I’m more exhausted than I’ve ever been – both physically and emotionally – but as I wander around Nan’s apartment, I can’t relax. I end up eating beans out of a can for dinner, and then when Moby crawls onto his side of Nan’s bed and puts his head under his wing for the night, I clean. I scrub her bathroom until the smell of bleach makes me dizzy. I dust every surface in the living room. I even wash the floors. And still, I’m filled with a type of anxious restlessness I’ve never felt before.
Maybe staying here is a bad idea. Every time I turn around, I see a ghost of Nan as her beautiful, vibrant self, but that’s quickly followed by the memory of her in the hospital, frail and unconscious, dwarfed by the litany of machines around her.
I have to get out.
I make sure Moby’s food and water bowls are full, and then I lock up the apartment and just walk. The fresh night air helps a little, and the bustling streets of Brooklyn seem to quell my rising need for human connection. However, the longer I walk, the more I notice that everyone seems to have a place to go except for me. And someone to be with. I pass couples holding hands, couples sitting on park benches, couples looking lovingly at each other across tables in restaurants and cafés. I don’t think I’ve ever noticed before how the whole damn world seems to be paired off, and the more I notice it, the more agitated I become.
No wonder single people become bitter. It’s like the universe is conspiring to make us feel defective. Every happy couple that passes is a slap in the face, as the world yells, “See? Look at the joy you’re missing out on. You think you’re content, but you’re not. Those two over there sucking face near the subway station – they’re the content ones. They have each other. You’re just alone and lonely, and trying to convince yourself you like it that way.”
I turn a corner and see a bar. “Oh, yes.”
Nothing like some hard liquor to dull stupid urges. I walk in and order a triple whiskey, no ice. The bartender gives me a look but complies. As soon as he hands it to me, I down the entire thing in three painful mouthfuls, which is an achievement considering I despise whiskey. “Thanks,” I say through a burning throat.
It tasted awful, but at least it has the desired effect of distracting me from deeper thoughts. I throw down some cash and go on my way.
As I turn east, I tell myself I’m wandering aimlessly, but I’m not. I try to be content in my aloneness, but I’m not. I contemplate calling Asha and sharing the burden of Nannabeth and how I’m feeling, but I don’t.
Instead, I see the familiar building in the distance and walk faster. By the time I climb the steps and stand outside the huge metal door, I’m puffing.
Emotions churning, I take a few deep breaths then knock. I can hear classical music coming from inside, as well the aroma of something cooking that smells delicious.
I hear footsteps, and then the door pulls back to reveal Max, devastatingly shirtless and barefoot in his jeans. For a moment, he seems surprised to see me, then relieved. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
He waits for me to speak, and when I don’t he says, “Come in.”
I nod, and he steps aside, so I can enter. After he closes the door, he walks around to stand in front of me. The distance between us chafes. So does the silence.
“Eden?”
I look at my feet. It’s easier than looking at his face. “Maybe you were right. Maybe I do get lonely.”
He’s silent, but I can feel him staring at me. I see his bare feet poking out of the bottom of his jeans. They’re handsome, just like him. Large and attractive. When they move closer, I feel the heat of his whole body just inches away.
“Admitting it is the first step,” he says, his voice soft. “And?”
“And ... I guess tonight, I don’t feel like being alone. I want to be with someone.”
He’s so close now, his cheek grazes my temple, but still he doesn’t touch me. Warm breath against my ear makes me shiver when he talks. “Don’t do that. Don’t seek me out and pretend it’s just because you need someone. The world is full of someones. You came here because you needed me.”
He puts a hand on my waist, and I let him. “Say it, Eden. I promise, it doesn’t make you weak.”
“Yes, it does. Every time I’m with you, I’m weak, and getting weaker every second.”
He takes my hands and presses them flat into his chest. “There’s no shame in needing me. I need you, too.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know how to do this.”
“Neither do I, but we’ll figure it out together. Just let me help you.”
There comes a point where holding everything in is too hard. The pain of containing all of the things you don’t want to feel becomes too overwhelming, and as much as I despise crying, and as much as I try to stop the tears, they bully their way out of my eyes and onto my cheeks. I think tensing my jaw will stop them, but it doesn’t. I think digging my fingers into Max’s chest will help, but it doesn’t. My fear is too big for my body, and it squeezes out of me into the fresh air where it thrives and multiplies into giant, heaving sobs.
“I could l-lose her, Max.”
“You won’t. She’s strong.”
“She’s old. I’ll lose her and then ... the only person left on the planet who l-loves me, is Asha ... and she’ll be gone one day, too. Married and happy ... and I’ll be truly alone.”
“Never going to happen. Not while I’m around. Come here.”
He pulls me into his arms, and I let myself feel comforted, and I let myself be weak and vulnerable. It’s so alien to me, I don’t recognize the tortured sounds I’m making. I haven’t cried like this since Mom’s funeral, and it’s just as painful now as it was then.
I hate it, I hate it, I hate it.
This is what loving gets you. This expanding world of pain. Because no one stays forever. They all leave in the end.
“I can’t picture a world ... without N-Nan. I don’t kn-know who I am ... without her.”
Max holds me closer and strokes my back, and when he encourages me to let it all out, I do. I cling to him like he’s my life preserver. He whispers to me, tells me it’s going to be okay. Tells me I’m amazing and beautiful. For some reason, that makes me cry harder. I know I’m making his chest wet with my tears, but he doesn’t seem to care, so neither do I.
I don’t know how long we stand there, but it’s long enough that when I’m done, I’m so drained I practically fall asleep in his arms.
Without a word, he scoops me up and strides into the bedroom where he lays me down on the crisp, white duvet and pulls a blanket over me. Then he lies beside me and strokes the tears from my face, until I close my eyes and drift off.
*
The next morning, I wake to find myself wrapped around a half-naked and unconscious man. His arm is beneath my neck, and I’m snuggled into his side, my head on his chest, my hand resting on his stomach. I look down to see my bare leg draped over his. I vaguely remember struggling out of my jeans during the night to get more comfortable, and it seems Max did the same, because he’s only wearing a pair of black boxer briefs.