Page 132 of Once a Month

“Do you?” my friend asks.

“Do I understand that she’s paying me?”

“Do you love her?” she asks.

I stand up and say, “I don’t really know her.”

“But it bothers you that she’s with someone?”

“She’s allowed to be with whoever she wants. That’s always been true.”

“But it bugs you now,” her wife says. “Is that why you’re not with us by yourself?”

“Don’t make this about that,” I reply, crossing my arms over my chest.

“It’s a good question,” my friend says. “Do you feel like you’d be cheating on her if you let us touch you or if you touched us?”

I look away from them toward the front door, needing to escape.

“Can I have your phone back?” I ask.

“Why?”

“Please,” I say, holding out my hand.

She unlocks it and passes it back to me. I type out my message, hit send, and hand it back to her.

“I should go.”

“Why?” my friend asks. “We’re not trying to beat up on you here. We’re just trying to talk to you.”

“I know. I just need to get some air. Can I call you guys later?”

“Of course,” she says.

I leave their house, climb into my car, roll down the window, and let the cool air hit me as I drive off to nowhere in particular. After a few hours and a near empty gas tank, I decide it’s time to go home. I drop my keys on the table and look around the living room. All I can see is my aunt sitting on that sofa, crying over the husband she’d just lost. I’m comforting her. Then, she’s on the floor in the fetal position because the pain of her cancer overtook her. Next, she’s holding a trash can in front of her as she vomits into it one night. I see her pulling at a piece of her hair as it began to fall out. I’m no longer able to see the good times we had here when I was growing up or home from college; a new coat of paint or new tile in the bathroom won’t change that for me.

I run up the stairs to the guest room I’ve been living in since I started taking care of her and close the door behind me. I know now that I can’t stay here. As easy as it would be just to fix it up and try to make it my own, I know it never will be. It will always remind me of the hard times more than the good ones now. I need to make a new start somewhere. I pull out my laptop, open the browser, and start looking for apartments. I’m nearly done paying off the bulk of what’s owed, so I can sell this place and afford a nice one-bedroom somewhere. It’s time I start putting my life back together.

After a few hours of narrowing down my search to three places to go check out in person, my phone beeps. I assume it’s either my boss or my friends. My boss probably wants to make sure I won’t miss my shift tomorrow. He checks in about once a week still just to make sure I’m showing up, despite that fact that I haven’t missed a day or been late since I lost my aunt. My friends probably want to make sure I’m okay. I pick it up to look at the screen. It’s a text from an unknown number.

“It’s her,” I say to no one.

Her message is simple, and I reply yes. Then, the phone rings. I’m nervous. I wait until the third ring. Then, I answer.

“Hello?” I say.

“Hi,” she says.

I bite my lower lip. Her voice – I’ve missed her voice.

“Hi,” I reply.

“Well, we’re making progress,” she teases and laughs.

I laugh a little and say, “Sorry. I don’t exactly know how to do this.”

“Neither do I,” she says. “I just knew I needed to talk to you.”

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