After she’s left, I take her place in front of the large mirror. Smooth a hand over my dress and repeat her process of double-checking that my mascara hasn’t smudged.
Anthony might come by together with his app developer.
Not that he’s texted or called since we’d last spoken, that day at his townhouse. The argument has felt like a lead weight in my stomach ever since.
There had been such bitterness in his voice, the force of it sliding between my ribs like a steel blade. And truth, too. There had been truth in his words, in the way he looked at himself.
But it’s not a truth I can accept.
Not when I’ve seen him at his best, at his truest, his freest. When he forgets to mourn what he hasn’t yet lost.
When he lives in the moment.
I sit back down in my chair and call Ace over with a soft whistle. His tail wags low and he burrows his head between my knees, letting me wrap my arms around him. Bury my hands in his soft fur.
“What do you do,” I whisper to him, “when the person you love refuses to love himself?”
A single, tentative lick to my neck. I close my eyes and fight against the sudden rush of tears.
He’s losing his eyesight.
The man I love, the one who is complex and layered and sarcastic, who makes me feel safe and cherished and understood, is fighting against the weight of that diagnosis. And there’s nothing I can do to take it away. To solve it. Nothing he can do, either.
Doesn’t mean life isn’t worth living.
Doesn’t mean he should give up.
But I cry nonetheless, for what he’s losing, and miss him with a fierceness that takes my breath away.
I’m still sniffling when I hear the sound of voices in the reception. Two voices. Suzy’s and Ryan’s.
Anthony’s not coming to the office, then.
I’m reaching for a tissue when my phone chimes. It’s him, and my eyes soak up the words, greedy for every piece.
Anthony:I’m sorry about the other day, Summer. Can I come to yours tonight to talk?
Yes, I think.Yes yes yes.Doesn’t matter if the word “talk”is intimidating. If I have him in front of me, I have a shot, at least. A chance to convince him that we’re worth betting on.
That I’m worth betting on.
I don’t know why his ex didn’t choose to stay when she learned about his eyesight, but I know I won’t make the same decision.
Summer:Yes, please. I’ve missed you.
The last three words are impulsive, but true. He knows I’m an open book. Read me, I think.
The response is instant.
Anthony:So have I, Summer.
* * *
I buzz him up from downstairs, nerves dancing through my stomach. Ace greets him before I do. He greets my dog before me, too.
Both of us wary to look at each other.
“Hi, buddy,” Anthony murmurs and runs a large, tan hand through Ace’s white-blonde fur. His tail is whipping so fast it’s a blur.