These Rainy Nights

Night Two

Your mother came over today.

She brought me some homemade lasagna and made tea from the cupboard.

She sat me down at the kitchen table after she turned the kettle on. Just the two of us, right across from one another.

She took my hand, the one with my wedding band, and held it in hers.

"Marina," she said to me. "This isn't your fault."

I was too exhausted to argue with her. The night before, I didn't get much sleep. As soon as I stepped into our bedroom, I broke down. I just couldn't take it anymore. This would be the first day in years I would sleep without you by my side.

Isn't fate so arbitrary? Out of all the people who could've deserved your fate, and you end up stuck with it? You, the man who flashed everyone a smile that brightened their day. You, who would drop everything just to be with me if I needed it. You, the man I didn't deserve.

When did you go from 'who' to 'was'? How could you go from a simple word that meant you were here, to another simple word, that means used to be?

You can't be gone. The dirty utensils in the sink, that still sit unwashed, have your fingerprints on them. Your office computer still has your picture as the owner. The handwritten note still has your signature on it, your beautiful handwriting. I love the way you spelled your 'd' and your 'p'. I love the way each word flows like it's a song, or a strong bond. I love the way that I can run my fingers over each letter, each little loop, and it still feels fresh on the page. Like the pen's ink just touched it, and it might just do it again.

You always said you got your penmanship from your mother. Your mother, who came to our house, confirming what I've been trying to deny for a day now.

The kettle whistled, but none of us made a move to get cups. None of us made a move to get the sugar packets, or the teabags, or anything of the sort.

"The first day he met you," she finally said, "he wouldn't shut up about you. The new girl at school, the girl who sat next to him in biology, who knew everything there was about cells. Cells and genetics and everything else. You blew him away, Marina. And you still did, years later."

I looked down at my ring. The diamond sparkling when the light hit it, just at the right angle. The gold reflecting my sad expression.

She got up and pulled out two cups from the cabinet and knew exactly where to look. Got out the sugar and the teabags. Stirred it with a spoon.

Then she came back and passed me the steaming mug of tea.

"Mint," she said, as she sipped her own mug.

I kept stirring it unnecessarily, the silence allowing my thoughts to re-enter. But I didn't want to grant them reentry. I didn't want to think, because thinking meant that this was reality, and not just a cruel, sick dream.

"They aren't making you go back to the school yet, are they?" she asked between sips of tea.

"Not until next week. A sub is covering for me until then."

She nodded. "Good."

The conversation fell back into a silence, a thick silence, before we finished our mugs of tea.

"Do you want me to wash those for you?" your mother asked, looking down into the dish-filled sink.

"No," I said. I started spinning the ring around my finger again. "I just can't do it yet."

She nodded once in understanding, before leaving shortly after.

Tonight, it is storming. Storms, which mirror my thoughts, pass through.

I'm in one of the last hoodies you've ever worn. On your side of the bed. Writing with your favorite pen, in your notebook. I have my hair up, just the way you liked it.

My hands tremble as I write this. My heart aches, tears fall down my face.

Our story shouldn't have ended this way.

So why did it?

(670 words).