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“I’ll drop you off then and see you at home later.”
I can feel his gaze on me as I pull out into traffic. “Where are you going?”
“I want to check on my studio. Clear out my voicemail and email, try to decide my next step. I was in the middle of rebranding when the protestors showed up.”
“You’re going alone? It may not be safe. It’s only been a little over a week. People haven’t forgotten us. Two different people sneaked a picture of us while we were in the doctor’s office, did you notice? A woman in the waiting room and a guy while we waited for the elevator.”
“I saw the woman in the waiting room. I’ll be careful. I’m not opening the studio. I’ll lock myself in.”
“I can go with you. They don’t need me at the shop today.”
“No. I’ll be alright. If anything is off, I’ll call you.”
He’s quiet until I pull into the Stokes Brothers parking lot. “I don’t like this.”
I know what he means. After everything, it feels like we’re waiting for the next disaster to strike. Every bit of me wants to stay connected to his side, but that isn’t realistic. “Neither do I, but we both have lives to get back to and we need to get started. It’s only going to get harder the longer we wait.”
He reaches over and runs his hand over my stomach. The small smile on his face shows me he knows he’s being unreasonable. “Have you considered the option of staying at home under armed guard for my peace of mind? I’ll bring you donuts.”
“Tempting, but how about instead we both go to work, I bring home Chinese food for dinner, then you fuck my brains out before bed?”
“Deal.” He leans over to kiss me. “Be careful. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Despite the brave face I put on for Alden, anxiety has me gnawing my fingernails while I circle the block around my studio. Everything looks fine. No protestors. No visible vandalism. I pay attention to my surroundings while I park out back and let myself in. The door gets locked behind me immediately.
The musty smell of the place is depressing. After sitting closed for two months, it feels so lifeless. My intention was to start by sorting through my voicemails and emails but instead, I spend the next couple of hours trying to bring some light and life back to the space. Some cleaning, scented candles, and airing out does wonders.
Finally, I sit down at my desk to listen to my voicemails while firing up my laptop. Most are deleted before they finish playing. There are old hateful messages from weeks ago. They gradually turn to inquiries from journalists and even one woman who was calling to ask when I plan to reopen. She doesn’t leave a callback number, but it’s good to know there may be some clients waiting. The final message is interesting, but my first instinct is that it’s probably a scam.
A man claims to be a producer for a major streaming service. He wants to discuss the possibility of turning our “remarkable story of love and loss” into a limited series. I jot down the information he leaves to research him later.
My email isn’t quite the horrible mess I feared it might be. After an hour of sorting and deleting, I come across one I received yesterday that’s asking if I’m currently taking appointments.
Sitting back, I look around. When should I reopen? Waiting doesn’t really tell me anything. If protestors are going to reemerge or I’m going to get hassled, it isn’t going to happen until I open my doors again. After considering it, I return her email and ask her when she’d like to come in. It’ll be a good start.
My first day back in my studio wasn’t bad at all.
Alden is fresh out of the shower when I get home with our dinner, and we sit across from each other at the kitchen table to eat.
“How are things at the shop?”
“No major problems. We stayed overbooked before so even with the loss of some business, we should bounce back pretty quickly. It felt good to be back. How did your day go?”
“Surprisingly good,” I chuckle. He listens while I fill him in on what I got accomplished. “There’s something you might want to look at. It’s nothing that we have to decide now though.”
I’ve pulled up the info on the man who left a message about a streaming series. Turns out it was legitimate. “It might be the last thing we want to do, since it would draw attention to us again down the line.”
He nods, considering. “Couldn’t hurt to get in touch. From what I understand, they don’t need our permission to use our story in a true crime documentary. It might be better to be involved and at least make sure they get it right.”
“That’s a good point. Also, we might need the money. Even if we get our businesses back where they were, I’m going to have to return your life insurance payment, and I know you must owe Lowell a good amount.”
There was a time when money worries would’ve kept me up all night, but it seems paltry after all we’ve been through. Not life or death.
We discuss it for a few minutes then move on to other subjects. After dinner, Alden takes the trash out and I wash our few dishes. After I shower, I find him waiting for me on the couch to watch TV with him.
This is what we missed. This normal, everyday, domestic life we both wanted when we got engaged. It makes me think about what it’ll be like once we add kids to the picture, and I lean my head against his shoulder with a smile.
