I want, I want, I want …
Olivia.
But, I don't. I want her to suffer. I want her to be happy. I want to stop thinking altogether and be locked in a room without thoughts. Possibly for a year.
I run. I run so much that if the zombie apocalypse were to happen, they'd never be able to catch me. When I run I don't feel anything but the burning in my lungs. I like the burn; it lets me know I can still feel when I'm having a numb day. When I am having a day of pain, I drink.
There is no cure.
One Month Gone
Two Months Gone
Three Months
Four
Estella isn't mine. The paternity test comes back. Moira makes me come into her office to deliver the news. I stare at her blankly for five minutes while she explains the results - there is no way, no chance, no possibility that I am her biological father. I get up and leave without saying anything. I drive and don't know where I am going. I land up at my house in Naples - our house in Naples. I haven't been here since the issue with Dobson. I leave all the lights off and make some calls. First to London, then to my mother, then to a realtor. I fall asleep on the couch. When I wake up the next morning, I lock up the house, leaving a set of spare keys in the mailbox and drive back to my condo. I pack. I book a ticket. I fly. As I sit on my flight, I laugh to myself. I've become Olivia. I'm running away, and I just don't give a fuck anymore. I trace the rim of my plastic cup with my fingertip. No. I'm starting over. I need it. If I can help it, I'm never going back there. I'm selling our house. After all these years. The house where we were supposed to have children and grow old together. It will sell fast. I've received offers for it over the years and there are always realtors leaving their cards with me in case I decide to sell. In the divorce I gave everything to Leah so long as she left the Naples house alone. She hadn't put up much of a fight, and now I can see why. She had something much crueler planned for me. She wanted to give me back my daughter and then take her away again. I close my eyes. I just want to sleep forever.
Birthday parties made me uncomfortable. Who the hell even invented them? Balloons, presents you didn't want … cake with all that fluffy, processed frosting. I was an ice cream kind of girl. Cherry Garcia. Cammie bought me a pint of that and handed it to me as soon as I blew out my candles.
"I know what you like," she said, winking at me.
Thank God for best friends who make you feel known.
I ate my ice cream perched on a barstool in Cammie's kitchen while everyone else ate my cake. There were people everywhere, but I felt alone. And every time I felt alone, I blamed it on him. I set my ice cream on the counter and wandered outside. The DJ was playing Keane - sad music! Why the hell was there sad music at my birthday party? I slumped in a lawn chair and listened, watching the balloons bob. Balloons were the worst part of parties. They were unpredictable; one minute they were happy little balls of emotion, the next they were exploding in your face. I had a love/hate relationship with unpredictability. He who must not be named was unpredictable. Unpredictable like a boss.
When I dutifully started opening presents, my husband standing to my left, my best friend jiggling her breasts at the cute DJ - I was not expecting the blue packaged delivery.
I'd already opened twenty presents. Gift cards mostly - thank God! I loved gift cards. Don't give me shit about gift cards not being personal. There's nothing more personal than buying your own gift. I'd just put the last gift card I'd opened on the chair next to me, when Cammie took a break from flirting with the DJ to hand me the last of my presents. There was no card. Just a simply wrapped electric blue box. To tell you the truth, my mind didn't even go there. If you work really hard at it, you can train your brain to ignore things. That shade of blue was one of them. I sliced the tape with my fingernail and pulled away the wrapping, balled it up and dropped it in the paper pile at my feet. People had started to drift away and talk, getting bored with the present unwrapping show, so when I opened the lid and stopped breathing, no one really noticed.
"Oh fuck. Ohfuckohfuckohfuck."
No one heard me. I saw a flash. Cammie took another picture and moved away from the DJ to see what was making my face contort like I'd sucked on a lemon.
"Oh fuck," she said, looking into the box. "Is that?"
I slammed the lid shut and shoved the box at her. "Don't let him see," I said, glancing at Noah. He was holding a beer in one hand, his face turned away from me and talking to someone - it might have been Bernie. Cammie nodded. I stood up and bolted for the house. I had to walk around people who were still eating cake around the island in Cammie's kitchen. I made a right and darted up the stairs, choosing the bathroom in Cammie's bedroom, rather than the one downstairs that everyone was using. I kicked off my shoes, closed the door, and stood bent over the sink, breathing hard. Cammie came in a few minutes later, shutting the door behind her.
"I told Noah you felt sick. He's waiting in the car. Can you do this, or do you need me to send him home and tell him you're staying the night?"
"I want to go home," I said. "Just give me a minute."
Cammie slid down the door until she was sitting on the floor. I sat on the edge of her tub and traced the lines of the floor tile with my toe.
"That was uncalled for," she said. "What's with you two sending each other anonymous packages?"
"That was different," I said. "I sent him a fucking baby blanket, not … that." I eyed the box that was sitting next to Cammie on the floor. "What's he trying to do?"
"Umm, he's sending you a pretty clear message."
I tugged at the collar of my dress. Why is it so damn hot in here?
Cammie pushed the box across the bathroom tile until it nudged my toe.
"Look again."
"Why?"
"Because you didn't see what was underneath the divorce papers."
I flinched at the word divorce. Bending down, I retrieved the box from the floor and lifted out the stack of papers. Divorce was heavy. It wasn't official, but he'd obviously filed. Why did he need to tell me this? Like it made a difference anymore. I put the papers next to me on the lip of the tub and stared down at the contents underneath.
"Holy hell."
Cammie tucked her lips in and raised her eyebrows, nodding.
The Pink Floyd CD from the record store - the case cracked diagonally across, the kissing penny - green from age and flattened, and one deflated basketball. I reached out a finger and touched its bumpy skin, and then I dropped everything on the floor and stood up. Cammie quickly scooted out of the way, and I opened the door and stepped into her bedroom. I needed to go home and sleep forever.
"What about your fucked up birthday present?" Cammie called after me.
"I don't want it," I said. I stopped when I reached her doorway, something eating at me. Turning back, I strode into the bathroom and crouched down in front of her.
"If he thinks this is okay, he's wrong," I snapped. She nodded, her eyes wide. "He can't do this to me," I reiterated.
She shook her head in agreement.
"To hell with him," I said. She gave me a thumbs-up.
While our eyes were still locked, I reached out a hand and felt along the floor until my fingers found the penny.
"You didn't see me do this," I said, tucking it into my bra. "Because I don't give a fuck about him anymore."
"Do what?" she replied, dutifully.
"Good girl." I leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. "Thank you for my party."
Then I walked to my car, walked to my husband, walked back to my life.
I was in bed an hour later, turned toward the ocean, even though it was too dark to see it. I could hear the waves rushing against the surf. The ocean was choppy tonight. Fitting. Noah was watching television in the living room; I could hear CNN through the walls. CNN was a lullaby to me at this point. He never came to bed when I did, and every night I fell asleep listening to the drone of the news. Tonight, I was grateful to be alone. If Noah looked too carefully - which he often did - he would see through my hollow smiles and pretend illness. He'd ask me what was wrong and I wouldn't lie to him. I didn't do that anymore. I was betraying him with my rogue emotions. I had the penny clutched in my fist, it was burning a hole through me, but I couldn't put it down. First Leah had come to me, throwing those deed papers in my face. Papers that, until that moment, I knew nothing about. Now, him. Why couldn't they just leave me alone? Ten years was a long time to grieve a relationship. I'd paid for my stupid decisions with a decade. When I met Noah, I finally felt ready to put my broken love to rest. But, you couldn't put something to rest when it kept coming back to haunt you.
I stood up and walked to the sliding glass doors that led to my balcony. Stepping out, I walked lightly to the edge of the railing.
I could do this. I kind of had to. Right? Exercise the ghosts. Take a stand. This was my life, damn it! The penny wasn't my life. It had to go. I lifted my fisted hand and felt the wind wrap around it. All I had to do was open my fist. That was it. So easy and so hard. I wasn't the type of girl to back away from a challenge. I closed my eyes and opened my fist.
For a second my heart seized. I heard my voice, but the wind quickly took it away. There. It was gone.