The month is almost up, Mrs. Lipokowski will be renting my apartment to a new tenant. I don’t have the money to pay next month’s rent and renew the lease, but at least I’ll have a roof over my head for a few days. My heart explodes into a riot thinking about Seamus. I think about him every day, but knowing he’s just miles away is so tempting.
I’m good about not giving into temptation. It’s not an option. Temptation leads down a path of destruction.
But Seamus is so damn hard to resist.
It’s late when I reach the apartment on foot. I only have fifty dollars to my name, and I wasn’t about to spend any of that on a cab, so I walked the eight miles to my apartment.
My scooter is sitting in front of Hope’s apartment where I left it. I gave it to her though I doubt she’ll ever learn how to ride it. I hope she does. It would make life easier for her and might encourage her to get out.
The lights are out in all of the apartments. The neighborhood is sleeping.
When I unlock the door of apartment two, it smells musty, like it’s been locked up for eternity and not allowed to breathe. I open the windows, change into my nightshirt, and sleep comes for me when my head lands on the pillow.
I wake to the sound of children talking. Even freshly roused from deep sleep I know those voices, Seamus’s kids. Kira is singing, and Rory is complaining about not liking celery packed in his lunch—it doesn’t sound right in an American accent. I lay there a few seconds and listen because it makes me smile—Seamus got his kids back. And then I crawl to the window and peek between the curtains hoping to catch a glimpse of Seamus and his kids leaving for school.
It’s not Seamus. It’s his ex-wife.
My heart drops initially, but then it backpedals because partial custody is better than visitation out of state any day of the week. They’re obviously going to school—the kids all have on their backpacks and are carrying lunch sacks. Maybe she moved back to California with them. Or maybe she’s visiting during the week, rather than the weekend. So many possibilities, but all of them work in Seamus’s favor. I’m happy for him. I’m happy for his kids.
Before I tuck away back under the blanket, I see movement on the stairs. Cautious movement. A cane and a beat up pair of Doc Martens. Then dark denim. Followed by a navy blue sweater. And finally the back of a head covered in hair so dark and so soft. Seamus. Goddamn. How is it possible that he looks better than I remember?
And what I remember was breathtaking.
I want to open the door.
I want to invite him in.
I want to take off his clothes.
I want him to take off mine.
And I want to feel us again.
So badly.
But I can’t.
He’s headed to work. I don’t know the whole story yet on his kids and their custody, and I would never jeopardize any of that.
So I stay hidden away.
At lunchtime, I venture over to Hope’s.
“You’re back.” She sounds surprised. Happy surprised, which isn’t like her.
“For a few days, yeah. How’ve you been?” I don’t know how to describe it, but she looks different, healthier. She was always so pale before, but she’s has some color like her skin’s seen the sun. Her hair has been washed and is pulled back in a ponytail.
“I been good,” she says, and I know she means it.
She asks me to stay and watch her favorite movie. I do. Just like we’ve done dozens of times before. We eat toast and applesauce and play a board game afterward.
But at four o’clock she announces, “I gotta go. You wanna come with me?” and walks to the door and slips on her flip-flops.
I’m puzzled because she never leaves during the day. “Where are you going?”
“Upstairs to help my friend, Miranda, cook dinner,” she says it like it shouldn’t be news to me, like I haven’t been gone for weeks.
“Miranda?” I question. Seamus’s ex-wife? My stomach turns, and I wish I could take back the question. I wish I could take back being here right now. I wish I could take back seeing her this morning. I wish I could take back a lot of things, because the next thing Hope says, stomps all over my heart.
“Miranda lives with Seamus. They’re a family.”
I want to look brave and take the news stoically. He’s not mine. He was never mine. He belonged to her for years. They share a connected past. And children. I should be happy for him.
But, I’m not. I feel like I want to beat my head against the wall, throw up, and scream all at once.
I walk out of Hope’s to my apartment without saying a word. She didn’t notice. She was already walking upstairs when I shut her door behind me. I saw the envelope with Seamus’s name written on it that I left with Hope still sitting on her floor, unopened, half buried under a pile of junk mail. I guess she didn’t get around to giving it to him. Which, is for the best, given the news I just received.