Page 21 of Crossing Into Brooklyn

“Brooklyn says I’m not helpless. That’s a start.”

“But is Brooklyn helping? That’s my question.”

Oh, Brooklyn is helping. Helping to keep me distracted from work. It seems the chaos on my desk has moved to my head.

“Carter?”

“Huh?”

“I asked you if Brooklyn is helping you get organized?”

“One day and the top of my desk is clear, so, yes.”

“Why do I detect skepticism in your voice?” Janet wonders.

“Brooklyn is great.”

“Oh.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No. What?” I challenge my sister.

“Is this arrangement purely professional?” she asks.

“No.”

“Really?”

I know where my sister’s thoughts have traveled. “It isn’t romantic either.”

“Oh.”

I laugh. “Why do you sound disappointed?”

“I would like to see you happy is all.”

“I’m happy.”

“So, you say.”

“I don’t need a girlfriend to be happy.”

“I never said you did. I worry about you being lonely,” Janet admits.

“Lonely? With Ali at my door daily?”

“I’m glad you have Ali. But what happens when Ali finds someone?”

There are many days I wish Ali would find someone. Ali wants a girlfriend, a partner—a wife. I know she does. “I hope Ali does find someone. My grocery bill will be cut in half.”

“Keep making jokes,” Janet says. “One of these days love’s going to knock you off your feet.”

I purse my lips and shrug. Why do people assume love hasn’t “knocked” me off my feet already? It has—more than once. The problem is, I stayed on the ground while the other person kept walking. The one lasting relationship I had was predicated on friendship and shared interests. We shared an attraction. At least, there was attraction between us at first. My relationship with my former partner, Andrea, took off like a rocket and fizzled like a campfire. If you’ve ever sat beside a campfire waiting for it to die, you know how painfully long it can take. Hours feel like years. You don’t want to create a lot of smoke, so you wait. That’s an apt description of my life with Andrea. The fire between us started to dim immediately. We both tried to stoke the embers, but it was hopeless. I watched for years as tiny sparks faded into blackness. She asked me not to leave. I was tempted to stay. It was warm enough. I knew it would grow colder by the day. It hurt to walk away. Mostly because I felt I failed. My sister told me that marriage is based on friendship, not passion. Maybe. I reminded her I wasn’t married. I understood her point and I still do. Lust can’t sustain a relationship. But I don’t desire to exist in a relationship where the sparks fade before they can ignite. I don’t need a raging fire every day. I do need a few sparks to keep the flame ignited. Maybe that’s my problem. Loving someone and being in love with a person isn’t the same. I’m not sure the latter can last. I don’t want less.

Janet asked me once if I ever miss Andrea. Sure. I miss her. I miss her company. I don’t ache to hold her, or see her, or even to talk to her. We made a go of staying friends for a couple of years. She met someone new, and we slowly drifted apart. I’m okay with that. I don’t regret the time we shared, but I also don’t mourn the loss. By all accounts, she’s happy. Me? I don’t know what defines happiness. I’m content. I’ve grown accustomed to being alone. I don’t know why people assume that living alone means I’m lonely. I’m not.

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