Page 76 of Ivory Ashes

The conversation with Dante this morning sealed that fate. He likes Mikhail. He’s on his way to loving Mikhail. Even if I’d rather live in my small apartment with my rotting lettuce, I have to do what’s right for Dante.

I close the door and face the apartment. The little shoes tossed under our two-person dining room table. The one-armed Spiderman action figure that is doing a face-down plank on the shelf next to the television. All the little bits and bobs that made up our everyday lives.

It’s just like it always was, except… I can see the cracks now, too.

The way the sole of Dante’s shoes are tearing away at the toe. He outgrew them a month ago, but I was trying to make them stretch as far as they could.

And the shelf next to the television is bowing under the weight of the single action figure. I saved the water-damaged cabinet from the curb a year ago and meant to fill it with picture books for Dante, but there never seemed to be time. After I got off, the evenings were a mad dash of dinner, bath, and bedtime.

The hard truth is, I’ve spent more quality time with my son over the last few days than I have in months. Years, maybe. Because instead of every second being filled with rush and panic and hurry up, we can breathe.

We can be.

This apartment represents a lot for me. It’s the first place that was ever truly mine.

But that doesn’t make it perfect. I walk the rooms one more time, stashing a few things in my purse as I go—Dante’s favorite moon nightlight, a few more pictures from the walls.

“You were good to us,” I whisper as I make my way to the door. It feels ridiculous to talk to an apartment, but it also feels right.

I step onto the landing and pull the door closed behind me just as the door across the hall opens.

“Margaret?”

I’m tempted to sprint down the stairs and save both Tommy and myself this awkward encounter. But I take a deep breath and turn to face him. “Hi, Tommy.”

He blinks like he didn’t expect to ever see me again. “Where have you been? You disappeared. Your mail backed up downstairs. I even left a message with the landlord about you. He never got back to me.”

“No surprise there. He has an unread message in his inbox about my leaky bathroom sink from three years ago.”

“Where have you been?” Tommy asks again, ignoring my attempt to lighten the conversation. “Is everything okay?”

Yes.

And no.

But also yes.

I settle on a shrug. “I’m okay.”

He runs a hand through his hair, a deep crease between his brows. “Is this about the other day? I know I kind of jumped you in the hallway when I asked about the date. I didn’t mean it to be so aggressive. I hope you didn’t feel cornered. Because if I scared you, I think I’d jump off the roof—Oh my God, that wasn’t a threat. I won’t really jump. It’s just?—”

I grab Tommy’s arm and try hard to smile. “This isn’t about you. Or the date. You did a nice job asking me out. I didn’t feel threatened.”

I didn’t feel anything, actually.

Being around Tommy is the exact opposite of being with Mikhail.

Around Mikhail, I feel everything whether I want to or not. It’s like I’m in an emotional amplifier. Everything feels heightened. Tommy is a damper.

“Thank God.” He sighs in obvious relief. “But if this wasn’t about me, then what was it about? You’ve never even gone on vacation before. Not that I keep tabs on you, but you know what I mean.”

“I’ve had some… family matters come up.” Talk about boiling down and sanitizing the big, dirty truth. “The last few days have been hectic.”

“Do you need to talk about it? People have told me I’m a good listener. I know because I heard them tell me… since I’m such a good listener.” He shakes his head. “I swear I won’t tell any more terrible jokes on the date. Er—not a date. Just coffee?”

I just said goodbye to my old apartment; I should say goodbye to Tommy, too. He deserves that much.

He also deserves the truth.

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