by Danyelle Hershkopf
Click here to read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, and Part 4.
“I haven’t been to the beach ever since. Sometimes, I can still smell the sea salt,” I said. “Well, that’s because I drive by it.”
I forced a chuckle, but my attempt at being…I don’t know, not that upset? Somewhat comfortable talking about all this? Whatever it was, it was lacking, and that was written all over Brandon’s face. And his notepad, at any rate.
I considered continuing, but I couldn’t. I didn’t know where to begin. I mean, I had an idea, but it was too early for that.
So I switched gears. I talked about a new video game I was considering buying. Brandon nodded along, asked questions about the plot and all that, but I could feel us dancing around the issue.
I came to him. Shouldn’t I have wanted to be more open? Part of me did. Part of me wanted everything to be over, like one of those cheesy films where, at the end, the main dude finds peace as a corny acoustic guitar plays. I used to always laugh at over-dramatic scenes like that, but now they look more like fantasies.
So I tried again. I opened my mouth, ready for words to spill out.
“She liked pie.”
Wrong words.
“Oh?” Brandon said.
“Yeah,” I continued. “I bought some yesterday as a sort of memorial type thing. Like, a final cheers, only without the wine.”
“Did you get cherry?”
“Actually, she hated cherry. It was pumpkin.”
“Do you often do stuff to remember her?”
“Not really…should I? I mean, a good boyfriend would, right?”
“I don’t know. Do you think so?”
I guess I did. But it also felt morbid, like I was an eternal widower. But isn’t it selfish to think so? But isn’t it selfish not to think so? I ended up shrugging.
Brandon checked the time. “That’s all for today. We’ll discuss this more later.”
I smiled, but it was the same forced smile I gave earlier, along with that pitiful laugh. I left, and decided to check Twitter. Mei posted a picture of a cat she adopted. I paused, and finally pressed on the little red heart. There. That was something.
As I drove away, I wondered why Brandon hadn’t pushed about what had happened on the beach. I was relieved that he hadn’t. But I was also upset that he didn’t.
Next time, I promised myself. Next time. Because I wanted to reach out. Deep down, I was sick of always moping and regretting and seeing the sea and her face and hearing my stupid, stupid voice.
Deep down, I wanted to confess to what I said that day.
