41. Annabelle
Annabelle
Thursday morning, I’m sitting at Kat’s kitchen table. I’ve got my drawing tablet connected to my laptop, and I’m gripping my stylus hard enough to crack it. I’ve erased the same line six times.
Kat walks in from the bedroom, on a phone call. “If she cut her own bangs at two in the morning, there’s nothing I can do. I’m a stylist, not a grief counselor.” She listens while pouring coffee. “Sure. Put her in the books for six weeks from now.”
She hangs up and sits across the table from me, coffee in hand, hair in a messy bun, sweatshirt with the neckline cut out and falling off one shoulder. “Is that the same circle you were drawing yesterday?”
“It’s a wreath.” I scrub it out again.
“Is aggressive deleting the new drawing?”
“This used to be easy.” I stand to refill my coffee cup. “Ideas were everywhere. A trip to the zoo would turn into a whole series. I had a mechanic who accidentally gave me three Father’s Day cards.”
“Isn’t that the answer? You need to get out more. Talk to people.”
“I guess.” I stir creamer into my coffee.
Kat’s words remind me of Sophie telling me to get out in the Michigan winter.
I wonder what she’s doing today. Did she find that pair of wool socks that went missing?
I bet Lia’s enjoying the new tea she bought.
I hope the sofa that June and Dylan ordered arrives soon and fits perfectly in their living room.
I put my spoon in the dishwasher. I cleaned Kat’s kitchen last night. I scrubbed the bathroom this morning. I folded my blankets and tucked them into the storage ottoman with my pillow, leaving no trace.
“I don’t live here,” I say.
Kat leans back in her chair. “Correct. This is my house. You’re haunting it.”
“It’s not about the house.” I sit at the table and look into my cup. “It’s Ann Arbor. I forgot what it’s like. The self-importance. The maize and blue everything. The students.”
“How could you forget the students? They’re everywhere.”
I pick up my stylus and draw some lines that look like waves. I miss Lake Michigan. I miss how the whole town faced it, and everyone wanted to be near it. The snap of it in the winter. The fog drifting off it now that it’s spring.
“I never ran out of ideas there,” I say.
“There?”
“Echo Creek.”
She studies me for a second too long. “Ah.”
“It’s not an ah.”
“It’s a very loud ah. You miss it. You miss him.”
“We’re not doing this right now.” I get up and stomp through the house. It’s a small house, so it doesn’t take long.
Kat’s right on my heels. “We’re doing this. I had a cancellation at ten so I’ve got all morning.”
We end up in the living room, where I sit on the edge of the couch, ready to bolt. Kat sits in a wing chair across from me. She tucks her feet under her as if she’s settling in for a long story.
I sigh in Kat’s direction. “He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t say the words.”
She nods. “But…”
I stare at the wall. “He did everything else.”
Kat doesn’t jump in for once. That’s what keeps me talking. “He showed up,” I say. “Constantly. For stupid stuff. Real stuff too. He packed orders when I was behind. Moved furniture. Shoveled our parking lot. Made up funny lines for my cards that were so ridiculous I…”
“You what?”
“Was forced to make better ones, I guess? I don’t know why it was his business to—I mean—why did he even care?”
“Because he believed in you?”
I stare down at my hands. “He says he doesn’t feel love.”
“Sure.”
I frown. “That’s all you have to say?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know. Tell me he’s emotionally stunted. Tell me I deserve someone who can give me what I need.”
Kat considers that. “Do you think you don’t deserve him?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“I didn’t ask what you said.” Kat levers herself off the chair and pads back to the kitchen in sock feet. She returns with both our coffee cups and hands me mine. She settles back into her chair.
I rotate the cup in my hands, then set it on the side table. “I kept waiting for it to look different. Being with him, I mean.”
“What did it look like?”
The question sits on my chest like a heavy weight and I sink into the couch, my hands dangling between my knees.
It looked like laughter, and fond teasing, and late-night conversations.
It looked like euchre games, and a surprise burrito, and way too much noise.
It looked like wearing extra layers to go out, and stripping naked to stay in.
It looked like a neighbor I could always count on.
My throat squeezes down and I have to close my eyes when I think of what else I had.
Because it’s not just Grant. I also had candy-colored storefronts and a lake as big as the sea.
Where a dogsled pulled through town, and the best cupcakes in the world were in the bakery case, and the forest was five minutes away.
Where people I barely knew helped me dig out my car.
Where three old men remembered everyone’s history and three young women befriended me from day one.
It hits me hard and fast. How wrong I’ve been. About everything.
My whole adult life, I’ve been searching for romantic love, thinking that was the be-all and end-all.
If I found my soulmate, I’d feel like my other half had made me whole.
But that’s not what I need. At least, that’s not all I need.
Do I want a partner? Yes, of course. But that’s not as important as the love of friends, and family, and community.
I tried to make Grant give me what I wanted, never realizing that I already had it. I had all the love I needed, right there for the taking.
“I left,” I tell Kat. “I didn’t just leave him. I left all of it. And now I…I mean… Ann Arbor is where I grew up. I have friends here. I have you. But it’s not…”
“It’s not what?”
“Home.” The word blossoms in my chest. It’s so much more than a place. It’s a feeling. It’s where I lost my heart, but I can find it again. Because it’s in the safe keeping of the man I love.
I can say it now. I love Grant. And I know he can’t say it back, but he can show it. He can carry a desk up twenty-three stairs. He can tell me secrets while doing dishes. He can make pancakes. He can give me the courage to follow my dreams, no matter where those dreams take me.
He claims he doesn’t feel love, but he sure acts like a man who does.
“Are you done pretending?” Kat asks. “Because you could be up there before dinner time.”
“I don’t have a car,” I say.
“There’s an Enterprise over on Washtenaw. They’ll let you book one-way.”
“I hate that you know that.”
She shrugs. “I’ve dated chaos.”
Something snaps into place and I’m on my feet.
I need to pack. I came to Ann Arbor directly from California and I’ve only got one suitcase.
Everything else is in my apartment on Elk Street.
I can’t wait to get back to it. Back to him.
I could call Grant. I know he’d pick up. But I’ll call him on the way.
“I’ll give you a ride to the car rental place on my way to work,” Kat says while I’m in the bathroom throwing makeup brushes into my bag. “And please take my extra flat iron.”
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“You need it more than I do.”
“Thank you.” I wheel my suitcase out to the living room and grab my jacket. “For everything.”
Kat pulls me into a tight hug.
“I hear the U.P. is beautiful in the summer,” I say.
“I’ll see it for myself.” She gives me one last squeeze. “When I come visit.”
“Can’t wait.”
I put my jacket on and fling open the door.
Grant is standing on the other side of it, his hand lifted to knock.