Before the hospital, I’d never had so many people in my space. Audrey would come by every few days for a glass of wine—which she wasn’t quite old enough for yet—but she lived right next door. And Casey came to visit a couple of times, but mostly I’d been going to California on weekends.
It dawned on me that my small apartment was actually feeling like a home. A very tiny one at least. Then it made me miss Casey’s house. That place was a home. Thoughts of living there were becoming commonplace, and if that’s where he wanted to be, regardless of having bought a brewery here in Seattle, I’d go willingly. Shit. I might even suggest it.
It was comforting to me that I would be where he was. We’d park in the same driveway. Have all the same keys. He might even fill up my gas tank, if I was lucky. We’d share duties and chores and trivial tasks, which in the moment, didn’t seem trivial at all. They were exactly what we’d been fighting for.
It invigorated me, and I was as happy as a clam while I cleaned.
Straightening up my room, I found a pile of Casey’s clothes by his duffel bag. Absentmindedly, I cleaned out a drawer in my dresser for him. He shouldn’t have to live out of a bag. Not anymore. He wasn’t a visitor. He wasn’t a guest. He was permanent. I knew that to my core. I stashed away his underwear and socks in a small drawer and then emptied another for his undershirts and shorts. I hung up the shirts that seemed clean, having still been folded in his bag.
It was funny how little men packed. His toiletries were already in my bathroom, out on the sink, so I gave them real estate in my cabinet.
When all was where it belonged, I collected his and my dirty clothes to wash. I won’t say it was my wildest dream to do his dirty laundry, but the thought of taking care of him bloomed a weird sort of hope in me. As I walked to the machines, I smelled one of his worn shirts. His singularly-Casey scent filled my lungs.
Was it creepy? Probably.
Did I care? Not a bit.
That reminded me, Casey had been using shampoo to wash with. I smiled knowing I’d buy him bath wash and anything else he needed. So when equilibrium was returned to the small apartment, I sat at the breakfast bar and made a list of household things we needed. Coffee. I needed real beans. The already-ground stuff had been serving its purpose, but I desperately craved the taste of a freshly ground cup of joe. Deodorant. Paper towels. He needed more razors. It lit me up inside that my grocery list consisted of things for him.
Fact. I’d been married, but I’d never even thought of doing those sorts of things for Grant. I never worried about his razor being dull or if he preferred a certain laundry soap.
I wondered if there would ever be a time when I didn’t compare my relationship with Casey to the one I thought I had with Grant. Before the wedding, before everything came out, there wasn’t a time I could remember when being domestic with him—for him—seemed appealing. It never even occurred to me to do his laundry. I’d never thought about what he’d like for dinner. There was never a we in that marriage. No us to speak of.
If there were a pill I could take to make him disappear from my memory, I’d take two, just in case. My ambivalence to him had changed. Intensified. I didn’t just not want him; I hated him.
I consciously made myself push him to the back of my memory. He only existed if I let him. As soon as the reminders were physically gone from my body, and my name changed—back to Warren, and to Moore—he’d be gone.
He was my biggest mistake.
I shook my head. My hands clenched the edge of the counter as I, one-by-one, collected the vile thoughts of Grant and put them in a box. Then I imagined locking it and mailing the key to the Arctic.
Don’t let him ruin today.
House clean. Laundry going. I kept moving forward.
I chatted with Micah on the phone for a while before I decided to knock on Audrey’s door and see if she wanted to join us for dinner.
“Hey you,” she said cheerily. “How are you feeling? You look so much better.”
I accepted her compliment and let it fuel my need to be better.
“I’m feeling human again, so that’s a start.”
She laughed and turned, leaving the door open, and silently inviting me in. There was music playing, but I didn’t recognize the band.
“Ignore my mess,” she said as she tried to tidy the table covered in modeling clay and tools. “I’ve been up all night working on something.” She didn’t look like she’d been up all night. Her hair was recently washed and she looked fresh as a damn daisy. Here I’d gotten the best sleep I’d had in over a week and I still looked like a zombie.
“I won’t keep you. I just wanted to see what you were doing for dinner,” I mentioned as I studied the piece she was constructing. It was a heart. Anatomically correct, from what I could tell. “I’m cooking.”
“You are?”
“Yeah, I need to do something. I’m going stir crazy. I talked to my boss yesterday, but he told me to take the rest of the week off. So, I thought I’d grill and we could chill out back. It’s not supposed to rain so we might as well take advantage.” Before I spent so much time in San Francisco, I’d never really noticed the rain in Seattle, but now it drove me nuts.
“Yeah, sure. That sounds great. I could use some real food.”
“Cool. Troy is in town so Casey’s going to see if he wants to come over too.”
Audrey took a deep breath and paused, holding what looked like one of those tools a dentist uses.
“I might just swing by for a bit. I—I’m kind of into this thing I’m working on. If you can’t tell,” she added and nervously laughed. The normally cool and easy-breezy Audrey suddenly looked uncomfortable.
“What’s wrong? You get along with Troy, don’t you?” That was the only thing I could think of that would make her demeanor change so quickly. She’d been over almost every night when we ordered food in. From what Casey had said in the past, Troy was basically their third brother. Why would him being there change anything?
“Nothing’s wrong. I just want to get this finished is all. I might show it at a friend’s gallery, if I get it done before the next exhibition. I’m not that great with clay, and it’s really driving me crazy. And I’m just tired.” She smiled, but it was weak.
If there was one thing I knew, it was a lie like that. Over the past few years I’d become an expert at hiding the real truth with legit excuses. But, if she didn’t want to talk about it, I wasn’t going to pry—yet. I knew what it’s like to feel cornered.
“That’s fine. We’ll be out back later. I’ll text you when the food’s ready. I’m running out to the store in a bit. Need anything?”
“Nah, I’m fine. I just went yesterday.” She sat down at the chair in front of her sculpture and began scrutinizing, turning it on the spinning platform she’d built it on.
“Okay, well just text if you think of anything,” I said as I walked back to the door. “I’ll see you later.”
“Yeah, okay.”
I wondered if Casey knew why she’d acted so odd. Had I missed something while I was down and out?
Me: Have you talked to Audrey?
Casey: Not today. Are you all right?