Page 26 of I Love My Mistake

“Good. Good. Sometimes I can be a little…” she trails off. We both know what she means.

I look back to the fairy. “He feels the same way I do. I saw it tonight.”

“That’s not a good thing?”

“He’s married.”

Her hand flies to her mouth and she moans, “Oh no. You didn’t know?”

“No.”

“Oh God.”

I nod and we stare at each other, understanding all of the pain of what that means. The impossibility of it. The heartbreak. The woman on the other end. The lie. The time spent. The bond formed. The tearing apart of that bond, because there is no other option that I could live with. I can’t see him again. That’s how it has to be.

“I met his wife.”

Amber gasps. “Is that how you found out?”

I nod. “She came by the studio. I told her we’ve never slept together.”

“I’m afraid to ask.”

I know exactly what she’s thinking.

“No! I swear to you I wasn’t lying. We’ve never done anything. Not that I haven’t tried. He never would. I practically begged him to, some nights. That was before I knew he was married, of course. Oh God. Why is this so painful?” The tears come now. I cover my face with the glass as I sob, holding it with both hands to hide behind it, my back bent with grief. Amber puts her cup down and comes to me, takes the glass from my hands and sets it on the table. She pulls me into her arms. I roll into the fetal position, my head on her lap, staring at the little figurine through my tears as she strokes my hair, one arm wrapped around me.

“It’s okay,” she whispers. “Let it all out.”

I do. My body aches with sadness until finally something shuts off in me and the tears stop, like someone switched the channel, saying you’ve had enough. Rest.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” I whisper.

“Well, it’s a good thing I have one,” she says lightly, and I hear the tender smile in her voice.

I lift myself up and drag myself in that direction. “Thank you, Amber.”

She stands and says, “I’m going to make you some tea and we’ll fix this whole thing.”

Fix it. She loves to fix things. Is it possible to fix a beaten heart? I see hardened eyes looking back from my reflection in the bathroom mirror. This is not who I want to be. I don’t like this person looking back at me.

I return to the couch to find ginger tea waiting there. Amber pats the couch and I crawl under the blanket facing her. We discuss options, and she convinces me that I can paint in my apartment if I get rid of the couch and coffee table. “Do you ever really use them anyway? I mean, you told me you don’t have a television.”

“That’s true. They’re mostly there to collect dust. Sometimes I read on the couch.”

“How often?”

“Not often. I read more on the subways… on my phone.”

“Like the rest of the world. So, there you go. You can clear out that space and put it to use until you can afford your own studio. Which will happen sooner than you think.”

“You think so, huh. I’m not convinced.”

“Use my faith until you have your own,” she says, taking a sip of tea.

I nod and stare off. “I don’t want to see him. That means I can’t pick up the paintings I’ve left there.”

“I could get them for you?”

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