But I also need closure.
I want closure. Not on us, but on where we find ourselves.
It comes to me like a glimmer, a parcel of medical aid.
Maybe closure will help me move on. I need to at least speak to him, see him one last time. Get it all out there. See what is possible.
I stare at the written word of closure like it’s another language. But it feels right.
I write down illustrator. In brackets, I put Willow’s adventures. I write about owning my apartment; I write ‘more money’. I write ‘happiness’ and ‘joy’ and ‘excitement’.
In the don’t want section of the table, I write ‘to be alone’. I want someone who can love me, preferably Ollie. Nobody else would compare to him, and if he does marry Alec, I don’t know what I’ll do. Become a spinster, maybe. Celibate.
The soft ticking of the clock makes me chew at the pen lid. My leg jiggles as I stare at the table.
I have to tell Ollie how I feel.
If I can reach Ollie, then everything else will change. Ollie is the key, the missing piece. Everything else falls into place when Ollie’s in my orbit again. He will bring out the best in me like he used to do. This time I’ll be ready to change with him, to grow. This time I’ll be what he needs me to be.
If he doesn’t want me, then I have to accept that. Truly accept it. Not think of the what ifs, the possibilities. This is make or break. I’m not going to be the one who ruins his wedding or ruins his marriage. But before he marries, I need to speak with him. Just one final time. Just in case.
So, closure. Finally knowing where I stand, what is possible between us.
If it doesn’t go the way I hope it will, then what?
Finally accept that I have to move on. And if I move on, what do I not want that to look like?
As I stare at the don’t want section, it’s like a gate has opened, and scenarios start popping into my head. I don’t want just anybody. I don’t want a man who doesn’t have a career, or a sense of purpose. Ollie’s a professor. He’s smart. I want someone like that. Someone I can have deep conversations with. Not somebody who is happy doing the bare minimum. I don’t want someone with no drive, no ambition, no credentials. I write this down. It’s harsh, written like that, but it’s what I want.
Liberated, I write down professions that I don’t want my future imaginary non-Ollie boyfriend to have.
He must not work as a: fisherman (the smell), a farmer (the smell), butcher (the smell). Humour is great, but he must be serious when the time calls for it. Nobody wants a joker. Must be tall, brown-haired, smart and educated. At least a Master’s or preferably a PhD.
Like Ollie.
I smirk at PhD. Write it again, only this time spelling out: Pretty Huge Dick.
Like Ollie.
I could be here all day on what I don’t want. Flippantly, I write:if he’s not Ollie, I’m not interested.
‘Finished.’
‘Good,’ Lucy says, smiling. ‘Care to share?’
I shake my head. ‘Not particularly.’
‘Any insight?’
‘It’s contradictory, but it makes sense to me.’
‘That’s fine. The only one who needs to understand this is you. It’s just something you can keep with you and refer to. If you forget about it after today, that’s fine, too. But sometimes it’s nice to be able to write down some things and see what comes. I bet there are things that have come up there that you hadn’t realised you’d been thinking.’
It’s a reflection on me, but what’s therapy if not to bring out the sides of ourselves we don’t like?
‘There is,’ I say, glancing at ‘closure’.
Athens. Ollie. Closure.
