Page 24 of Loving London

“I love you, London.”

It’s surreal to think that I’m going to be moving across the country, but I have a really good feeling about it.

I don’t know if I’ll ever live in Michigan again. I kind of doubt it.

But I’m hoping, with time and distance, eventually, when I think back to my time in this state, I’ll remember all the great experiences I had in college and my memories with Paige. This home has given me so much more than heartbreak. Someday, my heart will be healed enough to remember that.

Loïc

“My life is a daily battle of fighting to simply exist.”

—Loïc Berkeley

“I just don’t know what to name him. You have to give me suggestions, Loïc,” Sarah whines beside me.

She’s lying atop a blanket on the grass in a black string bikini. I can just see her closed eyelids behind the sunglasses as her face points up toward the midday sun.

Sitting in a lounge chair beside her, I’m trying to soak up the vitamin D that she is so adamant about. She says that the sun always makes people feel better. I decided to humor her since, for June, the humidity and heat aren’t excessive today and because I could use some non-couch time.

I pull in slow, steady breaths as the rays of the sun heat my skin. Truthfully, I could stand to feel better—to feel anything actually. I’ve been back for over a month, and I’m still waiting for something, anything, to happen that will allow me to feel human again. My life is just…void. It’s lacking purpose, feelings, desire…basically everything. I’m merely existing, and I don’t know what to do to make it better.

“Loïc!” Sarah shrieks, breaking my attempt at peaceful meditation. “Did you hear me?”

“I’ve told you”—I carefully measure my voice, making sure the tone carries a semblance of compassion—“it is totally your call, Sarah. Your baby, your choice.”

“But you’re going to be a big part in his life. I want you to be involved. I want you to care.”

I let out a sigh. “I do care.”

“I know you do. I wish you showed it a little more.”

“I’m doing the best I can, Sarah.”

I admit, sometimes, I wish she would just go and leave me to wallow on my couch alone. But I realize that it’s better that she’s here. It’s important that I’m accountable to someone. I’m afraid I’d lose myself completely if I weren’t.

“I know you are. I’m sorry, Loïc. I’m more sensitive now—you know, the hormones and all.” Her voice picks up an octave. “So, what about Henry, after your granddad? Or William, after your dad? Do you like either of those names?”

“Any name is fine. Name him what you like. You don’t have to name him after my family. It doesn’t matter.”

Her whine returns as she says, “It matters to me, Loïc. We’re naming a human here. It is a big deal.”

“What about that baby name book that you bought the other day? You should read through it and make a list of names you like,” I suggest.

“Oh, good idea! So, I’ll make a list of names, and then I’ll read them off to you, so we can decide together.”

“Okay,” I concede.

“Great!” She hops off the blanket faster than a pregnant woman should be able to and rushes into the house.

Sarah has been hunched over the kitchen table all afternoon, studying that baby name book like a college student preparing for final exams. From the living room couch, I’ve heard her frantically write names, cross them off, and flip pages, like a woman on a mission.

The doorbell rings.

“I got it!” Sarah calls, as she does every time even though I’ve never attempted to get the door since she’s been here.

After a few minutes, she walks by with a large pizza box. I inhale the aroma of melted cheese, buttery garlic, and pepperoni as she passes behind the couch. I reach for my crutches. Positioning them beneath my arms, I use them to pull myself off the couch. I take a moment to balance on my one foot before using the crutches to assist me to the kitchen.

Most days, I try to wear my prosthetic leg, but others, I simply need a break from it. I know I’ll eventually get used to it, but for now, it’s an annoyance. It brings an uncomfortable, hot, itchy, unnatural presence to my daily life, contributing to my slow decline toward insanity.

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