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Calm the fuck down.
My heart doesn’t listen. It’s too busy pounding into my throat.
Bypassing the table, I head to the bathroom. Empty. I check her room. No Bamsy on the bed, so I tear open the closet. Her clothes and suitcase are gone. This is getting too real, and my hands are shaking. It’s just a misunderstanding. What if she moved her stuff into my room? A surprise. She has been known to greet me with surprises when I get home. Any minute, she’ll appear and we’ll both laugh about how freaked out I got.
I hurry to my bedroom. Her clothes aren’t in my closet or my dresser or anywhere in the house. I even check Amber’s room.
I look outside. No Paige. I jog to Frank’s and pound on the door. He opens it with a rifle in hand, giving me an inquisitive look with a raised, bushy white eyebrow.
“Sorry,” I pant. “Sorry for knocking like that. Have you seen Paige? Did you see her earlier?”
He sets the rifle down and glances across the street at my place. “Not since I woke up around noon. Everything okay?”
“No, but thanks.”
I hurry across the street and he calls after me, “Let me know if you need my help.”
“Thanks,” I call back. Then I’m back in the kitchen, panting and staring at the table. Fuck, I don’t want to open that letter.
I grab her phone first. When it powers on, it asks what language I want to use. She factory reset the damn thing. I can’t even do something pathetic like open her AAC app and punch words just to hear her voice. I toss the phone too hard and it clatters off the table onto the floor.
I can’t open that letter. Maybe it reads: Fuck you, Brody. You have a tiny dick and you’re annoying and you always touch me wrong. You haven’t helped me at all.
I wipe sweat from my forehead. No. Paige would never say that. My stupid, insecure brain might.
Paige would be nice and let me down gently.
I replay this morning in my head because this doesn’t make sense. If she wanted to break up, why get so hot and bothered? Why not fake a smile and shoo me out the door? She kissed me like there was no tomorrow and hugged me like she couldn’t let go. None of this makes sense. The pieces don’t fit if this is a breakup.
Breakups are violent storms with lots of yelling, or they’re a mutual agreement that it just doesn’t work. It always comes after lots of disagreements or talks about not being happy. Or indifference toward each other.
We had none of that. Paige and I were barely getting started. We were happy. I was. Shit, was Carlita right? Have I been blind to what’s really going on? What am I not seeing?
I grab the damn letter. I rip the envelope and pull out the sheet of folded paper. I realize I’ve never seen Paige’s handwriting. It’s fluid and condensed, like she wrote the cursive words with intention and care. An invisible hand inside my chest clenches my heart. Feels like it’s about to collapse into a gross mess of blood and meaty parts.
I drop my head into my hand. Fuck. I’m really going to read this letter and all these words I know will fucking hurt. With a breath, I start with the first word. My name.
Brody,
I’m sorry for leaving this way. It’s easier for me, which I know is selfish. I’m sorry. I hate confrontations, and I don’t want to see you looking so disappointed with me. I know you love me, but I can’t give you what you deserve. I can’t give you love in return or marriage or an actual relationship. Even though you say it’s okay because you love me unconditionally, it hurts me. We just can’t have a relationship—
I smack the paper against the table and stand. I can’t read this letter. I fucking don’t want to. My throat is dry. I’m going to puke. I need water.
I make it to the sink and fill a glass with tap water. After I chug, I set the glass down. It thunks against the counter and makes my place sound emptier than it was when I came home. I stare at the counter as acid rises in my throat. This was where the Popsicle incident happened. And where her body finally succumbed to an orgasm. The stove. That’s where Paige usually made dinner when I got home from work. The table is where I changed her bandages that first night and thought, What kind of woman becomes a nudist in front of a strange man twice her size?
I can tell you’re a caring person, and that’s a great quality, she told me. I trust you.
Just like that, she trusted me.
This kitchen. She was always dancing around this kitchen like a maniac. The couch. God, that woman watched a lot of porn.
I dry heave into the sink a few times. I have to finish the letter. Power through it. Whatever she has to say, wasn’t I the idiot telling Miguel earlier that if I got hurt, it was still worth it to love Paige? It’s still worth it, and now it’s time to prove it. But not here. Not where there’s so much of Paige around me.
I grab the paper, but I can’t think of a place inside my house where Paige doesn’t exist. Not in her room. Not my room. Not the shower. Not my office. Not Amber’s room. We didn’t fool around in Amber’s room, but there was that time we did it against her door.
I need to get out of this fucking house. I sit on the edge of the porch, sucking in fresh air, and force myself to finish reading.
We just can’t have a relationship, and you have to believe me when I tell you it’s impossible. It is. I decided it’s best to leave now before you get any more in love. I also just have to go back. I only meant to stay with you and Amber for a little bit, to experience a new life for a few weeks, but it somehow became much longer. I’ve run out of time. Please respect my decision to leave and don’t look for me. I’ll never forget you. Thank you for treating me with such kindness and love, for always respecting my space, and for being so hot it makes me want to weep. I’ll never forget our date on the beach or any of the moments we shared. You helped me experience so much, and I’ll always be grateful to you for that.
