Chapter 03 #2
“Well, now that you’ve told me it would destroy you … Is there any way to only delete the Nammota stuff?” I ask, thinking it might be a good idea. If, for any reason, the feds get another warrant to search this place again … I can’t take that risk.
“It would take a few adjustments I can’t make myself, but I can help you look into it, if you want.”
“Great, thank you, Iris. Maybe for now, you can just play me some motivational music while I clean up a little? I can’t think straight in this mess,” I suggest.
“Of course. Here’s your Spotify playlist titled ‘Que Clean, Que Fun.’ Tell me if you need anything else from me.”
Now probably isn’t the mood for “Livin’ la Vida Loca,” but as it fills the messy space, I realize this is exactly what I need to take my mind off things. Hours of loud, engaging music and things to tidy up and clean.
I start with the living room, returning it to its former state within forty-five minutes. They broke a vase and damaged several books in their frenzy, which Iris tells me can be reimbursed. Lex doesn’t need the money, but it might be cathartic for me to make them pay for it.
With a single look at the kitchen, I decide I don’t have the mental capacity for this shit yet. What the fuck did they expect to find in the spice racks?! Did they really have to turn over the entire place like this?
Lex’s home office is even worse, but thankfully, they barely touched the comics collection. Whoever was supervising the search probably realized that damaging those could bankrupt the bureau, so they proceeded with the utmost care and put it all back in place.
Since I don’t know what goes where in his study, I decide to organize the mess instead of trying to guess what belongs in which drawer or on which shelf.
I’m trying to organize the top drawer of his desk when a glimpse of my own handwriting surprises me.
Lex’s handwriting is rather messy and unintelligible, so there’s no doubt this is mine.
Perplexed, I take the piece of paper out, reading the two words on it over and over.
The note is crumpled as if it’s been turned into a tight ball of paper and then flattened again.
It only says “Thank you,” and it takes me a few seconds to remember where it’s from.
Our first night together. I wrote it in a hurry to leave before he woke up.
I already knew back then it wasn’t enough, but looking at it now, I wonder what the hell went through my mind that early morning.
But he kept it, somehow. He balled it up in frustration before deciding to keep it.
Maybe as a memento, a warning, a reminder …
That, only he knows. But there it is, in the top drawer of his desk …
No, no, no. I’m not crying again. I’ve been doing enough of that. Plus, I’m pretty sure it’s illegal to cry to Rihanna’s “Don’t Stop the Music.” With a trembling hand, I put it back in its place, unsure Lex would want me to know this detail.
Maybe I should work on something less … intimate. His dressing room is also an absolute mess, and that’s pretty easy and harmless. I’ll refold everything, put it back on hangers, maybe do some ironing … Yes, that sounds like I won’t burst into tears at some random note.
As I pass through the bedroom, I force my eyes not to turn to the massive bed with the pillows and duvet thrown together in what looks like a cozy nest. If I lie in there, in his smell, I might never get up again for the rest of the weekend.
There’s something oddly satisfying about picking up Lex’s clothes and putting them back on their racks.
It’s an easily done job, and the room looks almost normal again.
The underwear and sock drawers have been turned over on the floor, and once again, I feel like there was a better way to search all that.
I grab as many as I can in my arms to put them on top of the chest of drawers and start folding.
During the motion, though, something falls off and lands on the floor with a thud.
My breath catches in my throat as I glance at the object.
It’s a small jewelry box. The kind one puts a ring in. And it’s old, and used, and I know that color because I’ve seen it during my childhood, whenever my abuela would let me use her vanity to play pretend and put some makeup and jewels on.
I do nothing for an entire minute, my eyes locked on the box that seems to dare me to pick it up and check what’s inside. Why would Lex keep that hidden in his underwear?
I gaze at the box as if I can see through it and guess its contents, trying to preserve Lex’s privacy. “Oh, fuck this,” I mumble to myself, emptying my arms’ contents to bend down and pick up the box.
Holy shit … Holy fucking shit …
Lex has my abuela’s engagement ring. She stopped wearing it a while ago because her fingers started to randomly swell, but I’d recognize it anywhere.
When my abuelo first proposed, he didn’t have the means to buy an impressive ring—nothing more than a modest round diamond and a gold band.
For their thirtieth anniversary, though, he had it reworked by a jeweler, and while the original diamond is still there, it’s now surrounded by a halo of smaller diamonds, making it look much larger than it is.
I grew up seeing this ring, this symbol of a love that even death couldn’t alter.
And now Lex has it. And it’s not that hard to guess why. He wanted to marry me. Idiot, of course he did … We talked about our future together. I knew this would come. But seeing the tangible proof of it hits differently.
I’m still staring at the ring, in shock, when my phone buzzes in my back pocket.
Distractedly, I pull it out to check the number.
I have no idea who that is, so I consider letting it go to voicemail.
It’s probably another one of those blood-sucking journalists.
Ever since the hearing, their attention has shifted from Kevin to latch onto me instead.
The world knows I’m Lex’s girlfriend, so they’re harassing me in the hope of getting a Pulitzer-winning scoop or something.
I’m about to decline when I notice the location indicator. 503. Northwest Oregon, like my parents.
Full of hope, I press the green button before eagerly bringing the phone to my ear.
Without having to say anything, Iris does as programmed and dims the music, just in time for me to hear a feminine robotic voice explain: “This is a prepaid call from an inmate at Sheridan’s Federal Correctional Institution.
All phone calls are subject to recording and monitoring.
To decline this call, press nine. To accept this call, press one. ”
I couldn’t press one any faster than I do.
“Your call has been accepted,” the voice continues. Then it switches to a faint hubbub, which must be the background noise at the prison. My heart grows heavy, its beat so strong I can hear it thumping in my ears.
“Lex?” I softly call when a few seconds have passed without him saying anything.
“Hi.” That one syllable, his voice, brings a smile to my lips.
“Hi.”
“Sorry, I meant to call sooner, but they wouldn’t let me contact anyone aside from my lawyers.”
“I know, it’s okay. It’s so good to hear from you.” Another pause, another moment of awkward tension where all I can hear is the chatting around him. “Are you okay, baby?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer right away, and I immediately want to scold myself for the stupidity of that question. “I’m hanging on,” he eventually replies. “You?”
“Same. I’m at your place right now, tidying up a little.”
“You shouldn’t have to do that.”
“It’s okay, I want to. They left such a mess behind, and I want everything to look good when you … come back.” Do I sound as uncertain as I feel? I want to believe he’ll be back soon, but I’m not as confident as I was before the hearing.
“You can ask Iris to contact the cleaning company. They’ll send Katya again. You shouldn’t have to do it all by yourself.”
Although I want to protest, I don’t. It must be hard enough for him to be locked up. I won’t add to the helplessness he probably feels all the time. “Alright, thank you, Lex.”
“I’ve added you to my visitors list,” he says after another lengthy pause. “Kev, too. I don’t want to see anyone else for now.”
I know it’ll hurt Shelly and his sisters, but it’s his decision to make, so I say nothing. “They’ll send you the protocol, visiting times, and all the information you might need,” he continues.
“That’s perfect. I can’t wait to come see you, baby.”
“Take the Mercedes. I don’t want you to drive for so long in your car.”
I roll my eyes. “It works fine. Four hours isn’t that long.”
“Half an hour in that thing is already too long,” he protests sternly. “Take my car.”
Again, I want to argue, but I bite my tongue. His control-obsessed mind probably needs that more than I need to use my car to drive there. “Okay,” I easily concede.
Seconds stretch, and I’m not sure what to say. Guilt eats me up from the inside as I visualize him in jail, stripped of his dignity and rights.
The box with the ring seems to weigh a ton in my hand. I want to let him know I found it, tell him, “Yes, I’ll marry you,” but I don’t want that moment to be forever altered by the reality of our situation.
“Lex?”
“Hm?”
“We’ll get through this, right? And in a couple of years, we’ll look back and laugh at how silly it all was, right?”
His answer takes several seconds to come, and when it does, it breaks my heart a little more. “I don’t know, Andrea.”
He doesn’t lie. Not even to reassure me.
Before I can say something, someone shouts something around Lex. “Sorry, I have to go,” he explains. “Calling hours are about to end.”
“Oh … Can we come visit you tomorrow?” I quickly ask.
“Yeah, it should be okay now that I’ve been processed.”
“Then I’ll come, maybe with Kev.”
“Okay.”
“I love you, baby.”
“See you soon, Andrea.” He hangs up before I can say anything, and I stay there with my phone pressed to my ear.
I always knew this was going to be hard, but it may be even harder than I anticipated. He isn’t okay, and it’s barely been three weeks since the arrest. At best, the trial will unfold in six months, and I don’t want to imagine what his mental state will look like by then.
Fighting back the tears, I return the phone to my pocket, close the box with the ring, and place it in the empty underwear drawer. I fold everything, arrange it in there, and then move on with the tidying. When I pick up a pair of Lex’s sneakers, my morale dips even further than it already had.
It’s the one where he wrote Andy on the sole, and that unavoidably brings me back to Christmas at my parents’ place, and how damn happy we were, dancing together among the guests.
“Fuck this shit,” I mutter to myself, letting go of the shoes. Looking up, I fight the tears again. “I’m not crying today.”
But I need some comfort, so I walk to the bedroom, kick my shoes off, and crawl into the messy bed. A familiar scent comes to my nose, and I grab a pillow to shove my face into it, breathing it in. Not that one. I pick another, give it the same treatment, and—
There … It smells of Lex.
The trace is faint, but it’s here, so I hug the pillow tightly and dip my nose in it.
I miss him so fucking much. I miss holding him, waking up against him, hearing him talk, laugh, or be a nerd and explain some random facts to me.
I miss how he makes me feel, who I am around him.
I miss what we had, the connection, the ease …
It’s all gone right now, and I’m not sure we’ll ever get it back.
I remain here for a long time, staring at the wall in front of me. He was right, and I should have known better. Who am I to argue with a literal genius? The ten-year deal was a bargain, and I should never have talked him out of it.
Compared to the rest of our lives, a decade feels like nothing.