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Home. This is home.
I realize I’m still hovering and back away, pushing a hand through my hair. Luna turns and brushes past me to pull the milk out of the fridge, and while I enjoy the soft warmth, this time her beautiful scent raises a flag.
I must seriously reek.
Shaking out of my haze, I grab a mug from the cabinet and pour myself some of the coffee from the carafe and shuffle towards the bathroom, taking a swig as I go. The black liquid burns as it goes down, but the smell and the taste definitely helps zap away some of the fog.
I take my time in the shower, letting the steam engulf me, and letting all the thoughts and memories of last night come to me in more flashes.
Back when I asked Luna for the divorce, I was both messed up by my trauma and the drugs, and also completely selfish. I had wanted to hide from all the turmoil by coming back to the way things were before I left. I wanted my life and my Luna back, and what laid out before me wasn’t it. So I wanted out, and convinced myself she probably did too. I expected a fight of course, because Luna’s a stand-up, noble woman, but what I did not expect was what I saw in her eyes last night.
Hurt. Loneliness. Love. Yearning.
I didn’t think for a minute that the idea of me ending things hurt her like that.
Fuck, I’ve created some kind of monster in my mind – that monster being a conjured-up idea that having her Kaleb come back to her as less than what he was caused the change I saw in her. That it was disappointment, obligation, and resentment that I was seeing.
I’m so fucking confused. I don’t know what’s real and what I’ve made up in my head. For once, the idea of seeing a shrink sounds appealing. Let someone else figure this out. The only clear thoughts I’m having is that I want what I gave into in the kitchen moments ago. I want Luna to not have last night's look in her eyes ever again.
After shutting off the water, I wrap a plum-colored towel around my waist and go to the sink. After wiping the steam from the mirror, I take a good look at myself, resting my hands on the vanity.
I thought almost choking my wife during sex and then asking her for a divorce while jacked up on pain meds was my rock bottom. But after last night, I realize I was wrong. Seeing that look in Luna’s misty eyes while she said “you don’t want me” was.
All our lives, she’s never let me hurt her. Our fight at the lake, she flipped me off as she walked away. When I asked for the divorce, she essentially told me to eat shit. But last night, the idea of me not wanting her made her voice tremble and tears shine her beautiful brown eyes, and this morning’s realization of it fucking broke me. Just like that night on the phone when I was able to call her and heard her crying for the first time ever. Her voice wobbled so much I could barely make out that she was telling me how much she missed me. That had gutted me.
I stand here now, dizzy, and I don’t know if it’s residual intoxication or the heat of the shower, but I grip onto the sink, closing my eyes as more thoughts come; fragments of memories. Luna’s voice.
My Kaleb is still in there somewhere.
You love me.
She wants us back, too. That’s why she’s been fighting – not just to do the right thing or because she’s a good, caring person.
When the humidity of the bathroom gets to be too much, I push away from the sink and open the door, welcoming the clear, cool air of the hallway, and I stand, glancing down towards the kitchen where I still hear dishes clanking. I don’t even know what to do with all these sudden epiphanies, but I feel like I want to go to Luna. I don’t want to come on too strong after the way I acted last night, but if I could just hug her, or give her a kiss…
I look down and realize if I’m going to tread carefully, I probably shouldn’t be wet and naked when I do it and head towards my room, intent on finding some clean clothes.
The door of Luna’s room is ajar and something dark but shiny catches my eye, making me stop and change course.
Pushing the door open a little wider, I’m stunned still at what I see.
37
KALEB
The painting glistens in some places where it hasn’t dried yet, especially the parts that are extra saturated with black that reflects the daylight trying to seep through the gauzy curtains. This tells me that Luna wasn’t intent on painting today like I’d thought. She already had. And this…
It’s got some kind of a shattered effect to it, and it never ceases to blow my mind how she can create looks like this.
I don’t even know how she made all the cracks and wrinkles to give off the broken look, but I don’t doubt it was by some means clever.
What has my body locked up and my heart feeling cold is the color, or lack thereof.
I’ve always known Luna to paint in vibrant colors; shades of purple I’d never even heard of, along with a varying array of yellows, blues, and greens.
This piece is predominantly black with grey accents in varying shades.
As my eyes peruse up and down this dance of dark hues, they pick up an occasional dab or smear of light purple. It’s almost like she didn’t want the painting to go completely dark and dismal, and the little flecks of violet and lilac represent glimmers of hope.
