Dogs are so wise.
“Thank you for not giving me a pep talk.” I eat a strawberry.
Christine smiles. She passes me a bowl of blueberries.
We sit in silence, the gentle sound of the waves, a laughing child in the distance, Amalfi beginning to snore at our feet. The sun is warm on our backs, the sand firm beneath our blanket.
It is the first time all week I feel like I can breathe with ease. I may not have David, not at the moment. But I have so much.
I smile at Christine.
It is a good day.
31
David
The flight was long, connecting through JFK. A flight attendant slipped me her number in first class just before we landed. Another followed me out the terminal where Angelo had a car waiting for me.
My house is just as I left it. Fewer cameramen parked outside, which makes for a nice change. I guess my absence inspired them to find someone else to bother. I see Angelo’s number on my phone and let it go to voicemail.
I set my keys on the marble counter and flick on the lights. It takes me a minute to recollect my bearings. It reminds me of when I was younger, waking up in a new hotel room every morning. Going to bed in one too. It got to the point where I stopped looking around me, stopped paying attention to the details of the rooms, the offices, the restaurants. Everything blurred. Everything became the same, despite how different it all was. Restaurants in Beijing and New York, Toronto and Cabo San Lucas all blended. Different food, but same VIP area. Different wine lists, but same backdoor entrances and escorted exits.
It’s odd, but when nothing is the same, everything is the same. When you don’t know anyone, you feel like you know everyone. And when everyone thinks they know you, no one knows you.
I pull out my phone and listen to Angelo’s message. He’s dropping by in an hour. I scroll through the names on my contacts, a Who’s Who of famous faces. There was a time, not too long ago, where I would have been amazed at my list. Amazed that I, college dropout from New Jersey, would have the Rich and Famous only a click away.
Looking at the names now, there’s only one that stands out.
Only one I was thinking about on the flight. Only one I wanted to call.
But I was flying away from her, not towards her.
I hop in the shower, change clothes, and step outside, enjoying the setting sun against the backdrop of L.A. The lights that begin to shimmer as the city comes alive at night. I roll up the bottom of my pants and dip my feet in my pool, ignoring the mid-century, sculpted lounge chairs which span around the water like rays of an overpriced sun. I don’t even like mid-century modern furniture, but whoever I hired, someone Angelo recommended, said they were “just perfect” for me. Someone who had never met me, convinced that these weird, wiggly shapes would be the perfect thing for me.
My lawn is mowed. My mail is stacked. My pool sparkles. My windows are clean. The house, the team of people who keep everything running, exists flawlessly without me. I could be here or not be here. I could live here or never return. And everything would stay the same. Everything would sparkle, remain tidy, look perfect.
I take out my phone and snap a photo of the skyline, the glow of the setting sun pink and orange against the twinkle of early evening lights. My fingers hesitate over the send button, but I press it anyway. A quick photo, a witty text, to Jane.
She said she wanted space. She said she needed time. I don’t want to pressure her, but I can’t resist.
That feeling again, low and dark in my stomach, a warning that I have made a mistake, that I shouldn’t be here, in this flawless house with its professionally decorated furniture, transparent walls, perfect views, spit-shined car in the multi-car garage. It has everything I have ever wanted.
I look around, and know that the one thing I do want, the one thing I need, is missing.
32
Jane
On the drive home, Amalfi snores in the back. Christine drops me off, sweet and supportive as always. I thank her for her silence, her respect, her thoughtfulness, and she winks in response.
The joy of friendships, I think as I walk into my house, is being surrounded by people who know you, who support you, and who see you just as you are.
Kate offers tough love, Penelope wise advice. Jessica gives analysis, breaking down the “power frameworks,” as she calls them, responsible for our unhappiness. Dory gives hugs and kisses and wonderful treats from her cafe. Christine, in her quiet, supportive way, offers peace, space, the knowledge that she is there. Even Dawn, Kate’s friend, has made a space for herself with all of us, coming through with her gentle humor.
Even as my heart twinges over David’s absence, it is full with love for the wonderful women in my life.
The sun is setting and I decide to take a walk. I tell myself I’m just going for a stroll, but before I know it, I end up on David’s road. In fairness, I had promised him I’d bring his mail to his porch, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to visit his house since he left.
I open his mailbox, bringing the few envelopes with me as I walk the half mile up his winding driveway. Autumn evenings are slightly cooler and I enjoy the breeze on my skin. I climb the steps of his front porch and slide the envelopes through the slit of his front door.
There’s something charming about a millionaire who hasn’t bothered with extensive security. I don’t know if he even has a security system. Perhaps he should, to be honest, because even around
