Again. Let it ring, let it ring, let it ring...
Again. No one’s going to answer, Simon. The question is, are you going to send another text? Are you going to let Lauren get the last word? C’mon, sport, you have it in you.
The pink phone pings, another text from the man of the hour:
This isn’t over
I press down the “power” button and watch the pink phone’s screen fade to black. I walk south, glancing at the gangway on the south side of her house. The window into the kitchen still open. Lauren really should be more careful.
I keep walking, happy to end on that last text from Simon. He’s right. This isn’t over.
But it will be in twenty-four hours.
70
Simon
Three in the morning. Technically Halloween. Vicky’s down for the count, sleeping peacefully in the bedroom. Me, I can’t sleep, I’m too amped up. I need to run, but it’s too early, even for me.
I stare at the green phone. No, not here, not now.
I don’t want to wake Vicky, so I go downstairs and pace through a dark house. I shiver from the cold, or probably nerves, I don’t know, but I’m so cold, like some invisible wind is whipping through me.
I pace, rubbing my arms, and think. Or at least I try to think. I can’t keep settled.
Deep breath. Calm, Simon. Deep breath.
The phrase “It is what it is” is the only sentence we speak where we could, but don’t ever, ever use contractions. Nobody says, “It’s what it’s.”
Deep breath.
The phrase “only choice” is an oxymoron.
“Laid” is pronounced like “paid” but not “said” and “said” is pronounced like “bread” but not “bead” and “bead” is pronounced like “lead” but not “lead.”
Deep breath.
No. No. The old tricks not working, not working at all. I can’t make my mind do anything but remember. Remember your words, Lauren, nineteen years ago, and the look of pity on your face when you said them.
“I assume you weren’t planning on us gettingmarried,” you said to me.
And then you laughed, a small chuckle, like even the slightest possibility of a relationship with me was humorous, obviously so. It was a joke to you.Iwas a joke to you.
You didn’t care. It didn’t even bother you.
Then, after swinging your wrecking ball, you left. At least you had the decency to leave.
And I was willing to let it go. It took a long time, it was hard, it was brutal, actually, but I said okay, let it go, put it behind you, and I did, Lauren. I put you behind me. I never forgot about you, not for one day, but I put you behind me.
But then you came back. And you didn’t even tell me. You just came back here like it didn’t matter, like nothing you did back then made one bit of difference and you could just stroll back here and, y’know, fuck it if I lived in the next town over. And that club, that country club, no I never go, I’m just a legacy member, but youknewmy family belonged there and youhadto think you might run into me there, but that didn’t stop you from going, did it, Lauren, going every day, because you didn’t care, did you, Lauren? Because it’s all about you. It was never about anyone else but you.
I wish I hadn’t seen you that day in May. Five seconds, Jesus, fivesecondsdifferent that day and I probably would’ve missed you, I would’ve never known you were back.
I twist the gas starter on the fireplace in the living room, sit close to it as the fire pops on, burns the firewood with a cackle. I put out my hands. But I can’t stop shaking.
I pick up the marriage certificate.Acta de Matrimonio, the act of marriage.NombreSimon Peter Dobias.NombreVictoria Lanier.Fecha de Registro2012-11-3.
Vicky made me better. I would have loved her forever if she could’ve loved me back.