Of course, I’m still really happy when he continues to show me just how happy he is to have me.
Marc never did tell me what happened with his dad, but he seems lighter, if that’s possible. Maybe there was some resolution. He must have left the state, too, because Marc hasn’t mentioned seeing him and he has been at my house when he can. He’s in St. Louis tonight for a game. I’m relieved and wishing he was here all at the same time. It’s Thursday. The anniversary of Roger’s death is Saturday. Marc has a home game Friday and an away game Sunday.
The last thing he needs is a meltdown from me in between games. Granted, I’m hoping I don’t have a meltdown like usual, but I can’t promise there won’t be one. I’ve been trying to figure out how to handle it. Should I keep Marc in the dark? Avoid him to deal with whatever may happen on my own? Tell him to warn him, just in case? What do I do? I’m already on edge because I can’t figure it out.
Marc: Date Saturday finally? I know I owe you one.
Me: Shouldn’t you be focused on the game?
Marc: Are you avoiding answering my question? Are we back to that? I have been missing uptight Elizabeth a little bit.
Me: I read your mind and threw some of that your way because I knew you missed it. I’ll answer your question when I’m good and ready. Go focus on your game.
See? He already knows something is up and I wasn’t even that bitchy to him. Maybe what I need to do is lie. Tell him it’s an all-girls weekend with Stella and Stephanie. Or maybe he’ll forget about the date. Maybe he’ll be too busy with work. It feels wrong to plan to be without Marc. I’ll play it by ear. That sounds like the better plan.
I don’t watch or listen to the game because it’s just too much right now. However, I do get an update that they lose two to one. This is their fourth loss in a row. I doubt it’s any consolation that it wasn’t a huge loss. A loss is a loss, and when they’re stacked up, that one detail is probably the only one that matters.
Marc calls me, but I don’t answer. I’ll say I was already asleep.
Sylvia calls me the next day, but I don’t answer her either. My excuse will be that I was running errands and forgot to return the call.
Marc texts me, but I don’t respond. My excuse will be the same as with Sylvia’s. He’s wanting to know how my day is. Such a simple question, but the answer is anything but. I’d rather not answer than lie to him. Or tell him the truth when it’s only hours before a game. I don’t even know the truth.
This is starting to feel like old times. Hiding away in my house while thinking too much. I crawl into bed early, the sheets cold and the space lonely. I should text Marc and tell him to come over, but...but I can’t seem to get myself to do that. Instead of banging my head against the wall with frustration, I go to sleep.
The first thing I notice when I wake up is that I don’t feel the dread I normally feel. That could be a good sign, right? With a deep breath, I get dressed and drive to the cemetery. I no longer feel the need to spend all day there, so that’s an improvement, too. I’ll definitely see Marc later and talk to him. Things are feeling pretty good until I take my usual seat next to the hard, cold stone. Things are much more complicated than usual.
Normally, I’m hopelessly sad and missing him. This time, however, I remember more what our last year was like and there’s anger mixed in. There’s more negative emotions than the good ones, as I usually am only thinking of our best times. It’s like for the first time in six years, there’s a heavy dose of reality surrounding me when it comes to Roger and I’ll be damned if I know what to do with it.
I loved him, I really did, but we had problems. Most couples have a few. It seemed like with us, we didn’t just have issues scattered here and there throughout our relationship. No, those problems were like freaking fireballs hailing down. They were big enough to take us out, and they came in multiples. God, I was on the verge of leaving him when he died. Things were that bad. There are all sorts of things I conveniently decided not to think about after he died.
An unexpected sob racks my chest. I almost wish I had my façade of a memory instead of this crap. This is Marc’s fault. He had to come in and make life better, which shone a light on the ugly past. I reach into my coat pocket for my phone to text him.
Me: Marco.
The weight of the rest of what he doesn’t know is a huge, heavy burden on my chest and I need to get it off. I need to tell someone what no one else knows. Not even Scott and Sylvia. Someone needs to know the full story and I need it to be Marc.
Me: Marco.
Me: Marco.
Me: Marco.
God, why isn’t he answering? I don’t think they had practice today, but then, I wouldn’t know because I ignored him yesterday. As an afterthought, I text him the address and hope he’ll show up before I burst. Am I really going to tell Marc everything?
Why isn’t there a way to unsend a text message?
For what feels like forever, I wish Marc was here and wish I never texted him.
“Polo.”
I look up to see Marc a few rows over. I scramble to my feet and rush over. The cemetery is big, but not so big that he couldn’t easily spot me. He catches me, holding me tight.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“It’s okay.” He sets me down on my feet, but doesn’t let me go. I enjoy the feel of his arms around me for a few minutes before leading him over to Roger’s stone where we take a seat. Marc is behind me, cradling me between his arms and legs with my back resting against his chest.
The stone is simple with only his name and the dates. Roger’s parents left this decision to me and I didn’t want to add anything else. They would probably like something more, something like son and brother and such, but I couldn’t seem to make the decisions to add those things.