The Year I Left Read online

  She looked away. “We still don’t have any plans for the first anniversary of Mom’s death.”

  Tears filled my eyes. Every day, I’d imagine her busting through my front door, picking up Charlie’s scattered shoes and hanging up jackets flung across the stair rails. “I can’t do it.”

  Her eyes held pity. Not contempt, but real concern and love. She pulled me into an embrace. “Oh, Car. I’m here. You can talk to me, okay? I know it’s been really tough for you, trying to keep it together after losing Mom. Listen,” she said softly, grazing her fingers over my shoulder. “I’ll take care of the planning for the service. It’s in two weeks. I’ll pull something together. You have nothing to worry about. It could be just us—just immediate family at mass and then we’ll just spend the day together to remember her. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “You haven’t paid the bills yet.” She looked straight at me.

  I shook my head and gazed at my feet.

  “While I’m at it, give me the password to your accounts. I’ll catch up on your bills for you tomorrow.”

  “Trish.” I tried to bring her back to the issue. It wasn’t just the loss of my mother or having bad credit.

  “What is it?” she asked, twisting to face me directly. There she was, trying her best to understand me. How could she when I didn’t know myself?

  “It’s—it’s not just about Mom. Or the bills.”

  Just when I thought she was about to stand, she cradled my face in her hands. Her thumbs gently skimmed the skin underneath my eyes. “Oh, honey. You look exhausted,” she said, her fingers now finding their way to my cheeks. “You’ve lost a bit of weight and I haven’t heard that wonderful, gregarious laugh in ages.”

  “I don’t want to be this way,” I answered.

  “Promise me, Carin. Promise me you won’t give up. Whatever is happening to you, fight it. I love you. I need you here, in this world, present—you’re all I have. I need you. Your family needs you.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The Godfrey

  Hiding was impossible when you worked in an environment like mine. You were surrounded by people everywhere—in the halls, in the elevator, in the lobby, in the restroom. They knew who I was, the voice behind those weekly emails, the woman on the executive floor with the corner office. It was pretty much the same story with the restaurants in our area, as you quickly learned. And oh, forget about Thursday nights. Somehow, our brains were synchronized into needing a drink at exactly six in the evening, and the nearest bar was filled with working people like ... us.

  I had a spot, though. It was tucked in an alleyway between my building and the next, a shaded brick enclosure only three people wide. Certain times during the day, it would be completely empty; other times, especially in the summer, it would be insanely full. Smokers had claimed it as their space, but I liked it because no one would ever think to find me there. And although the area was a straight line, its dead-end branched out, providing space that was obscured from view by pillars on both sides.

  Did you follow me to my secret place that first day in November? Because there you were, standing in front of me, watching me squeeze myself into the corner, leaning against the cold brick wall with my eyes closed and my arms around my knees.

  I opened my eyes and saw you, and I was so surprised that I fell sideways. It was a moment of great transformation. I saw you in a different light. It was like the weeks we’d spent working together had never happened. I was meeting you for the first time, at a time and a place that felt right.

  Maybe it was because you’d stepped into my private universe, the place where it was just me. Not the wife nor the mother or the determined superwoman. It was me at my most vulnerable, in the place where I lived in my head. I was getting good at pretending everything was fine. That I had just as many chances as everyone else to find happiness. Here, in this place, I was just like everyone else.

  The pressures, the pretenses, all dissipated that afternoon. It was outside of work, outside of home—in a neutral place, I supposed. I saw you as you were, all man, all face and hair and lips. I hadn’t looked at a man that way since Jack swept me off my feet three weeks before graduation.

  There were feelings I couldn’t define. Good ones. The ones that made one feel beautiful and invincible at the same time.

  “Hi,” you said, squishing yourself in the tiny space between me and the wall.

  “Did you follow me here? How did you know—” I could feel your thigh against me, your right arm wedged behind mine. I didn’t know whether to get up or to stay. It seemed like every time we were together, we pushed a little more. A touch here, a brushing of the hand there.

  “You come here every afternoon between three and four,” you stated, matter-of-fact. “Sometimes, you smoke. Most times, you sit and stare straight into space. I followed you once, three weeks ago.”

  “Geez, Torres! First my house and now my secret hangout.” I smiled, embarrassed.

  “That one time the clients paid us a surprise visit, and you were nowhere to be found.”

  “Swear to me that you won’t tell anyone!”

  “I swear!” You laughed and held up your right hand. “It’s Jane you have to control. She’s the one who told me!”

  “You’re kidding! I guess I’m going to have to hang out in the stairwell,” I answered.

  “Jane says worse things happen in there,” you teased. I observed the way your eyes crinkled at the corners when you raised your eyebrows. “But hold on a minute. I came down here to find you to tell you something more important.”

  “Oh, no! What happened?” I asked, afraid that the deal we’d been working on had fallen through.

  You glanced around before leaning in, your lips inches from my ear. “I found out where everyone goes to use the bathroom in this building if you know what I mean.”

  “What?” I broke out in laughter. “What are you talking about?”

  “Just saw Holt and the mailroom dude come out of the second floor. The one where construction is currently taking place!”

  I laughed hysterically, throwing my head back.

  “I love the way you laugh,” you said. And when I didn’t answer, you asked, “Are you done with your work? I know a place where we can continue this conversation and have drinks at the same time.”

  “I wish! I still have a few hours of work to do.” I finally decided to stand. You followed me instantly. “I want to finish this work so I don’t have to worry about it over the weekend.”

  “Come on.” You tilted your body sideways, touching your shoulder to mine. “Please?”

  “I’m just so crazed right now, I need the time to work on the proposal.”

  “It’s my birthday,” you whispered. “Please celebrate with me.”

  I turned to look at you. “Really?”

  “Yes, really. So please, one drink.”

  “Okay, but I—”

  “I’ll wait,” you said. “I’ll come for you at seven.” And then you turned around and left me.

  “Is the weather normal for this time of year?”

  There we were, on the rooftop of the Godfrey, watching intently as the DJ was about to spin some tunes. It diffused some of the awkwardness between us. We’d stop and start, ramble on about work and then lapse into silence. You struggled to engage me in conversation while I really just wanted to think to myself for a bit. The place was already packed. Extra seating had been eliminated to give way to a tiny dance floor, and you and I sat side-by-side at the edge of a stiff, white couch supported by black metal legs. They reminded me of high heels, wobbly and unsteady. Maybe we would have been more grounded if they had been wedges instead. I scooted forward to give you room to lean back.

  I smiled. “No, we’ve been really lucky. Fall is turning out to be quite mild this year.” I took a sip of my drink. You had ordered it for me. I don’t remember what it was, but it was sweet and very strong and made me lightheaded. Just as I was about to say something, the sul
try little server appeared right next to you.

  “Miss, we’d like to order now, please.”

  We would?

  She batted her eyes and took out her little pad. “I’m all yours.” She knelt beside you, gave you a good view of her boobs.

  You didn’t miss a beat. “The green bean tempura and some hummus and flatbread. Also, the roasted broccoli and a few of those steak sliders.”

  “Anything else I can get for you?” she asked, still leaning forward.

  “Yes, water for my friend over here.” You had the cold, steely look—the same one you had when clients tried to pull a switcheroo on you over contract terms.

  I couldn’t help myself. I giggled.

  “What?” you asked.

  “You can be brutal,” I said. “Thank god, I haven’t had the privilege of getting on your bad side. Although we’ve had our differences in opinion. Remember that one—”

  The server came back with two glasses of water and some plates. You unfolded one napkin and placed it on your lap, then unfolded the other one and laid it flat on mine.

  I pushed your hand away. “I can do it, thanks.”

  You twisted to face me. “I’m done talking about work. I want to talk about you, Carin Frost.”

  “What about me?” I asked, a bit self-conscious about the way your eyes danced across my face. I took a swig of my drink and finished the glass off.

  “Your story. What’s your story?”

  “I don’t have one!” I laughed. “What’s yours?”

  I tried to draw my hand back but you were too quick. You held it up, moved your face closer and frowned. “What do you do to your hand?” You traced your finger along the tiny, pink scabs on my right palm.

  “Just a nervous tick,” I answered, pulling it back. It was only a partial lie. I forcibly lightened my tone, put forth a little girl voice. “I’m waiting for your story.”

  “Okay, I’m only going to start because it seems that you’re the get and give type of girl. With get coming first,” you grunted. “Next week, I’ll be going back to Barcelona for a few days. She wants me to see some venues for the wedding.”

  “Exciting!”

  “Is it? I’m not feeling that way yet.” Your tone turned serious. “I guess I’d just been too busy with work. Next week will be telling.”

  “Telling how?”

  “I don’t know. I’m still waiting for things to sink in. It’s a big deal, I think. Getting engaged. But I had to leave for this new job so I haven’t been able to see or speak to my family yet,” you said. “There’s so much pressure to be this perfect son, perfect husband, perfect heir.”

  I didn’t want to get into it. Didn’t want to tell you that if this wasn’t the happiest phase of your life, it would never be. I wanted to tell you to run away as fast as you can. Find the woman you couldn’t wait to marry.

  But instead, I said, “Show me a picture! It doesn’t seem like she’s in your Instagram.”

  “Do you know why?” you asked while moving your finger across your phone. “Because she has her own account and it’s bigger than mine!” You held the phone up to my face.

  I’d seen her before. There she was—a thin reed of a model and looking so familiar.

  “Is that—”

  “Yes.” You bowed your head as if in apology. “Isabella Rossi. She’s been in a few movies.”

  I bounced on the couch. “A few! She’s famous! And gorgeous!” Long flowing dark hair, round eyes, sultry lips, five-ten, thin and lanky. Everything I wasn’t.

  “Thank you.” You scratched your chin. “Now, your turn.”

  “Seriously, Matias. I have nothing. Everyone knows about my life.”

  You tilted your head and blinked before continuing your death stare. I guess I had to keep going or things would get uncomfortable.

  “Well, Charlie got into boarding school.”

  “And that’s not a good thing?”

  “I’m going to miss him. Selfishly, I guess. He’s the only one that—” I took a sip of my drink. One more. And then another.

  He waited. I looked away.

  “Ask me something else,” I said with a laugh. “I’m just being an overprotective mom.”

  “Okay,” you began in a low, gruff tone. “How do you do it?”

  “Do what?” By this time, my head was spinning. I leaned back and found that you’d had your arm around me the whole time. I settled in, dizzy, exhausted, happy.

  “How do you walk into a room and command everyone’s attention like you do? Like you’re the only one in the room. How do you cross those long, sexy legs of yours at board meetings without a clue that all eyes are on them?”

  “What are you talking about?” I giggled. “Are you talking to the right person? Are you drunk?”

  “I’m as sober as I could ever be.” You leaned into me and brushed your lips against my ear. “How do you drive me crazy without even knowing it?”

  “Where is she?” I said, swaying unsteadily as I stood. I needed to get some air. “Where’s our food? I need to eat, I think.”

  You hopped up and took my hand, but not before waving at another server who approached us. You asked him to follow-up on our food and pulled me away from our table. “Let’s get on our feet for a while,” you ordered. “I love this song. Let’s dance.”

  “Can’t,” I said. “People from work just walked in.”

  You stepped forward and I trailed behind, my fingers clasped in yours. I had no idea where we were headed but I didn’t object. I loved this new passivity, the ability for me to follow instead of lead. It was nice, just going with the flow.

  You pulled me through an exit, past the kitchen where cooks and servers hustled about, and onto a narrow path that led to a tiny landing on the roof. We were all alone under a dark and cloudless sky, but the music was loud enough to hear. Not far from us, the observation deck of the Hancock illuminated the city and everything around it.

  You pulled me into your arms. “One dance and I’ll take you back, I promise.”

  “No.” I stepped back despite the fact that your arms stayed in place.

  “Hmm. Birthday? Are you forgetting?”

  “Okay, one.” I stepped into you, placed one hand on your shoulder while you held the other. “Matias, this is so wrong. We really shouldn’t—”

  “Shh,” you whispered. “Feels so right, doesn’t it?” There you were, interrupting me again. And when your eyes met mine, you whispered, “If you don’t hold her in your gaze, she might get lost.”

  “Happy birthday, Torres,” I said quietly.

  A song we both knew played. I closed my eyes and leaned my forehead on your shoulder. You buried your lips in my hair as you took the lead, slowly swaying me back and forth and singing the words in my ear.

  Can I be him?

  Chapter Twelve

  My Brutus

  We didn’t talk about that night when I saw you the next day. It was business as usual—you in your element and me in mine. Negotiations for the purchase of that resort in Southeast Asia were going swimmingly well. I asked Jane to let you know that the sellers were ready to talk about integrating the latest technology from the vendors you’d lined up. You stuck your head in my office. There was a different dynamic between us now. Although I couldn’t define it, I knew we’d moved past the formalities. We had become friends.

  “Hey.”

  “Oh, hi there,” I answered, looking up from the contract on my desk. “Closing day is coming, I can feel it.” I stood and walked around the desk before settling on its edge, stretching out my legs and crossing them at the ankles.

  “Tsk, tsk.” You smiled, stepping in and closing the door behind you. “Those legs, Mrs. Frost ... What did I tell you about those legs?”

  “Matias, I’m in pants.”

  “Still ...” You chuckled, taking a seat at the conference table and keeping a healthy distance. “Anyway, you know I leave tomorrow.”

  “I’m excited for you!” I clasped my hand
s together. “Don’t worry about work. It will still be here when you get back.”

  “I kind of don’t want to go. I don’t want to leave in the middle of the discussions.” You held a pack of yellow post-it notes and flipped its pages back and forth. I think we both welcomed the ruffling sound, which made up for the absence of words.

  “But I’m here. I’ll handle whatever comes while you’re gone and debrief when you’re back.”

  “It’s not the work I’ll miss,” you said, leaning forward and resting your elbows on the table. “I mean, this is far more exciting than—”

  “Oh, stop!” I countered. “You will see your family, your friends, have a week to relax and plan the most important event of your life!” I pushed myself off the desk and approached you, offering you my hand. “See you in ten days?”

  “See you in ten days,” you responded, shaking my hand. “Hold the fort and be good.”

  “I will,” I answered as you released me and walked away.

  I didn’t hear from you while you were gone. Not that I expected it. I pictured you having the time of your life back in Barcelona, home with those you loved. That’s what I tried to do too, stayed at home as much as I could, immersed in the domesticities I’d sworn off for the past few months.

  I baked zucchini bread for Charlie to take to his teachers.

  I paid our bills, went to school to prepay Charlie’s tuition.

  I wanted to get better.

  But instead, things took a turn for the worse.

  They say it takes just one thing to push you over, to rouse you from your sleep. For me, it was a long time coming, shedding parts of myself and what little resilience I had left. But that day broke me. That day, I lost my spirit.

  I knew it as soon as Jack pulled into the driveway with Brutus in the front seat. That same uncanny feeling of loss hung over me. I ran out to meet them and pulled the car door open as soon as it came to a stop. Brutus stood, his stub of a tail still wagging, the clinking sound of his tag a sound I can still hear.