time.
“I mean, how could he miss your birthday?”
“Right, no. He has to work. It’s a big project. Super important.”
“So you two are celebrating on another night?”
“Yep. Yeah.”
“Well, that’s great news for me!” she says, becoming delighted. “I get you all to myself. And you’ll get to meet Bill!”
“Yeah, I’m excited about that. I didn’t know you were dating anyone.”
“Oh,” my mom says. “You just wait. You will just die. He is so charming.” I can practically hear her blushing.
I laugh. “That’s great.”
“So me, you, and Bill, then?” my mom confirms.
“Well, how about Rachel?” I say. I don’t know why I’m playing this game. I know everyone on God’s green earth is going to be there.
“Sure,” my mom says. “That sounds lovely. My girls and my man.”
Ugh. My mom has no idea how she sounds when she says stuff like that. I mean, maybe she does know how she sounds, but she doesn’t know how she sounds to me. So gross.
“Let’s tone down the ‘my man’ stuff there,” I say, laughing.
She laughs, too. “Oh, Lauren,” she says. “Let loose a little!”
“I’m loose, Mom.”
“Well, get looser,” she says to me. “And let me sound ridiculous. I’m in love.”
“That’s awesome, Mom. I’m really happy for you.”
“Tell Ryan he has to meet Bill soon!”
“Will do, Mom. I love you.”
I put down the phone and drop my head into my hands.
I’m a liar, liar, liar. Pants on fire.
T he next couple of weeks are hard. I don’t go out anywhere. I stay in bed, mostly. Thumper and I go on a lot of walks. Rachel calls me every night around six to ask me if I want to get dinner. Sometimes I say yes. Sometimes I say no. I don’t make plans with friends.
I watch a lot of television, especially at night. I find that leaving the TV on as I fall asleep makes it easier to forget that I’m alone in this house. It makes it easier to drift off. And then, when I wake up, it doesn’t feel quite so stark and dead in the morning if I’m accompanied by the sounds of morning television.
I wonder, constantly, about what Ryan is doing. Is he thinking of me? Does he miss me? What is he doing with his time? I wonder where he is living. Numerous times, I pick up the phone to text him. I think to myself that nothing bad can come from just letting him know I’m thinking about him. But I never send the text. He asked me not to. I’m not sure if never hitting send is a hopeful or cynical thing to do. I don’t know if I’m not talking to him because I believe in this time apart or if I think that a simple text won’t matter anyway. I don’t know.
I imagined that by the time a few weeks had passed, by the time Thumper and I had gotten into a rhythm with our new life, I would have made a few, some, any observations or realizations. But I don’t feel as if I know anything more now than I did before he left.
To be honest, I think I was hoping that Ryan would leave and I’d instantly realize that I couldn’t live without him, and he’d realize he couldn’t live without me, and we’d come running back to each other, each of us aching to be put back together. I imagined, in my wildest dreams, kissing in the rain. I imagined feeling how it felt when we were nineteen.
But I can see that it’s not going to be that easy. Change, at least in my life, is more often than not a slow and steady stream. It’s not an avalanche. It’s more of a snowball effect. I probably shouldn’t pontificate about my life using winter metaphors. I’ve only seen real snow three times.
All of this is to say that I have to be patient, I guess. And I can be patient. I can wait this out. Four and a half weeks done. Forty-seven and a half to go. Then maybe I will get my moment in the rain. Maybe then my husband will come running back to me, loving me the way he did when we were nineteen years old.
T he night of my birthday, Rachel rings my doorbell promptly at six
“I mean, how could he miss your birthday?”
“Right, no. He has to work. It’s a big project. Super important.”
“So you two are celebrating on another night?”
“Yep. Yeah.”
“Well, that’s great news for me!” she says, becoming delighted. “I get you all to myself. And you’ll get to meet Bill!”
“Yeah, I’m excited about that. I didn’t know you were dating anyone.”
“Oh,” my mom says. “You just wait. You will just die. He is so charming.” I can practically hear her blushing.
I laugh. “That’s great.”
“So me, you, and Bill, then?” my mom confirms.
“Well, how about Rachel?” I say. I don’t know why I’m playing this game. I know everyone on God’s green earth is going to be there.
“Sure,” my mom says. “That sounds lovely. My girls and my man.”
Ugh. My mom has no idea how she sounds when she says stuff like that. I mean, maybe she does know how she sounds, but she doesn’t know how she sounds to me. So gross.
“Let’s tone down the ‘my man’ stuff there,” I say, laughing.
She laughs, too. “Oh, Lauren,” she says. “Let loose a little!”
“I’m loose, Mom.”
“Well, get looser,” she says to me. “And let me sound ridiculous. I’m in love.”
“That’s awesome, Mom. I’m really happy for you.”
“Tell Ryan he has to meet Bill soon!”
“Will do, Mom. I love you.”
I put down the phone and drop my head into my hands.
I’m a liar, liar, liar. Pants on fire.
T he next couple of weeks are hard. I don’t go out anywhere. I stay in bed, mostly. Thumper and I go on a lot of walks. Rachel calls me every night around six to ask me if I want to get dinner. Sometimes I say yes. Sometimes I say no. I don’t make plans with friends.
I watch a lot of television, especially at night. I find that leaving the TV on as I fall asleep makes it easier to forget that I’m alone in this house. It makes it easier to drift off. And then, when I wake up, it doesn’t feel quite so stark and dead in the morning if I’m accompanied by the sounds of morning television.
I wonder, constantly, about what Ryan is doing. Is he thinking of me? Does he miss me? What is he doing with his time? I wonder where he is living. Numerous times, I pick up the phone to text him. I think to myself that nothing bad can come from just letting him know I’m thinking about him. But I never send the text. He asked me not to. I’m not sure if never hitting send is a hopeful or cynical thing to do. I don’t know if I’m not talking to him because I believe in this time apart or if I think that a simple text won’t matter anyway. I don’t know.
I imagined that by the time a few weeks had passed, by the time Thumper and I had gotten into a rhythm with our new life, I would have made a few, some, any observations or realizations. But I don’t feel as if I know anything more now than I did before he left.
To be honest, I think I was hoping that Ryan would leave and I’d instantly realize that I couldn’t live without him, and he’d realize he couldn’t live without me, and we’d come running back to each other, each of us aching to be put back together. I imagined, in my wildest dreams, kissing in the rain. I imagined feeling how it felt when we were nineteen.
But I can see that it’s not going to be that easy. Change, at least in my life, is more often than not a slow and steady stream. It’s not an avalanche. It’s more of a snowball effect. I probably shouldn’t pontificate about my life using winter metaphors. I’ve only seen real snow three times.
All of this is to say that I have to be patient, I guess. And I can be patient. I can wait this out. Four and a half weeks done. Forty-seven and a half to go. Then maybe I will get my moment in the rain. Maybe then my husband will come running back to me, loving me the way he did when we were nineteen years old.
T he night of my birthday, Rachel rings my doorbell promptly at six
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