That painting is a secret and a memory and it’s exactly who we were as a couple.
“I just want that painting, please,” I whisper to Kam and touch ever so gently at the corner of my eye, willing the tear not to fall. I remind myself that I am okay and there’s no reason to cry. It’s fine. Everything is fine.
“Of course,” Kam answers and he can’t hide the sympathy in his voice.
That’s what does it; the damn tear falls. “I think I want to see Zander,” I manage to get out with my throat tight. Rule three. Rule three.
“Okay … is there something I can do?”
“Just get him, please,” I plead with him as my shoulders tremble. I don’t want to cry anymore. But if I must, something inside of me simply needs Z to hold me while I do. When he holds me, it ends when the tears stop. If he’s not there … I spiral.
“I would do anything for you.”
“I know. I would do anything for you too.”
“Okay, let’s go see Zander. The rest of this can wait.”
With deep breaths, I push the stool out, the legs scraping against the floor. “Let me help you,” Kam offers with a hand on my elbow at the same time that the front door opens and Trish can be heard calling out, “Honey, I’m home!”
“Shit,” Kam mutters under his breath and then reaches for a cloth napkin, handing it to me to dry my unwanted tears.
“Do you want me to get rid of her?” he questions beneath his breath as her keys jingle closer and closer to us. “Anyone home?” she calls out.
With a weak smile, I shake my head no. “No. It’s okay. I’m okay,” I’m quick to push out the words, all the while sniffling and trying to shut down the sudden grief.
I’ll have to tell Zander, though. He needs to know. My thoughts are cut off by a concerned voice.
“Oh my God … are you crying?” Trish stands in the opening to the kitchen, keys in one hand, a box from pastries from my favorite local bakery in the other with her purse dangling from the crook of her elbow. In white skinny jeans and a simple navy top with a white minimalist logo, we actually match. It’s the same colors, just inverted, and I’m uptown while she’s downtown chic.
“I like your shoes,” I answer her and then shrug at her question. She takes a peek down at her pointed toe navy heels before looking back up to me. “Oh, my love,” she says and pouts. “No deflecting. Tell me, what’s the matter?”
“I’ll get tissues until you two are ready for retail therapy,”Kam says and leaves the two of us to hug awkwardly with Trish’s hands still full.
Wiping my eyes and sniffling I tell her it’s the same old, same old.
I let out a weak laugh as she unloads on the counter and then she hugs me for real. One of the strong kind that can hold you up when you want to collapse.
“I swear I’m all right,” I tell her, blotting under my eyes with the tissue Kam gives me and then accepting another for my nose.
“You had a moment,” Kam says and looks to his sister. “It was just a moment.”
It’s odd how the smallest things set me off. “I wish I could just stop it.”
“It’ll come and go, babe. There’s no stopping grief.”
I nod as he talks, feeling calmer by the second. Trish stares at me and I can feel her gaze, but I focus on deep breaths.
“It was a fast moment,” Kam adds and this time I say, “That damn ball in the box.”
All Trish says is, “Fuck that ball,” in the driest, most sarcastic tone I’ve heard in a long time and I can’t help but to laugh. “I don’t know anything about it but it can fuck right off.”
Her comment makes me laugh and Kam pats my hand.
“Does my makeup still look okay,” I ask her and she tilts her head slightly, taking the tissue from me. “Let me just …” she says and I chuckle again.
“I’m such a mess.”
“You okay?” she asks with an empathetic pout, rubbing my back once the laugh is over.