My dad asked me to fill out the census.
Does this person sometimes live or stay somewhere else?
I let out a short laugh. Oh, the irony of it all.
I found out my mom and a suitcase had left our house during a work trip, specifically in a wine bar in New Orleans. I rejoined the group of Europeans and attempted to make small talk, while the tears welled in my eyes. Politely excusing myself, I made my way to the bathroom and called him (first, again). Stammering, sobbing, incoherent.
She has been with my grandma for a week, and I am now more frustrated than upset. Careless and haphazard are the two words I use to describe the situation. Still, my mind reels with questions ... what is my role in this mess? will she ever come back? what of my future? will we ever be "the same"? Yet, in spite of this black hole of uncertainty, one aspect of my life is stable.
When I come over for coffee before work, he has a latte and pain au chocolat waiting for me; when I wear long white socks under my boots, he teases me; and when he asks if I want to talk about it and I say no, he leaves me be. We discuss health care legislation, hang out with mutual friends, and make love. Ours is an island of peace.
One day not too long ago, I apologized for the black cloud over our very new relationship, for dragging him into my misery. Without hesitation he responded: "It's part of the deal, no?"