefly at the sparse space next to my t-shirts. It was a sight I was still trying to get used to.
I’d kept only some of Hannah's things. Bit by bit, I started donating items; putting some things aside to pass onto Diane and Sarah. Things like her grandmother's jewelry; expensive blouses; and dresses that I knew Sarah would like. I donated her romance books, as well as a few baubles she kept on mantels and throw pillows that used to give our place a bit of personality, making it a home.
But there were a few items of Hannah's that I couldn’t bring myself yet to throw away yet—things that were sentimental to my memories of her. There was her old college shirt that she used to sleep in, and the fuzzy socks she liked to stroke against my leg in bed. I used to tease her about wearing them to sleep—even in summer.
There was her silk pillowcase that she swore made her hair healthy and her cloth hair band with bunny ears that kept her hair out of her face when she did her beauty routine. Little trinkets like her stud earrings and bracelets that were inexpensive but she used to wear every day. Those I had held onto. Eventually they would join the donation pile, but I didn’t want to do too much too soon.
They sat silently, folded and untouched; mixed in with my worn t-shirts and athletic shorts or beside my aftershave and hair gel. It used to be torturous going about my daily routine, shifting and moving my things, watching my shirts and pants succumb to wear and tear while her soft cotton shirts stared back at me without a crease. I was living my life while hers remained untouched and inactive. Ironically, it was how I’d felt and lived since her death—like a stationary object, waiting for life to use it.
I’d been content for everything to stay the same. I lived where I felt closest to Hannah. I went to work and came home to a house full of her memories. I kept my dinner routine at her mom's house. And when the loneliness became too much, I chased the high of physical connection with the hope of feeling just a smidgen of the attachment I felt with Hannah.
Seeing Dr. Grant helped me realize that it was time to let some of the things that kept me tethered to Hannah go. I still kept a couple of photos up; I didn't want to erase her completely. But everything else, I boxed up and placed them in storage. I knew those remaining photos would eventually be regulated into photo albums when I was ready.
I stared at the empty spot beside my socks where her undershirts used to be. The loss was a dull thud, a distant melancholy for a time gone by. Like remembering how simple life used to be when you were in high school, or the memory of the summer camp I used to look forward to every year.
Of course, my marriage to Hannah couldn't be encapsulated by something as rudimentary as childhood nostalgia. I would always be grateful for the time we had together and I looked back on our love with plaintive happiness. But it was time to start letting her go, especially since I had the privacy and time to do so. If things weren't so strained with Sarah and Diane, I had no doubt that I would have contacted them, needing their approval and support. Diane likely would've helped me in any way she could. But Sarah? She was another story.
An hour later, I was sprawled out on the couch, my belly full of the spaghetti bolognese I’d thrown together. A bottle of beer dangled from my fingers. I was still on my first one and had half the contents left. When I left work, I could practically taste the beer as I rushed home. Now, all I wanted to do was hit the sack and pray tomorrow wouldn't bring me such a headache.
My hand instinctively reached to the coffee table for my phone before I remembered that I left it in my room. On purpose. Partially because I wanted to avoid any more work issues; but mainly, I needed to stop myself from scrolling like a teenager through my crush's social media profile.
Well, it wasn't Maria's profile per se. It was M and I'd like to blame alcohol for my heightened emotions, but I couldn't be sure that the outcome wouldn't be the same if I’d been sober.
It was a different kind of anger than the fury that had burned inside me when I'd met Logan. The anger with him had been attached to an immature, jealous idiot who felt entitled to Maria's time and body. Time hadn't diluted my shame, I still recalled every shitty thing I said and thought.
Maybe it was because I knew Simon? Maybe it was because, even though he could be an arrogant ass, I still thought better of him. Or perhaps it was easier to focus my anger on him, to shoulder some of the helplessness I felt at my situation, instead of concentrating on my issues alone. I still didn't regret almost ripping him a new one, though. His only saving grace had been Sofia and the fact that he carried the character of someone remorseful instead of the braggart I'd encountered with Logan.
I rose and stretched with a groan, knowing that if I stayed any longer on the couch, I'd fall asleep on it. As comfy as my position was, my back would thank me later for moving to my bed. I shook my head as a humorless snort came out of me. Only in my thirties and already too tired to finish one beer and doing sensible shit like sleeping in my bed to protect my back.
After going through my lock-up routine and a half-hearted brush of my teeth, I climbed between the sheets and finally reached for my phone. The device almost dropped out of my hand when I spied a name I'd hoped to see on it again, but had given up all hope of it happening.
Maria: Hi, Brian. It's Maria. Do you have time for a quick call?
Maria.
My heart sped and I had to sit up in order to re-read her words. Why was she contacting me? Not that I was complaining. I was fucking ecstatic. But still, it couldn't be good.
My mind was flipping like a Rolodex, running through our every prior interaction, wondering if I fucked up again somehow without realizing it. It wouldn't surprise me.
The session after my confrontation with Simon and Sofia, I decided to mention Maria to Dr. Grant. I was still keyed up about it, unable to believe I had six degrees of separation from Maria this whole time—way less than six.
It hadn't been planned; it just blurted out of me when Dr. Grant asked how my weekend had been. She was the only sounding board I could rely on and probably the only person in my life right now who could look at things rationally and impartially. No judgment and no guilt trip.
I’d been frank with her. I told Dr. Grant everything about Maria—from our first fateful meeting; to the dates I took her on; our conversations that could last for hours; and how close and comfortable I felt with her.
Ultimately, I had to confess to the dinner disaster at Da Vinci's and how I couldn't get Maria's crushed yet dignified reaction out of my mind. When I was pressed on what the catalyst was for my behavior at Da Vinci's, I had to rake through my frame of mind at the time. It had started with Sarah's impromptu visit with Hannah's letters. My guilt and grief overcame me at that point, and the battle I fought between my anguish and my feelings for Maria became muddled. Ultimately, Maria paid the price for my regret.
Dr. Grant's brow furrowed at Sarah's innocuous involvement, her nose ring twisted in thought as she scribbled in her pad.
Logan was mentioned, and my bitter reaction to that; and if that wasn't bad enough, I had to confess to almost sleeping with her former friend in retaliation. Funnily enough, even though recounting it made me feel even more shitty, I also found it surprisingly therapeutic. Like I had a checklist of all the fuck ups with Maria and had a clear focus on what I needed to do to make it right.
If I had the chance to, of course; because after disclosing my plan of action to Dr. Grant, she had promptly put the brakes on it. I was gung-ho on contacting Maria, insisting she needed to know what had gone down that night between myself, Simon, and Sofia.
"Is she still in contact with Simon, Sofia, or any of the other folks at the party?" Her pen rolled between her fingers as she regarded me with an analytical eye.
"No, I don't think so," I shook my head. "Definitely not recently, anyway." I couldn't imagine Maria wanting anything to do with Simon, and I had been around the couple long enough to know that she wasn't part of their crew.
"So the likelihood of this affecting her is slim to none."
I flicked my eyes away. "Well, yes."
"And the last time you two spoke, she made it clear that she didn't want any contact from you."
A sinkhole formed in my chest. "Yes," I quietly confirmed.
Her slight smile of sympathy did nothing to lessen the crack in my gut. The wind had been swiftly pulled from my sails. "Then I would honor her wishes. Brian, this just sounds like an excuse for you to talk to her." I winced at her assessment, and a red flare of shame crept up my cheeks. But I couldn't deny it.
"She doesn't need to know that you had an altercation with Simon," she continued, speaking gently at my crestfallen expression. "I know you want to let her know you defended her honor, but it serves her no purpose."
And fuck it all to hell if she hadn't been right. I was thankful she knocked some sense into me because Lord knew it would've added to the pile of fuck ups where Maria was concerned.
But now, staring at these twelve words on my screen, I felt my sails flare out again. The crater started to fill.
Fuck! She had sent it almost an hour ago. The time-lapse wasn't big, but I still didn't want her to think I was ignoring her. Instead of replying, I immediately called her.
"Hello?"
Her husky answer was like a cool spring on a boiling day. I heard her voice numerous times through her social media videos, but hearing her speak through a pre-recorded video always made her voice seem modulated. It was missing the nuanced vibrancy that only her live voice could provide.
"Hey, Maria. I got your text." Obviously. "Sorry, my phone was charging, and I only saw your message now." A little white lie, but necessary.
I heard her shift around, and I wondered where she was. Was she working late again, trying to keep up with her flourishing business? Was she still locking up by herself?
"Where are you?" I suddenly needed to know.
There was a small pause before she answered. "At home."
Good.
But now, my imagination was replaced with visions of Maria in her intimate space. I could picture her lounging in an oversized shirt and shorts—maybe with a glass of wine and watching TV. The image of simple domesticity was more alluring than picturing her in lingerie.
"Is everything alright?"
"Yeah, I'm fine." I felt her pause again before she tacked on, "And you?" Her tone told me she didn't care to know, but I grasped onto our small talk.
"I'm good. Good." Better after hearing you. But I wisely kept quiet.
Her quiet sigh came down the line. "Listen, I'll just get to the point. Have you spoken with Simon?"
My gut dropped, and my hand whitened around my phone. Why the fuck was she talking about him? Were they still in contact?
"No. Not recently, anyway," I amended. I decided to be honest. "I did see him at Eden's mom's engagement party a couple of weeks ago."
"Yeah, I heard." Her voice was flat and impersonal. I could feel the cracks reforming. "I didn't know that you knew Eden that well. Or Simon, for that matter."
I ran a hand through my damp hair. "Yeah, I met Eden and Simon through Sofia. Wait, how did you know I was at the party?"
"There were pictures taken of you during the night. I did hair and makeup for someone who attended."
I almost said: "I know," but I stopped myself just in time. She didn't need to know that she had acquired a stalker.
"That's a long story, though," she continued. "But I also heard you were there through Simon. I heard you had a conversation with him." There was an accusatory pitch to her comment.
Fuck! This was probably the one time Dr. Grant had given me dud advice. Maria didn't sound too impressed, and I wondered what Simon had said to her. Did he paint me out to be an aggressive villain?
"Yeah, I did. Did he tell you everything?" I wanted to question why she was talking to him, but I didn't want her to think I was accusing her of anything. Because I wasn’t.
"The truncated version. But I'd rather hear the details directly from you. And I would also like to know how you know Simon. I don't like people talking about me behind my back, and I find it interesting that two men I've been…intimate with somehow have a connection with you."
Logan. Fuck.
I raked another hand through my hair, this time in fraught agitation. "Listen. I'll explain everything, but I would prefer to do it face-to-face. Is there somewhere we can meet up? I can come to you, or you can come over to mine?"
My heart beat a steady drum as the impact of my words washed over me. I had never invited a woman other than Diane or Sarah into my home.
There was another moment of tense silence. I wish I could see her face, but that was why I suggested we meet in person. I could explain everything now, over the phone, but that would mean our contact would end, and then what? I hoped she couldn't see through my contrived offer.
She exhaled another breath as I held mine.
"You can come to my apartment." I pumped my fist before quickly scribbling down her address and apartment number. We arranged a time—tomorrow evening—before she promptly rang off.
I stared down at the paper in my hand, reading her address with a furrowed brow. There was something familiar about her apartment name.
And then it hit me.
I knew how she knew Sofia.