Last Night’s Goodbye, Chapter 2
65
the most powerful word is why
I woke curled on the couch, a thin red blanket draped around my shoulders. My feet were cold and bare. The smell and sound of sizzling eggs floated around me on rays of morning sun. Three empty beer bottles were scattered on the coffee table, their sickly smell mixing into the contents of my stomach with a rancid, unwelcomeness. Stacks of boxes lined the baseboard along the wall across from me, half of them half spilled out on the faded and torn carpet. A few boxes were shoved deep into the far closet, door partly open with a shirt drying on a hanger below the handle.
Kid toys, it said in my own handwriting, artfully written in the same style of calligraphy I’d learned for Lysan’s Christmas gift.
I heard his footsteps stop at the foot of the couch. “Hungry?”
I glanced up. He traced my eyes to where they had been focused, the box at the bottom of the closet. He pulled the shirt from the handle and shut the door with a soft click.
He sat next to me. “Will you have some breakfast?”
“I feel like shit.”
“Take a shower and a couple Aleve. I’ll be ready when you get out.”
He took my silence for a yes, it seemed by the way he rose—cheerful enough to make me feel the pounding headache that I’d almost forgotten.
I slid my feet to the floor and stared at the wall. I found I was gripping the old shag between my toes, as if my subconscious was attempting to transfer the pain from my head to the rug. That’s where we bury all our filth, isn’t it? Under the floorboards.
My clothes didn’t want to come off. But I fought the buttons and zippers until I had wriggled out.
The water hit my shivering naked body with a hot trickle. It didn’t matter how long I stayed in, I never seemed to get quite completely wet. But I’d learned to pool it in my hands and splash it here and there, giving each part of my body a proper splash, just one at a time instead of all at once. I would have stayed in for an hour and made Lysan wait, but the shower was too unsatisfying.
As I dressed, I noticed he must have already cleaned up the broken glass. Russell Wilson was missing from the wall, only a dark hole in the wall to prove that last night wasn’t a dream. I couldn’t remember anything after I shot the the framed jersey, except hours later stumbling between the couch and the fridge for more beer before falling asleep again.
I slipped into the frumpiest bathrobe I owned and left the towel around my head as I sat at the tiny kitchen table piled with Lysan’s crap. Not that this little table had room for the whole family to sit down together anyway. I ground pepper onto my eggs.
He must have noticed me glaring at the books. “Sorry,” he said, “I’ll clean this up after work.”
It was an afternoon start at school so I’d let the kids sleep in a while longer. Maybe get a nap after Lysan left.
We ate in silence. Lysander had put a few flowers in a vase next to a candle. Most mornings, I would have slid into his lap and kissed him long and soft for being so sweet. Today it felt like a slap in the face. The windows were filled with bright blue sky and just a few lingering clouds. A couple passed outside on the sidewalk, debating whether Madison Pub was still a legitimate dive bar, or whether Capital Hill was getting too gentrified with venture capitalist funded startups and upwardly mobile white conservatives.
“I’m sorry about last night,” I said. “Thanks for cleaning up the mess.” I’m sorry? So typical. He screws another women and I’m the one who feels guilty.
He looked at me, seeming to search for words but nothing formed. So instead, he picked up the dishes and filled my coffee cup, hand trembling, spilling too much creamer in.
“I have to take off for a meeting at 10 downtown,” he said.
I stared at the creamer swirling slowly, mixing with the coffee. The two becoming one. “Who was she?”
He shuffled the dishes in the sink.
“You never told me her name,” I said, louder.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Do I know her?”
“I’m not sure I should—”
“Who was she!” Faces raced through my mind. That teacher he was always chatting with at the kids school. The young barista from Honor Coffee that stares at him too long. The girl who sits next to him at work. My sister. My best friend Danny.
“Dave said it’s painful to know the details. We need to focus on moving forward.”
“He’s not even a real counselor.”
“I want to work this out. I still love you.” He reached for me.
I pulled away. “Was it that flirty bitch from the cafe?”
“I’m sorry—”
“Don’t even say that.”
He stared at me.
“If you don’t tell me who it is, then you can pack up your shit and leave.”
“Separation is just the first step toward divorce.”
I stood so fast the table shook. “Where did you hide the gun?”
“OK, now you’re scaring me.”
I moved toward the bedroom, but Lysan wrapped his arms around me.
“Let me go,” I said.
“I shouldn’t have ever kept that gun.”
“Just leave.”
“I’m not moving out.”
“If you don’t, I will.”
“That’s worse.”
“Why are you pushing this?”
“It’s not safe.” He looked at the wall. “Fuck, you’re going to actually make me say it? For you Adela. It’s not safe if I leave.”
“You’re late for your meeting.”
“I’ll be home at 6:30. We’ll talk about this more.”
I felt him staring at my back for a moment, then his footsteps receded into the other room. A chair screeched along the wood floor in the entry way. I heard the rustle of him pulling on a coat. Keys rattled. The front door creaked open, then clicked shut. The apartment was perfectly quiet. Until I heard, softly, the sound of a key turning in the lock from the outside. As if he didn’t want me to hear. As if I were being locked inside.
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Complete list of chapters here: Last Night’s Farewell
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