Page 37 of If It Can't Be Us

I took the day off, and I have zero expectations for today. My only hope is that it’s slightly less hard than it was last year. I’ll take one percenteasier. Last year was gruesome. The entire day was spent in anguish. While I’m still feeling that pain, some days more than others, I am starting to notice more and more sprinkles of joy between the hard days.

I lie in bed staring at the ceiling fan, watching it go around and around as the clicking sound from the pull chain wobbles back and forth. It’s 9:00, and I have no intention of getting out of bed for at least another few hours, except to get food, water and to pee.

I scroll Netflix for something to watch that will take my mind off the day.

Working Moms,nothing with moms.

Dead to Me,dead husband, no thanks.

Schitt's Creek,mine and Ben’s favorite show… makes me miss him, but maybe.

I switch to Apple TV.

Ted Lasso,ah, another one of our favorites to watch together. A feel-good show that Ben and I loved. I realize season three dropped earlier this year, and I haven’t seen it. This might just do the trick. Keep it light, keep it happy and nostalgic.

I go to episode one and prepare to settle in to this fabulous bed for the day. I walk into the bathroom, wash my face, brush my teeth, and pee.

In the kitchen, I grab some hard-boiled eggs and sprinkle some salt and pepper on a plate. I refuse to cook today. I open the fridge and grab a sparkling Topo Chico. With my arms loaded, I make my way to the stairs and then turn right back around. If I plan to stay put for a while, I’ll need more than this. I craft my own little charcuterie with cheese, salami, grapes, and nuts, before gathering my goodies and heading to the bedroom.

Am I getting dressed today? Nope!

Bra? Hell no.

I prop a handful of pillows up all around me, making myself a throne, and settle in. I push play and sigh…Ben, this show’s for you.Today will be a long day.

* * * * ** * * **

It’s 4:30, I’m on episode seven when I get a text from Leo.

Leo:Hey Walker, just finished class—going to grab food on the way home. Do you want anything?

I can read it on my home screen, so I don’t swipe up to open the message. This way it won’t sayread,and he won’t think I ignored him. I turn my phone off. No distractions today. This day is all about Ben.

I do feel bad about not responding, but I can make it up to him. I’ve only seen Leo twice since Michael’s birthday get-together. It’s been a busy week and a half for both of us. The morning after the speakeasy, he showed up at my door unannounced, bearing lattes and pastries to apologize. What can I say? The man knows the way to a woman’s heart. He said he was sorry if his behavior had been inappropriate or if he crossed a line, essentially blaming it on the alcohol.

I appreciate the gesture, I really do, and I understand where he’s coming from, but his apology left me feeling more confused. Honestly, it chaps my ass that he can’t just admit he might feel something more for me. I don’t believe his behavior was based on sex alone. Leo can anddoeshave any woman he wants. I felt him there all night, staring at me, engaging with me, touching me. Oh my, the touching. A knot forms in my stomach every time I think about his hand on my thigh. But then again, we did agree to be friends, and my feelings are ameproblem, not ahimproblem.

Sigh… Back to Ben.

Later, I plan to take my photo album from our wedding, yearbooks, and a few other things that remind me of Ben up to the rooftop patio and have myself a little nostalgia sob party. I’ll also write Ben a letter. My therapist said it’s good to have something to do every year to honor and remember him. This is what I did last year, so I plan to do it again this year, and every yearafter.

* * * * ** * * * *

Episode nine. I am loving this season, but I have cried so many times. I wasn’t ready for that yet—I had planned for a good cry tonight—but no expectations today, so I’ll allow it. Gosh, this show is so good. How can one episode make you feel so many emotions at once?

I drag myself out of bed and brave the mirror in the bathroom. “Ha!” I laugh out loud. I look a mess! My hair looks like a toddler’s after a rough night in the crib, like the crazy cat lady who hasn’t seen or spoken to anyone since ’86. I splash my splotchy red face with cold water, pat it dry, and brush my hair, twisting it into a clip at the back. I change into some warmer comfy clothes: joggers and a matching half-zip pullover.

In the kitchen, I stand at the fridge like a zombie, scanning its contents aimlessly, trying to find something for dinner that doesn’t need to be cooked. I end up with plain yogurt in my hand. I add some honey and fresh berries. Now, the big question is: to wine or not to wine. Eh, what the hell? This day isn’t about being 100%. I grab a bottle of wine, a glass, and a warm blanket off the couch and trudge up the three flights of stairs to the rooftop patio. I set up my area of nostalgia around my sectional: wine glass and bottle on the table. Then I go back inside to get a space heater, my photo album, and a notepad and pen.

Pleased that I got a few steps in today, I finally get settled. It’s cold tonight… probably low fifties. I have an incredible view of the city lights reflecting off the river. I wrap up in my blanket, the space heater close by, pour myself a glass of wine, grab my photo album, and let myself feel all the things.

The anger.

The hurt.

The sadness.

The ache.

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