Avery and His Sobering Reality

My mind raced from one topic to another as our coupledom disintegrated in the living room that evening. No sooner had I questioned Jack about not honoring his intentions to salvage our relationship, was I panicking about our pending real estate contract. Moments later, my thoughts had progressed to another realization.

I’m not sure why it took me so long to put two and two together, but suddenly it all seemed clear to me—the list, the lies, the abrupt decision to call it quits. I had to ask the question even though I wasn’t sure if I could accept the answer.

“Jack,” I whispered as calmly as possible, “Are you seeing someone else?”

He didn’t have to respond with words. His body language spoke loudly and clearly. His gaze veered toward the ground. He crossed his arms. His cheeks reddened. He let out a long sigh and took a seat on the sofa. I felt a pain deep in the pit of my stomach.

I wanted to know who he was seeing. I wanted to know how long they’d been seeing each other. I wanted to know if they’d shared each other’s secrets, just as Jack and I had.

Did this new man know that Jack’s favorite color is blue or that, when he’s sad, his favorite comfort food is macaroni and cheese covered in ketchup? Did he know that Jack’s childhood pet lizard, Blue Streak, is buried under a bench in a forest preserve near Melrose Park? Did he know that Jack’s happiest memories are of trips to Kiddieland as a 5 year old with his late uncle, Thomas, or that he’s afraid of heights, or that he wet the bed until he was 12 years old?

I didn’t ask these questions though. I didn’t have the nerve.

“I think you should leave,” I told him as I collected myself.

I retreated to the bathroom, where I locked the door and cried and cried. I cried for the happy memories Jack and I’d created. I cried for the future we’d never have. I cried for the beautiful apartment we’d found and the home we’d built together. I cried for Blue Streak and his pauper’s grave. I cried.

When I’d finished mourning, I slowly emerged from the bathroom. Jack was gone, the cats were asleep and I came to a sobering realization. For the first time in seven years, I was completely and utterly alone.