Coming Home To You. Liesel Schmidt
down my cheeks. “I think she’ll say yes.”
It’s amazing how much life can change in the space of two months.
I knew from first-hand experience how much could change in the blink of an eye, but I had been on pause for so long that the past two months were like a whirlwind.
Kate was settling in nicely to her new position up in Atlanta—bettering the world in ways that made me feel as though I was merely taking up space on the planet, while she battled every day on behalf of those without voices. She’d been there only a month, but it felt as though she’d been gone a lifetime.
During the month between her return to the country and starting her new job, she had been a daily part of my life, and our relationship had recovering the strength it had lost while she’d been away. Life was gaining normalcy, little by little, and having Kate there to help me keep my perspective was invaluable. She was a lifeline for me, but I knew I wasn’t the only one who was now feeling the sting of her absence.
Though Buzzing Beans and I were seeing less and less of each other, Ray’s presence in my life had grown beyond the brick walls of the coffee house. He was basically the man in my life now, calling at various points of the day to check on me, stopping by the house just for a “quick visit and a cookie.” It had been how I’d discovered his absurd love of refrigerated Fig Newtons. He had come to check up on the house one day, supposedly just to see how things were going, and he’d wandered to the fridge. He’d peeked inside, then closed the door and shaken his head regrettably, all the while muttering under his breath about the uncivilized living conditions of a house with no Fig Newtons in the refrigerator.
Needless to say, the next time he did a spot check, there they sat—waiting just for him.
As all three of our lives became increasingly intertwined, romance bloomed, and soon Kate and Ray became nearly inseparable during her month there with me. The three of us had regular outings together, weekly trips to the movies and dinner. Game nights that lasted until the latest hours of the night. But in between those games and dinners and movies, Kate and Ray stole time together that didn’t include me, time that forged their bond as a couple instead of the trio that had begun it all. He complemented her in ways that made it inarguably apparent that this was it. After she’d moved to Atlanta, they’d been reduced to daily phone calls and video chats, but I knew they were both aching to see one another in person.
And now, Ray and I were sitting across from each other in the small living room of Neil’s house, toasting the future.
Ray finally left just after midnight, riding high on the optimism of a man in love and fueled by just the right amount of wine. I watched him pull out of the driveway and stood there, looking out at the stillness of the street, before I closed the door against the blackness of the night. The house felt quiet and so very empty after so much excitement, and I wondered fleetingly if this was what it was always going to be like—sending everyone home only to be left by myself, alone with the void.
I sighed against the exhaustion that was quickly closing in, bringing with it all the feelings of hopelessness that so easily win the fight when you’re already too tired to go another round. I flopped down on the guest room bed and picked up the journal I’d moved from Neil’s—my—bedroom, along with my alarm clock and pillow.
I uncapped my pen and began to write.
Dear Neil,
The water heater exploded today. Well, maybe not so much exploded as sprung a leak. I feel so horrible that it happened while you were away, like maybe it was somehow my fault, but Ray seems to think it would have happened even if you’d been here. Something faulty in the lines, or so he says. I don’t know if I can trust a coffee guy to shoot me straight on water heater malfunctions, though. The only things he knows how to fix involve copious amounts of caffeine, foam, and froth, and I have a feeling that this will take much more than simply tightening a loose bolt. Still, as a number-cruncher, I hardly feel qualified to argue with him.
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