Page 106 of All The Ways to Miss You

The light that used to shine behind her eyes burns dim, if at all. From what I’ve observed, she’s lifeless and merely going through the motions, a shell of the woman who meant something to me. When I pass her apartment, I often hear her crying.

If she’s not home, I see her running. If she’s not running, she’s at work. Linden says she pours herself into her job. She’s become one of the best agents he’s ever had—a confident bulldog at work, but a complete wreck at home.

I want to rip open the door, rush inside, and hold her—convince her everything will be okay, that I’m here for her, and we can make it through anything together. I’d tell her she should be easier on herself. She doesn’t need to go through this alone, and I want to bear whatever she can’t. We’ll be stronger together.

But these are all the things I should have whispered to her before. Instead, in the present, where everything’s wrong, I keep a measured distance.

I remind myself she wants to be anonymous here. She doesn’t want to know the old me, even if I’m desperate to know the new her.

Eventually, I see her with a friend, a kooky little blonde who is her complete opposite. Cait often seems annoyed with her. I think the blonde sees it too, but she’s determined to crack open her shell. I’m happy Cait has someone, even if that someone puked in the building’s garden planter on Saint Patrick’s Day.

Over the years, I imagined Cait having a life without me, recovering and moving on. But anyone can see she’s hanging by a diminishing thread. The proof is in every movement she makes—the insecurities, the envelopes from her family she throws away, her perfunctory responses to any questions, her loneliness and lack of connection to the people around her . . . including me.

Until one day her glacial personality melts. Just a little.

fifty

It happens without warning.

Cait’s doing things she did before. Things we did before. We’re having the same conversations, sharing the same jokes, and the same smiles. And not fake smiles. Real ones. Some of the things are subtle, other indications are blaring. Are her memories returning?

When she called me SpongeBob, did she remember she gave me that nickname? When she asked me for a one-night stand, no strings, did she remember she asked me once before? When she flipped her sweater over her head and handed it to me, leaving herself half-naked, did she remember she stood in our kitchen and did the same? Does she remember where she got the band T-shirt she wears all the time?

“Why are you here when Cait’s in your apartment, sleeping in your bed?” Linden yells as he steps out of his kitchen holding a glass tumbler. He crosses to the fireplace and lifts a poker to reposition a log in the raging fire.

“I don’t know.” I lean forward, propping my elbows on my knees while shaking my head. I don’t know anything anymore. When she moved back, I told myself I would let her be and give her space. She wanted a new life. I told myself I could and should give her that. With all she’s been through, life owed her that little thing.

But now? Something’s changed. It’s like some kind of fucking flame’s been lit in her mind. And that little flame is a flicker of the Cait I used to know. Could it one day roar like the fire before me?

I cried like a baby the night she kissed me in my kitchen. My insides burst with happiness when I suspected she might be remembering. Even after her wistful gazes, I didn’t dare to hope, but she continued repeating the life we shared together. Every single thing has rooted me back into the world we used to share.

“Go back to her, Evan. I’m kicking you out,” he says.

I don’t move.

Linden lifts the poker and points the tip at me. “If you’re not out of here in ten seconds, I’m calling the police.”

I sigh and consider letting him do it. Being locked in jail might be the best way to keep me from her. It worked before, why not now?

He digs his cell out of his pocket and shakes it.

I groan and stand, then grab my coat and leave without another word. Soon, I’m back home and unlocking my front door.

Despite the fact she’s been throwing herself at me, I shouldn’t be doing this. I know what will happen if she wakes and finds me here, but I can’t help it anymore. I’ve been waiting to be close to her for years. What if this is the one chance I have to be with her again, and I don’t take it? Just like I didn’t the last day we were together?

The lights pop on and she stands in the hallway in a tiny tank-and-shorts set, ready to bust me in the head with a baseball bat signed by the entire Cubs team. It’s the one she gave me on our second Christmas.

“Evan! Jesus, you scared me.”

“Sorry.” I raise my hands.

She relaxes and sets the bat aside, looking relieved. “What are you doing here? I thought you were staying with a friend.”

“I went to stay with Linden, but he kicked me out.” I twist off my scarf, take off my jacket, and toss them on a chair.

“Why? What the hell did you do?”

“Let’s say he decided to entertain.” It’s a partial truth. Viv was on her way over when I arrived. No telling if they were planning a fight or sex. Probably both.