*an excerpt from a novel-in-progress, The Re-Emergence of Katie Street
I kicked off my ankle boots and turned on the lights of my parent's condo. As always, I was welcomed and, frankly, surrounded by their forty-seven plants, including twelve giant ferns. Caring for these things sometimes felt like a full-time job. My mother insisted I speak to them as I watered them, dusted them, and applied a misting as necessary. I must have been doing a good job as I had not lost one yet.
Padding over to the refrigerator, I tried to recall if I’d remembered to get groceries the other day. Yes. I had stopped at the little market around the corner for a few essentials. It may seem silly, but the number of times I had thought about doing a thing and then assumed later that I had done the thing when I really had not—well, it was a lot of times. I grabbed an apple and a block of cheddar and set to making myself a plate of sliced Granny Smith apple, cheese and crackers.
It still wasn’t easy to let myself eat what I wanted. After decades of dieting and denying myself real nourishment, I had to learn to trust my own body. It was a muscle I was still building. Any thoughts about calories or fat or carbs had to be shaken off and corrected: No, Katie. We don’t do that anymore.
I poured myself a glass of cheap Australian wine and plopped down on my parents’ delightfully stylish yet worn-in leather sofa. This was often my favourite time of the day. I relished my own company more and more. Maybe it worried some of the people who cared about me, but it didn’t worry me. There were many bits of me that had healed and improved these last couple of years, but there were plenty that still needed to lick their wounds. Pretending I was okay when I wasn’t was exhausting, so I preferred not to.
It’s not as if I was isolated completely. I saw my students, Marv, and a few regulars at the bar. That was enough to keep me on the right side of recluse. My childhood best friend, Lucy, however, hounded me about my habits until one day, I pointed out that she and her husband hadn’t had a night out in over a year.
“Well, we have kids,” she had countered shakily. Her voice betrayed her. She knew it was a lame excuse, but she doubled down. “We will get back to date nights when they’re older. But, Katie…”
“Yesssss?” I drew out the word mockingly.
“We’re not, you know…”
“Say it, Lucy,” I said sharply.
I could hear her sighing in frustration, and I knew I was being an ass. She was my best friend, and if she didn’t always know what to say or how to say it, that didn’t mean she wasn’t also genuinely concerned about me. “We’re not grieving,” she said finally.
“No,” I replied. “You’re not.”
Our communication had been sporadic since then. I felt too stuck in my ways to reach out to her. It wasn’t in my nature to pretend like things weren’t awkward between us, and I didn’t know how to make them not awkward. I didn’t want to feel stuck; I wanted to feel free again.
It was getting difficult to remember the girl I was when Josh had still been alive, loving me and texting me to see how I was. And the truth was I didn’t really want to know who I was without him. Becoming that person would mean admitting that he was gone forever.
I took a bite of cheddar and cracker and allowed my memory to drift back to cuddling on the couch with Josh watching reruns of Community. Even now, after all this time, I can hear his laughter and feel his belly shake beneath my cheek as I lay in his lap. And as soon as the memory settled in, fear took hold. How long would it be before I forgot this? Would a day come when I could not even recall his face without having to look at a picture?
Oof. These thoughts. They’d be the death of me if I didn’t distract myself. I knew there was a fine line between grief and wallowing, and I was definitely teetering toward the latter. What would Josh say? Well, he’d smack me on the butt and tell me to go make him a sandwich. And then I’d turn to him, smoosh his lips together with my hand and tell him to go make it himself. But I’d be laughing. He’d have me laughing just like that.
This is not what we wanted. We were going to get married, adopt three dogs, work September to June and camp our way through National Parks in July and August. We were going to learn to play squash together, and chess, and Risk. I sighed and rubbed the back of my neck like he used to do. Was it sane to miss a person this much?
I took a long swig of wine and stood up. Padding back to the kitchen, I opened the fridge door and proceeded to make his favourite sandwich: turkey with Havarti and avocado on whole wheat. I wouldn't eat it. I'd make it, stare at it and then put it in the garbage. But making it helped me feel something. It helped me feel close to him again.
This Isn't What We Wanted