Grace
The next day was my first day off, and it was one I'd been dreading. Time alone is the biggest enemy after you've experienced a tragic loss. In the months after it happened, I still had my cheffing job, and it was the only thing that kept me even remotely sane. The pain didn't dissipate, but with something to focus on, it at least faded into the background a little. My days off, on the other hand, were another matter entirely. Tom's schedule was as flexible as he wanted, so those days used to be our time. When he died, I had nothing to fill them except loneliness and self-loathing. Soon, that turned to alcohol, because it was the only thing that numbed me enough to feel like I might actually make it through the day. Of course drinking on my days off led to poor performance in the kitchen, and eventually, all my days were days off.
My pie date with Joy had buoyed my mood a little, and so I tried to maintain that momentum and set about doing something positive. Menial tasks had felt so pointless over the last few months, and as a result, my place currently resembled something you might see on Hoarders; another quality TV show, if I do say so myself. To put it bluntly, there was shit everywhere.
After ducking out to the store, I came back armed with trash bags, rubber gloves and enough Lysol to kill the bubonic plague. It was a daunting task, but over the next few hours, I gradually transformed my apartment from a hovel into something vaguely respectable. It felt wonderful to actually be taking charge of my life, even if it was only in the relatively trivial area of hygiene. I began telling myself that maybe there was something symbolic in that act, a fresh home for a fresh start. I should have known it was too good to last.
The problem with depression is that it can sneak up on you. There were small periods over the last few months where I really thought I'd hit a turning point — little windows where it felt like maybe the darkness was lifting — but then I'd hit a trigger, some tiny inconsequential thing that reminded me of Tom, and everything would go cascading back into oblivion again.
It was a book that did it this time. Fooled by Randomness, something Tom had read a few months before his death. He'd always been fascinated by the human mind. I think that's what drew him to poker. There's a strong psychological element to the game, and he spent a lot of time trying to understand the intricacies of that.
I'd given the book to him for his birthday last year. It had been the first reward in a long series of treasure hunt clues I'd laid out around Vegas. As he solved each one, he received another gift. I'd been so goddamn proud of that surprise. It had taken me two weeks to organize, and the look of sheer adoration on his face when he found me in the restaurant after solving the last clue would stay with me forever.
The memories came flooding back, drowning whatever good vibes I'd managed to generate. I hated how little control I had over my emotions. I knew Tom wouldn't want me to be this way. He'd want me to let go, to move on and be happy, but his death held such power over me and, try as I might, I couldn't escape it.
I fled to the bedroom.
When things first fell apart, I spent days pouring over my keepsake box; everything that remained of Tom condensed into a single fourteen by ten inch container. It was intensely painful, but I couldn't make myself stop. I wanted to hold onto those memories as tightly as possible, lest they float away and vanish.
At some point I realized how damaging it was, and I stashed them in the bottom of my wardrobe. I hadn't looked at them since, but without really thinking about what I was doing, I found myself fishing through them again.
Tom had been big on writing notes. He'd leave them on the kitchen bench for when I got home late, or on his pillow for when I woke. They rarely said anything meaningful, stupid little jokes or sweet nothings, but I loved them nonetheless. They were personal and special and utterly mine, something he'd never shared with anyone else. I'd kept every one.
Good morning, my love. The sun says HELLO =)
A little bird may have left you some ice cream. He also bought some more OJ and TIVO'd a documentary about sushi. Happy Sunday!
But there was one note in there that wasn't like the others. It was the note that broke everything apart. I danced around it for a while, wending my way through the bittersweet portions of the box, but eventually my fingers found their way to the fold.
Dear Grace.
I don't know how to do this. My hands are shaking so much I can barely write. I'm sitting here with this paper in front of me, thinking about what this is going to do to you, and it's just destroying me. I came so close to ending it a hundred times over the last few months, but I always wound up thinking of the moment that you find me, your beautiful face, the shock, the tears, and I couldn't go through with it. All I've ever cared about was making you happy, and now here I am, poised to break you. I fucking hate myself for it. I wish to God there was another choice, but I'm out of time.
I owe some people a lot of money. And we're not just talking banks, we're talking bad people; the kind you never in a million years want to be in debt to. I didn't know it was them at the time, but that's neither here nor there. We're well beyond the point of excuses.
I've been hiding it for the last few months, trying to figure some way out, but there isn't one. The hole is too big. I know you, Grace. I know how kindhearted you are, how selfless. I know you're probably saying to yourself right now that we could have worked it out, that we'd have found some way to pay it off, but the truth is that if we tried, it would have followed us forever. That future we wanted, your future, would have gone up in smoke, and I'm not willing to let you ruin your life for my mistakes. You're too special, and you've got too much to offer the world.
I'm going to miss you. I'm going to miss you so fucking much. I know that doesn't make any sense since once I'm gone, I won't be feeling anything, but when I think of the two of us not being together, it just rips me in half. I don't want to leave you. I want us to have everything we talked about. I want to travel the world with you by my side, waking up to your smile every morning. I want to buy that house with the perfect kitchen and the big back garden and watch our kids grow up in it. And I want to see you open the restaurant of your dreams and take the food world by storm. I want all of that more than anything. But I've ruined it for us now. This is the only way I can salvage even a little of that dream.
I need you to understand that this isn't your fault. There was nothing you could have done. I've made mistakes, and now I have to own them. I still love you with everything I've got. I love you so much it hurts.
I've got the pills in front of me. God, I'm frightened, but I'm happy that I won't be living under this cloud anymore. I know this is going to hurt like hell, but please, don't let this break you. Go and live the life that we wanted. Go and cook and travel and find someone else who isn't as weak and stupid as I am. You deserve the world, and the only solace I can take from this is that I'm still leaving you with a chance to have it.
I'm so, so sorry. Please forgive me.
-T
Tears stung my eyes, running hot down my cheeks. I wanted to rip that note into a thousand pieces. I wanted to burn it until it was nothing but ash. Anything to erase those words that condemned me so completely. He said there was nothing I could have done, but how could that possibly be true? I was his fiancé, the person closest to him in the world, and yet somehow I let the love of my life fall apart before my eyes without even realizing.
I'd known he was in a rut. I'd seen it in his eyes, in the tightness of his smile, but I didn't look any closer. He'd been down before. Poker players' lives are a rapid-fire series of highs and lows, and at the time I just assumed it was part of that rhythm. Now, it was so incredibly obvious that wasn't true. Since he died, I'd spent every spare moment agonizing over his behavior. No fancy dinners, no stupid spontaneous purchases, spending sixteen hours a day at the tables — how the fuck hadn't I realized something was deeply wrong? He was there for me through so much, but when he needed me, I was nowhere in sight, too stupid or blind to even understand that he was in trouble.
The worst part was, he did it for me. That hurt so much I didn't even know how I was still walking around. It was like a knife to the chest, jagged and ice cold. I would have done anything for him. I'd have lived in a shoebox for the rest of my life if it meant we were together. But instead, he took matters into his own hands without even giving me a choice.
I couldn't destroy the note. I deserved to be reminded, deserved to feel this for the rest of my life. I owed it to Tom. I'd deluded myself into thinking that Charlie's was a new start, but there were no new starts from this, no moving on. This was forever.
Careful not to crinkle or crease it any further, I folded the note and placed it back in the box. After stashing it back in its place, I moved out into the lounge and turned on the television. I used to love trashy reality TV as a means to escape, but at that moment it was just so much unintelligible noise in the background. It did nothing to cover the abyss that was opening up inside me, beckoning.
Was this really going to be my life now? Alone, afraid, working a meaningless job and pining after a ghost? I used to have so much to look forward to. I loved my work, I loved coming home to Tom and I loved all the plans we made. We had a whole future mapped out together, but now all that waited for me when I woke up was darkness. I had nothing.