I wondered, as I took a seat in what used to be my favorite spot—an oversized chair that basically swallowed me whole—if August enjoyed this room now as much as we used to. Before work had become his life, and I’d still had pieces of him to myself, this had been the center of the house for the two of us. Board games, movie nights, and many nights of drinking and debauchery had occurred right here. Where the bedroom had once felt like the beating heart, this room had been our own little slice of heaven right in the middle of our home. With grand views of the Pacific that rivaled those from the master bedroom, you could watch the sun set over the water while listening to the crashing waves below.
But even a view like that could feel like prison when you weren’t allowed to leave.
“Was she upset?” I finally asked, deciding to jump off the tightrope I’d been walking, between wanting to know and not wanting to know what he’d had planned for the evening.
“What—” he began to ask as he looked up at me. My eyebrow cocked in amusement, and a small smirk played across his lips.
“No. Not too much,” he admitted. “I told you it wasn’t a big deal.”
Looking around, I tried to imagine him here with someone else. In the place that used to be ours. We had planned to raise our children here, and now he would possibly raise his own. Without me.
“This is stupid,” I blurted out. “I shouldn’t have come. You were going on a date, and I ruined that for you. This isn’t how this is supposed to go.” My words were coming out like shrapnel, firing quicker than I could comprehend them as I stood, ready to sprint for the door.
“When did it all go wrong between us? Will you explain it to me?” he asked suddenly, stopping me instantly. I turned to see him, still in his same position on the couch, holding the half-empty cup of coffee I’d made for him, as he looked up at me with wide, vulnerable eyes.
“Why?”
“You know why,” he answered. “I hate mysteries.”
“Okay,” I answered, taking my seat once again, as the adrenaline from my attempt to flee steadied. I took the warm mug in my hands for support and brought it to my lips, savoring the smell, before I spoke.
“There really isn’t a specific day…or moment. Like most couples, it happened gradually. Only ours wasn’t normal—by any means.”
“Why do you think that? I mean, why do you think I changed so much?” he asked, genuinely concerned.
“You found something else you loved much more—money.”
“Can it really be that simple? Did I ever seem the type?” He set down his coffee mug and leaned back into the sofa as I tried to study his expression. I couldn’t tell if he was upset, confused—or maybe a little sad.
“No—at least not before. When we first met, you were willing to move into my shack of an apartment to be with me. But we decided to rent a house, and even though it was bigger than anything either of us had ever lived in, it was still in San Francisco…which meant we paid double for the ability to live in what was called a house, but it was literally a shoebox, with nice flower boxes and a balcony.”
“So why did we move? How did I go from being content in a shoe box to needing all this?” he asked, motioning around the room with his hands.
“You moved up in the world, and with money came more. I think at first it was the desire to give me everything I never had, and maybe in some warped way, it continued that way—I don’t know. But after time, it became more about who we were to others than what we were to one another.”
“It just makes no sense to me,” he said softly.
“Me either, but things happen.”
“Then why I do feel so strongly for you still?” he asked, his mouth clamping closed as if he’d suddenly realized what he’d said. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
Silence settled between us and even though I knew I should leave, I didn’t. I couldn’t move a muscle from that chair, and once more…I didn’t want to.
“Do you like jewelry?” he asked suddenly, out of the blue.
“What?”
He chuckled to himself, tiny lines appearing around his hazel green eyes. “Sorry, it’s random, I know. But just go with it. If you were in one of those small boutiques—like around The Haight, and happened to wander in, what would you buy? A necklace…a scarf, maybe a—“
“A coffee mug,” I answered immediately.
“Like an I-Love-SF mug?” he laughed.
“Yes! I don’t know, maybe. Don’t laugh. It’s your ridiculous question. I collect them. Whenever I’m someplace special, I always try to find a coffee mug I can use—to remind me of that specific day or place.”