A Life More Complete(33)

Ben brushes past me without making eye contact. His breathing is labored and when he slams the door behind him, I jump a little. I knew this would happen the second I saw him; I’m trouble. I lost myself in a boy once and it won’t happen again. So, I do what I do best and avoid confrontation. I don’t follow him, anxious and feeling guilty, I step into the shower and cry. I won’t change and I don’t know why.





---Chapter 9---





I watch my relationship with Ben crumble. He’s slipping away and I know it. In the three weeks since our argument I have slept next to Ben every night, but it doesn’t matter. It’s like watching the sun set. No matter how beautiful it is, it would eventually disappear into the ocean. When he shows up at my house a week later, far too late in the evening, I know it’s over. I say, “I love you.” He knows that but sometimes it just isn’t enough. He tells me he can’t be second anymore. He says, “I know where you stand in my life, but I don’t know where I stand in yours and I don’t think you do either. You need to figure it out. I can’t do it for you.” He wants to get married, have kids and raise a family. I tell him I want those things, too. I make promises I won’t and can’t keep.

He stops and runs his hand though his hair. “It wasn’t supposed to be this way. I wanted to love you forever. I wanted you to quit your job, move in with me, have babies and take vacations to Disney World. I wanted you to want that life. And it’s okay that you don’t. I won’t lie, it hurts, and I still want all those things and I hope someday you will too.”

That pretty much shut me up. How can I argue with legitimate facts? Every word he says is true. I can only respond with what I know. “Ben, I’ve been on my own for a long time. It’s hard for me to walk away from everything I have worked for and everything I have ever known. I’m sorry that I can’t be what you want. I do love you, more than you will ever know. But I want you to be happy.” With that he sets his key on my kitchen table and kisses my forehead, his lips lingering just a few seconds too long. It’s over, no screaming or yelling, no unkind words or excuses. Just over.

I decide to work from home the next day, so when Ben’s receptionist, Annalise, shows up at my house that afternoon with a box of my stuff, she’s caught off guard. I should be at work. She hands me the box, all my belonging crammed into one small cardboard box, a toothbrush, running shoes, some books, a t-shirt dress, chapstick, a bikini and some other random items. I think the box hurts more than the actual breakup. He must have immediately gone home and thrown all my stuff in a box. He is ridding me from his life without so much as a second thought, not a moment of clarity or regret to make him return. I don’t take the time to rummage through it while Annalise is there. She kisses my cheek and apologizes for my loss. She acts like someone died. I want to ask how Ben is, but I think that will cross some invisible boundary so I stay quiet. I thank her for my stuff and she leaves. I stare at the box on my kitchen counter. I still have all of Ben’s things here in my house, but I can’t bring myself to get rid of them. I carry the box into my bedroom and begin to sort through it. At the bottom I find a loose photograph of Ben and me that Ben had taken with his camera at arm’s length. Both of us smiling, my eyes bright and happy as he kissed my cheek. I drop the picture back into the box and as it floats it lands face down and what is written on the back is my undoing. It says, “I love you and just so you know, we were happy in this picture, truly happy.” I crawl onto my bed, pushing the box to the floor with my feet as I begin to sob.

I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I know it’s eight o’clock. There’s a loud knock on my door and I hear the key turn in the lock. My thoughts race and I pray it’s Ben, yet I know his key sits on my kitchen table exactly where he left it the night before. I haven’t showered or changed my clothes since the break up. I don’t know when I became this person. I’m suddenly wallowing and crying without control, but I’ll pull it together. I won’t be that girl, the one who carries on and shares her story with anyone who will listen, the one who cries at old pictures and songs on the radio. I hear Melinda call my name and I quickly wipe the tears away, not that I will suddenly look like I haven’t been crying, but it’s worth a shot.

“Kristin? You home?” I can hear her stilettos skitter across my kitchen floor. Melinda never wears heels under four inches and for some reason that thought makes me smile. I can picture her teetering in her heels all those nights we got drunk together. Her, barely able to walk, but refusing to remove her shoes until Bob eventually agreed to carry her.