“You are going to do very well, my man. Handsome, charming, talented. They’ll be eating out of your hand.”
“Hey,” I say with a laugh. “I’m just happy to be here at all. It’s been a long road.”
“Let’s grab a drink. Celebrate.”
He pats me on the shoulder. I fold my copy of the contract and slide it into my satchel, right next to the Moleskine I carry with me everywhere now. And we head out.
“So a writers’ retreat, huh?” he says on the street. We’re still on this, I guess. I’d really like to move on from the topic.
“What’s that?”
“Emily still on a writers’ retreat?”
Yeah, he’s got it bad. Poor guy. We push through the door of the restaurant across from his office, take our usual spot on the corner of the marble bar. We’ve knocked back quite a few here. It’s elegant and dim—leather seats and smoky mirrors, black-and-white tile floors.
“I guess so,” I say, settling onto the stool. “According to her last post.”
“Where is she again?” He waves at the bartender, who doesn’t even need to take our order.
“I’m not sure. Out of the country. The Cotswolds, was it?”
“Just took off,” Paul says. “Went for broke.”
“That was the plan.”
He clicks his phone. We’re all always doing that. Checking and checking. When everything real is right in front of us.
“I’m envious,” he says, looking up. “Some days.”
When the bartender brings our drafts, we clink glasses.
“To Emily,” he says. “I wish she was here to toast with us.”
“I’m glad she’s following her dreams, wherever they’ve taken her,” I say. “She just published that poem. Her work is better than ever. She’s really grown.”
He nods. “I miss her.”
He takes a sip of his beer.
I miss them. All of them. Claire. Anisa. Emily.
I’d bring them all back into my life if I could. Sometimes regret is a bitter meal you have no choice but to eat.
When I look down into my glass, for some reason, I flash on the murky cold water of the lake on our property up north.
“You okay?” Paul asks. I’m not sure what he sees on my face.
“I miss her too.”
I’ve learned something important since Anisa left me. That part of loving is releasing. That to truly honor someone you love, you have to let her be.
“Well,” Paul says, trying for brightness, “maybe sometimes you just have to drop out, disconnect, to really dig into your truth. Into that real space within.”
The infinity necklace, the one I gave Anisa. I carry it with me in my pocket, a kind of touchstone. I reach for it now, feel the cold metal between my fingers.
“Yeah,” I say, patting him on the back. I know what it’s like to wish you could be with someone who has slipped away. “That’s so true.”