Source: Savioke
Matt didn't text me over the next five days.
The lack of communication made life seem somehow both louder and muted. I zoned out frequently, staring out windows, at random objects. I also went on a lot of walks, all over the city, at all times of the day.
I felt . . . mournful. Like I'd lost something essential.
Someone essential.
But he'd never really been mine, so I struggled to push those thoughts away and buried myself in work.
Losing myself in a story was one of my favorite things about my job. The act of researching for writing was usually a minefield of rabbit holes for me, where I'd misplace hours of my life chasing the threads of interconnected topics. I loved it, but it was hard to stop. However, now I gave in to it; the time spent researching felt like a reprieve, the only time I wasn't thinking about him.
Staring into space. Researching. Having no appetite. Going to bed early.
Basically, if you add political activism and woodworking to that list, I was becoming my grandfather.
Presently, it was Thursday afternoon, and I was staring at the nonexistence of particles in my water glass, wondering for the first time in over a week if I should message him. I'd wanted to message him many times, but didn't, because I knew it wasn't a good idea.
However, this was different. We were supposed to meet this weekend. I'd made a list of potential activities, and even though he'd said I was still invited last week, I had to wonder if he'd changed his mind.
"Knock, knock."
I blinked away from my water glass, startled, and saw Camille standing just outside my office.
"Oh my gosh, you're back!" I stood immediately and rushed to my friend, opening my arms for a hug.
"Yes. I'm back." She sounded tired.
I pulled away, examining her. "Are you okay? I got your letter."
She smiled, also tiredly, and walked past me into my office, sitting in one of the chairs across from my desk. "Yes. I'm good."
I followed, opting for the second chair rather than walking back around my desk. "You're good?"
"Actually, I'm great," she huffed, shaking her head, then lifted her left hand to show me.
For the second time in less than a week, I was staring at an unexpected wedding ring.
My hands flew to my mouth. "Oh my God."
"I know." A huge smile claimed her features and she shook her head like she couldn't believe it. "I know. We're married. I'm married. To a baker in Germany."
"Holy cow. What are you going to do? Are you moving to Germany?"
She shook her head. "No."
"Is he moving here?"
"No."
"No?"
"No. We're just . . ." she shrugged, laughing, "we're going to make it work."
Camille and I traded awestruck smiles, with me finally breaking the silence. "I'm so happy for you."
"Thank you," she said on a rush, grabbing my hand. "Thank you for saying that. My family thinks I'm crazy. I think I'm crazy. But I love him. I feel like I've found my soulmate. I couldn't just walk away."
I nodded, my eyes stinging, my throat tight as I rasped. "I get that."
"Oh, sweet Marie," she pulled me into a sitting hug over the arms of the chairs, "your guy is out there. Believe me, he is. He might be in Germany baking bread, or South America making music, or Ethiopia acting as a tour guide, but he's somewhere."
Or in Chicago, building robots.
I smiled against the onslaught of threatening tears; God, how I hated it when people said those words to me. Saying, your guy is out there to someone without his or her person is like telling an X-Files fan that you have proof of aliens, but you can't share it.
Thanks for nothing.
"Yeah, maybe."
"No," she pulled away, ensnaring my gaze with hers, "he is. I promise. And when you find him, be open to it. Don't use obstacles as a reason to walk the other way. Open that door when he knocks. Be brave."
I sniffled, pressing my lips together and shaking my head. "What if it isn't bravery? What if it's recklessness? How will I know the difference?"
Her mouth hitched to the side and she laughed lightly. "When you figure out the answer to that, let me know."
I was working from home Friday afternoon, submerged in a research rabbit hole, when I glanced absentmindedly at my phone. I did a double take.
Matt had texted me.
Matt: Dinner tonight? Kerry and Marcus are here.
I stared at the text, reading it over and over. Finding no hidden message, no secret confession of longing.
My heart deflated.
Whomp, whomp.
Nevertheless, I responded.
Marie: Sure, sounds good. What time? And where?
Matt: 7:30, Alinea, Lincoln Park
Fancy.
Alinea was quite the swanky destination restaurant and even boasted a celebrity chef. Reservations were notoriously difficult to come by.