Someone Else's Ocean(88)

“You’ve said enough. Goodbye, Ian.” Her voice broke as did our connection.

“Koti!”

I hit redial and got her voicemail.

After several tries, I left my first message.

“Answer the phone!”

And then rang her again.

“Koti, I can’t ask you. Don’t put me in this position please.”

And the day after.

“I’ve never been so fucking miserable. Please just try to understand.”

And the day after that.

“You’re being childish.”

And the day after.

“If I were there, your ass would be purple. God, but I’m not there and I’m dying to purple your ass. I miss you so much. I can’t come to you now just to leave you. Please believe me, I have no choice. You might not understand it, but I do, and I know in my heart asking you to wait is wrong. I won’t bother you again… but please call me back.”





Trailing my fingers down the piano keys, I tried in vain to keep the tears from surfacing. Before he left and after our signing lesson, he’d played for me daily while I lit candles and uncorked some wine. We’d taken great care of our bubble before it burst. Disco came running at the sound and when she realized it was me, she resumed the wait of her master in front of the screen door.

“Come on, baby girl, please,” I begged as I sat with her on the floor. Her missing him kept her alert. Any sound other than the noise inside the house had her scrambling for the door. Even after months away from him, her loyalty and unyielding love hadn’t faltered a single day.

“I know how you feel, but we have to get our shit together. Hey… who want’s bacon?”

She didn’t move, and I was out of cards to play. That morning it seemed she was suffering the worst of it as if the realization struck he was never coming back. I started my mourning the minute he left the driveway. My days spent wiping away tears every time I woke up and realized he wasn’t there to share a smile with and the fact that I would never again wake up to see his.

The devastation remained as the weeks passed and I couldn’t bring myself to call him back. I was at my breaking point. A mental list full of my new hopes weaved between my racing thoughts and the irony was, those hopes for my future all included him. There was no one else I wanted to share my life with. He was never coming back for me—for us—and I agreed to the heartbreak. I’d allowed it in.

Ian was it for me. And he was gone in every sense of the word.

We agreed on a clean break, but I never agreed to stop loving him because that would be too much to ask of a woman who was finally using her heart for something other than pumping blood through a string of years filled with anxious days.

Though I knew I loved him before he left, I didn’t realize how deep it ran. I didn’t realize the extent of my love or how hard I would love him, or how much it would break me to lose his daily affection. I didn’t realize how his presence would linger in my house or how I would forever sleep on the opposite side of the bed waiting for him to return to his side.

My love hadn’t faded, my tears weren’t anything more than fresh reminders on recycle. The pain of losing him wasn’t lessening as the days and weeks passed, my insides only grew heavier with ache.

His presence and our relationship had restored my faith in the possibility of a different life other than just managing my disorder. His absence took that faith away when he left me with nothing but a house full of memories and days filled with longing. We’d only had a few months to love each other, but that love would have to be enough to last my lifetime. I understood Jasmine and her hesitance to move on. I understood her stubborn heart and crumbling morals. I understood the unending pain and the scars love could leave.

I finally understood, and I fucking hated it.

I grieved him with every breath.

“So, this is what a broken heart feels like, huh, girl?”

Disco began to cry again, the same sorrowful whimper that started months ago as I pulled her into my arms and cried with her. For a moment in time, I lived in a dream with a man who could read my thoughts, whose attention took me to unbelievable heights, whose touch set me on fire and filled me with hope. I had the love of a good man, the best of love stories.

I found the one person in the world who understood me and loved me wholly as I was.

Love stories aren’t always perfect. They can wreak havoc on the heart and distort the soul. I’d gotten lost in love and found the reality at the end of it where I lived in the truth.

Not all love stories come with happy endings.





Two Months later



I SAT ELLA’S COCOA DOWN on the wiry table at the park and took a sip of my coffee as she fed the birds the rest of her croissant. Once seated, she took a sip and commanded my attention with lifted hands.

Dad, you’re still sad.

I’m fine.

You’re lying.

I’m okay. How is school?

Please go. I’ll be okay. I miss her too.

I put up my hands and she covered them with hers.

“Dad,” she said. When it was just the two of us, she saved her voice for when she wanted to make her point. “You were happy with her.”

Her speech was close to perfect. Her structure still lacked a little, but I’d never been a prouder father. Her voice was a gift, as was she.