Chapter Twenty-Two
David didn’t play any rounds of SpudzMash that day.
Instead, he hid in his office—the flowers he had bought for Evelyn tossed in the trash—and mainlined the first fifteen episodes of the hit reality show Red Flag Fiancé on his phone.
He hadn’t planned to rekindle his relationship with Evelyn when he returned to New York.
But now, not only had he made out with his ex-wife, he’d been dumped by her.
It hurt far more than he’d expected.
Still, he couldn’t help but think that Evelyn was right.
Whatever they had, all that chemistry, the desire to rip her clothes off right then and there in his office, bury his head between her thighs—he adjusted himself—all of that was simply nostalgia.
Pining for something that never was and could never be.
It was over. It had to be over. Besides, and he had to keep reminding himself of this fact, he was the one who’d walked out on her.
The right thing to do was keep his distance as much as possible.
He bit back the instinct to wander upstairs and head to the set.
He forced himself not to check in on Evelyn and ask about the state of her migraines.
He kept to his word, leaving her alone so she could focus on work .
. . And finally, thank God, the workday concluded.
Outside the studios, flurries were falling.
The sun was just beginning to dim, casting shades of gold through the clouds above.
David zipped up his jacket and debated what to do for the rest of his evening.
He could go home—or rather, to Vikram’s apartment—but he was feeling out of sorts.
The whole experience, his whole week with Evelyn, had left him confused, and sad, and antsy.
He pulled out his phone and began scrolling through his contact list. His sister was in Florida with the in-laws.
Claire had been clear in terms of her boundaries.
He had names of camp friends and medical residents he used to hang with when he lived in Manhattan—but most of them he didn’t feel right calling.
David hadn’t just left New York—he’d disappeared.
He’d started over on his farm, deleting almost all his social media, limiting interactions to a very small pool of friends.
He decided it was best to just return to Vikram’s apartment.
Though, if David were being honest, it wasn’t so much an apartment as a weird-ass man cave.
Three black leather couches overlooked the skyline of Manhattan.
Across the walls, and under track lighting, were dozens of framed autographed football jerseys.
Vikram didn’t use lamps. Or normal lights.
Instead, everything from the living room to the bedroom was bathed in green and pink neon fluorescents.
That was Vikram. A perpetual bachelor. At thirty-four years old, he had no plans on ever settling down—despite pressure from his parents.
But Vikram was a good friend. He had not only attended David’s wedding to Evelyn, but after the divorce, when everybody took sides, Vikram was kind enough to remain firmly neutral.
Sometimes, he would even fill David in on news about Evelyn.
How she was doing, if she was dating anyone, if she received some promotion at work.
And then, Vikram’s real reason for calling—to see if David needed a wingman when he visited New York.
Vikram could never understand why David didn’t just use his newfound freedom as a single man to get laid.
David was never interested in one-night stands. In fact, he’d only gone home with Evelyn . . . because it was Evelyn. And while he may have grown into the body and confidence of a full flesh-and-blood male, he was still that sweet and sensitive kid beneath the exterior.
He didn’t want reckless and hedonistic one-night stands.
He wanted Evelyn. He wanted sex that was built from a lifetime of companionship.
Intimacy that came from making love to your best friend.
The way it felt to stare into the eyes of your loved one while she came, fingers brushing down her cheeks, while you press your lips against her ears and whisper the words “I love you” over, and over, again.
He had loved Evelyn.
He just couldn’t survive living with her.
David strolled toward the long line of glass overlooking the city skyline.
The snow had stopped falling. Night had fully come to pass.
Across the city, tiny dots of light were appearing in apartments and offices.
He had forgotten the way that New Yorkers lived, the sense of anonymity that came from residing in high-rises, where you seldom met your neighbors.
In the building across from Vikram’s, a woman was getting dressed up for the evening, trying on different scarves and accessories while staring into a full-length mirror.
Above her, a middle-aged man was talking on the phone, pacing violently from room to room as if in an argument.
His eyes landed on a family sitting down to dinner.
Two children bounced up and down in their chairs, while Mom brought out a platter of chicken.
It was bittersweet, watching the family across from him, seeing all these lives and stories played out from a distance.
No one cared about closing their blinds in Manhattan, a place where nine million people lived and worked together but all of them were strangers.
He glanced down to the ledge where he had placed his menorah upon arrival, but he didn’t have it in him to light it.
He needed to talk to someone.
David found his laptop and brought it into Vikram’s living room.
Setting it up on the kitchen counter and turning it on, he signed on to the website Fathers Finding Peace.
FFP held an online support group meeting for approved members every night at seven.
After going around the room, hearing all the new introductions and rules, David raised his hand to contribute.
“Hi, everyone,” David said, speaking directly into the camera lens. “I know a lot of you in here already, but for those of you who don’t know me, I’m David.”
“Hi, David.”
“I used to come on a lot more,” he continued, “but I haven’t in a while.
I’m just . . . I’m just really missing April tonight.
Um, some days it’s not so present, you know?
The grief. I can distract myself with work on the farm, or building my medical practice.
But right now, I’m away from home. I’m actually staying in New York at my friend’s apartment.
And, believe it or not, I’ve been seeing my wife.
My ex-wife. Though we still haven’t talked about April.
“And—” He took a deep breath, tears coming to his eyes.
“It’s just bringing up . . . it’s bringing up a lot of hard feelings.
A lot of memories, too. So I guess I just wanted to sign on, say hello, see some familiar faces, and just .
. . I don’t know. Get some support tonight.
I need to talk about April tonight. I need to remember her. ”
The group responded affirmatively, nodding their heads, offering words of love and support. And David kept talking.
He spoke about how much he wished he could have met April, every day, how after two years and even knowing the odds as a doctor, he still found himself wondering if he had made the right choice, or if he could have done something different.
And he spoke about Evelyn, because he still missed her, maybe even still loved her.
He word-vomited his heart all over that Zoom session, pouring out every trouble and burden, until finally, he felt a little bit better.
After saying goodbye to the members of FFP, he returned to the menorah. Gathering up the candles, he said the blessings for Hanukkah, and the grief he always carried around in his heart felt a little bit lighter. When he was done saying the blessings, he added his own.
He prayed for April, wherever she was, that she was happy and watching over them.
He prayed for Evelyn, too—for the possibility of forgiveness, and maybe even some sort of future where they could be friends.
He didn’t ask to return to the past, to escape the reality of this parallel universe he had found himself living in.
It was impossible to go back to the past. But for one brief second, he allowed himself to believe in miracles.
And he felt that wellspring of grief he lived with, the sadness and the pain, bubbling up to the surface and becoming hope.
Because David had taken the unspeakable losses of his life and found a safe space to vocalize them.