Left Unsaid
a love story unexplored
It always struck the same. First, she’d suck her cheeks in, smashing the thick skin between her all too perfect smile, forcing her tongue against the gap in her two front teeth. She’d bite down, never piercing the skin, but feeling the pressure in her forehead. It made her squint a bit. The hair would raise on her neck, making her shrug her shoulders and hold them up until the sensation stopped in her ears. The back of her throat and eyes simultaneously filled with warm liquid, and the second she swallowed against her will, her eyes would blink and release the first tear. Some nights, she was able to lie still, controlling her breath and watch the moment pass with a few tears dripping into her left ear. And some nights, she cried big, heavy tears that flooded her mind. Ones that wanted to shake her, toss her over, sit her up, heave with empty breath and restless bones. But she lie still, soaking her cheek and pillow beneath, filling her ear with burning liquid, concentrating on her movement with precision. Like counting sheep, she was often lulled to sleep through forcing stillness in her mind, a habit she came to find painful comfort in.
The next morning, she would shower, dry her hair into place — always the same, put on jeans, a white tee and her black leather jacket, and gather her homemade lunch. In parallel, he would drink coffee, adorn a suit — one of four, and gather his briefcase. Like a duet, they danced around one another in perfect harmony. A walk to the subway, standing across the platform from one another, him looking down at the paper, her texting him, “I love you.”
Each night, they’d meet at home. She cooked dinner, he offered a provocation about the systems of life. She adored him. Always had. She was his girlfriend. Always had been. They’d watch something together, she rarely objected to his idea. She liked romance, which was never the choice. She would let her mind wander about what their life would be one day… maybe they would cook together. Maybe he would surprise her with a date. Maybe they would host dinner parties. Maybe their kids would enjoy cooking. Maybe they would read around a fire. Maybe they would go on walks. One day.
She fell asleep first every night. She did the same thing as a kid, on the couch, feeling safe near anyone in the scarcity of comfort at home. He’d whisper to see if she was sleeping, brushing the hair out of her eyes like her mom used to do, signaling time to hazily wash her face and crawl into bed. Some nights, he’d stand and kiss her goodnight, and others he would enter, smelling of smoke or whiskey and crawl into bed as if she wasn’t there. She was always awake those nights, counting the minutes until he missed her or was tired enough to be near her again.
She took him to Europe for the first time for his 30th. She cooked his boss and his wife dinner around the holidays. They went to brunches with their best friends and godchildren. She got promoted multiple times but downplayed its importance. She celebrated every moment in his life, and his friends’ and family’s. She fell asleep earlier. He stayed up later, always smelling of whiskey and smoke. They walked to the subway together every day; she always texted “I love you.”
Their ten year reunion letter came, this time with both of their names on the same envelope. Tens of thousands a year and they can’t afford two stamps, she minimized as she put it into a drawer, along with every conversation she wanted to have… about children, a home, dreams, fears, risks they could take together, the job she wished to have, the life she wished for him, and a ring to keep them together forever.
Every morning, he woke up ten minutes earlier than her. He found her stifling brilliant, unexplainably beautiful and endlessly impressive. He would do anything for her to shine, and his currency was his own comfort. Every night, she fell asleep on his lap, resting her head in against his thigh, trusting him to watch over her dreams. He let her sleep a little longer each time, selfishly enjoying the moment she relinquished to him. Then he’d wake her. As she sauntered to the bathroom, he felt his chest tighten each time, irrationally fearing she would leave him, then and there, choosing a bigger life, the one he pictured her relishing in with grace. But, she always stayed, and he’d let her fall peacefully to sleep before entering. And each night, in hopes of calming his buried fears, he’d drown out the noise with a single cigarette out the kitchen window or a drop of whiskey, proving his worthlessness to himself to settle in for the night. She made him feel like an imposter, and breaking himself down was the only refuge to sleep. She deserved a sound sleeper next to her.
When she said goodbye that day, standing tall and unafraid, he felt the warm liquid in his throat, bit the thick skin of his cheeks and nodded. When he raised his head, she was already moving away, her back to their door, feet pressing away, a few steps from their life, already in the past. Unexpected tears fell down his chin, past his quivering lip. He wiped them and the smell was instantly identifiable, the smell of her in the morning, when he would kiss her forehead on his way to the shower, the one he took ten minutes early so she would be unbothered by him.
Two years later, he had found someone new. She taught him how to use the laundry machine down the block, his first trip alone. She read books. She painted. She had a trust fund she resented but willingly lived off of. She was easy to love. She was moving in. He painted the walls colors she chose, and cleaned out overlooked spaces. In the junk drawer, under take-out menus, receipts, save the dates and birthday cards, he found the ten year college reunion notice. It had been 12 years since college, 14 years since he said I love you for the first time. And in that moment, all he could smell were morning tears, and all he could taste was the metal of his own, and knew he would always text back this time, and would always, always truly love her.
