The Beginning

 

February 22nd 2019

When I get home I have to face reality.

His keys will be on the kitchen table. The garage door opener will be on the kitchen table. My life as I knew it, the fairytale I know I deserve..will be on the kitchen table.

I park my car in front of the house and aggressively tear into the house. I don't know why I'm so anxious. I know what comes next. I sit on the bench next to the front door and make a production of pulling off my damp boots. I savor the last few moments of being a fiance.

I turn the kitchen light on and focus on the remains of my love life. His keys and garage opener. He left me a hand written note. There was always something child like and endearing about Tucker's penmanship. It was hard for him to write this note and even harder for me to read it. I'm sobbing. Big ugly tears.I can't breath. I need Tequila. Preferably, Anejo. The bar is in the dining room and due to the tears clouding my vision; I can't get there fast enough.

Still clothed in work attire, I snatch the Anejo from the top shelf of the bar nearly knocking over the Buffalo Trace. I head to the fridge and grab a 5% alcohol Jamaican Ginger beer.

I grab a glass and it dawns on me that I'll never make cocktails for us again. There is no us. I cry again. Alot. I ready myself, mentally for the random onslaught of tears that will occur in the next few weeks. I've been here before. Well, not quite here...

I sip my cocktail, enjoying the way the ginger tickles the inside of my nose. I open the doors to the pantry. Every card Tucker gave me for the duration of our 32 month relationship is taped to the teal doors of this pantry. Tears, again. He loved me so much, and I him. Why didn't this work. Why couldn't he just to to one AA meeting?? This is not how it's supposed to go. Who will love me now?

I take all the cards and notes down. I briefly consider throwing them in the trash but I know I'm not there yet. I'm not ready for that act of finality. I put them in a UPS envelope and stuff them between Huma Abedin's new memoir and a cookbook I purchased when Borders was still a thing.

Normally on Friday nights, if Tucker hadn't surprised me with a reservation at some new restaurant; we'd stay in, pop a few edibles, order dinner and watch 20/20 or Dateline. Whichever was less creepy.That was my past life.

It's 640 AM. My alarm is ringing.Elton John is singing "it's 7 o'clock and I wanna rock, wanna get a belly full of beer". Normally I'd get up and snuggle with Tucker if he was here. If not I'd have tea and a snack in my bed before my 8 AM barbells class. Not today. Being awake means I have to think. Thinking hurts right now. I tell Siri to set an alarm for 40 minutes.