Page 127 of Come Apart
Chapter Twenty-Four
The next week is less painful.
I call Alyssa, not to impose, but to let her know she can talk to me. If she needs to. That I'm here, always. She thanks me, and tells me about her two-week film shoot in Vancouver.
"It's enough time for both of us to think this through," she says. "I'm going to leave my phone at home. I need time to air out my thoughts."
"Oh." I try not to make much of it.
"But Laurie has the number of my hotel. You can call her if there's an emergency."
"Okay." I suck the air between my teeth. If I push her, I'll lose her. I have to wait this out.
"I love you," she says. "I hope we can work this out."
"I love you too."
The air hangs between us for a minute. It's almost like we're close, almost like things are okay. "I'll see you soon," she says. "Take care of yourself."
"I'll miss you," I say.
"I'll miss you too." And even though the call fades to an end, it feels so painful and abrupt.
It's a good thing that she's taking time to think.
It's time for me to figure out how to unfuck this.
* * *
I burymyself in work and shut out everything else in the world.
There are two weeks until Alyssa is back in Los Angeles.
But Samantha calls me every night. I text her that I'm at work. She resorts to begging. To her familiar guilt trips.I really want to see you. I don't know what I'll do if I have to spend the night alone.
I lock my phone in my desk and resolve not to reply. I ignore my phone all weekend. I run. I watch TV. I pack up the house–another thing Samantha is getting.
But I can't sleep. I've never had an easy time sleeping, but this is worse.
I close my eyes and there it is—the first time I ran to her side, the first time she tried to kill herself. It was about a year ago now. We were practically but not technically broken up. I wasn't even staying at the house. I was staying with a friend.
And then I got a call from the hospital.
It was just like it was this time—a calm voice explaining that she was in the ER. That time, maybe this time too, she called 9-1-1.
I try to remember a time when I loved her as an adult. But every happy memory I have of us is tainted.
That dinner after graduation, where I thought we had everything we'd ever need. My father was there, and she was falling in love with him.
This has been bullshit for so long. It's one thing for me to take on this burden.
But I can't let this ruin things for Alyssa. For us.
It's late Sunday when I respond to Samantha's texts. She's still up and she responds with a dozen smiley faces.
We agree to meet for dinner. To discuss the details of the move. She wants to come here. To scope out the house.
She's rubbing it in my fucking face.
