“No, it’s not fine. What she did was awful and wrong, and I think I hate her a little bit for it even though I don’t know her at all.”
One side of his mouth pulled up. He sat down on the floor next to me. Long legs bent, he rested his elbows on his knees and motioned with his head. “Open it.”
“No. I can’t.”
“It’s either that or put them on the curb for trash pickup. I can’t donate them until I’ve taken them out of the wrapping.”
I gasped. The thought made me impossibly sadder somehow.
“You couldn’t return them?”
“The wedding planners said the people who wanted their gifts back took them before leaving that day. I guess the rest felt tacky about it.” He pointed to the beautifully wrapped gift in front of me. “You got me all curious about that one. Can’t stop now.”
I carefully slid my finger under the tape and my heart broke a little with that first give of the paper. The perfection had been marred and there was no fixing it. If Finn was upset about it, he didn’t show it.
My hands shook, but I trudged on methodically breaking the seal and finally uncovering…
“What is it?” I turned the gold, oddly shaped item. It was a rectangular shape, with a long opening on one side, two others were some sort of wavy design. It looked like a replica of an old instrument or maybe a part for a radiator.
“I think that’s a vase,” Finn supplied.
I placed it on the floor with the open side up trying to imagine flowers in it and couldn’t. “I don’t think so.”
“Check the tag.”
I lifted it, wondering what it was made of. It was so heavy. Solid gold, probably.
“Three hundred dollars for a tacky vase?” I didn’t catch my outburst in time. “Sorry, it’s just…” I searched for a word… any pleasant word to describe the hideous gold thing, only none came.
“It’s tacky as hell,” Finn said. “No need to sugarcoat it.” He smiled, but then it fell just as quickly. “Suppose it doesn’t matter. It’s junk now.”
He stood and went to the fridge, pulled out a water and stood with his hip against the counter as he took a long drink. My heart ached for him.
“You’re really going to open all of them?”
“If they’re as awful as that one, I don’t think I need to worry about getting lost in sentimentality.”
“But they’re your wedding presents.” I stood and walked toward him. “Doesn’t it make you sad or mad?” I balled my hands into fists. Finn’s gaze swept over me again, making me feel exposed and interesting… he looked at me like I was worth looking at.
“I like how riled up it makes you, but no.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “I don’t believe you.”
He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. “Alright, yeah, fine. It bloody sucks, but opening those presents is among the least awful parts of the whole thing so might as well be done with it. Then maybe I can finally put all of it behind me.”
I stood frozen. His words were less impactful than the way he looked right now – so beautifully broken.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.” I went over to the floor, picked up the vase and discarded paper.
“Yes, well, I suppose I’ve made it your problem, haven’t I? Dragging my mess into your life and blocking your entry way. I don’t know shit about Feng Shui but walking by reminders of a wedding that didn’t happen every time you enter your house cannot be good.” He stormed over to the box, ran his hand through his hair again and spoke without looking at me. “You really don’t have any booze in the house? Doing this sober seems inhumane.”
I didn’t respond, wasn’t even sure he expected it, but when he glanced at me, I shook my head. He sighed loudly and then pulled a big square present out of the box. He opened it without showing any emotion or indecisiveness. Ripped it open without hurrying. It was all just so… surgical. When he pulled out a crystal frame and set it on the ground like it was as boring as unloading groceries, I moved to action.
Together we opened Finn’s wedding gifts. Exactly how many people had been invited to this wedding? And where had they registered? We hadn’t unwrapped a single pot or mixing bowl, instead it was expensive home décor and enough bar ware to outfit a restaurant.
“How long have you been sober?” he asked, holding up a nice scotch glass. It looked heavy and smooth in his hand; long fingers stretched around it.
“One thousand and forty-six days.”
He raised both eyebrows.
“Four and a half years. In rehab they taught me to concentrate only on today. Get through one day and then another and then another. I still count by days.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you.” I blushed. It felt weird to be congratulated on such a thing, but it was a big deal.
“What made you stop? Was it hitting rock bottom or something else?”
I felt my mouth drop open in surprise. No one had ever asked me that before. Even Richard. Admittedly, I didn’t give him much of a chance. I’d broken down and told him the entire story on our third date when he’d brought over a bottle of wine.
But we’d just opened wedding gifts for a wedding that hadn’t happened, so I felt like sharing some of my painful backstory might help Finn see that pain was temporary.
“I fell in love with a broken boy. A string of them really. Each one worse than the last. And then I met Darius. He was charming and haunted, and I was in that stage of my life where all I really wanted was to be seen and loved. My father had died and…” I shook my head. “I know that’s a shitty excuse, but I was lost. Chance was busy with soccer and Mum was grieving too.”
My heart hammered in my chest. Maybe because of what happened with Darius, maybe because it was something I still had a hard time admitting outside of meetings, maybe because it felt a little like I could fall for another broken boy if I wasn’t careful.
I knew Finn was all wrong for me and I knew he’d never be interested in someone like me. It wasn’t a notion I entertained – being with Finn that is, but there was some part of me that couldn’t ignore the way I felt when he was around. It wasn’t always like, in fact more often than not it was frustration or annoyance that I felt toward him, but after living a life so devoid of conflict, even the bad was exciting. Especially the bad.
“And he did – see you I mean?”
I nodded. “I thought so. Although looking back I think it was probably the drugs he loved and I was just part of the high, ya know? Sex and drugs… rock stars keep writing songs about them for a reason. They go pretty great together.”
Finn’s body went rigid for a split second before he put the glass on the floor. I thought that was the end of it – that he’d gotten more than he could handle in my answer, but his deep baritone slid over my skin with more warmth and understanding than I’d expected.
“Do you miss it?”
“The man or the high?”
“Both, I guess.”
“No and yes. I think I always will, but I fear it more than I miss it now.”
“What happened to him… the guy? Did he stop seeing you?”