I know they still talk sometimes. I hear soft conversations downstairs or on the balcony. She often sits next to the planter where I hide my cigarettes. And I hear them talking and sometimes I can make out some words. And once I heard her say to the phone to not cry or she would cry too.
Some moments later, I saw her form in the kitchen. I knew she would still be red and teary eyed. She stood away from me rinsing some glasses in the sink. I pretended not to notice. Told her I was going for a jog and left.
I think I got about 2 blocks before the whole idea of jogging became exhausting. I went to a nearby coffee shop and picked up an orange flavored scone.
While picking at the scone, I thought to open my phone. I skipped the usual friends and scrolled through old messages until I happened on one from someone I used to know well. Why not? I thought and sent her a how have you been? I didn't expect anything but there was an instant reply. She asked, can you talk on the phone?
Back home, I found that there was music on. She was sorting through her collection of albums that had come together through some thoughtful purchases in the last year. It was something cheerful that I did not recognize (I still don't really do cheerful music). She held a hand out and pulled me close for a kiss.
You're not sweaty, she noted.
I had a coffee and a scone, I told her. Can't you tell? I leaned and breathed out heavily towards her. She made an annoyed face.
Once after dinner and we ran into him. They had been broken up for a few months or half a year - I wasn't sure - but as we left one restaurant, there he was on the street just about to enter some other restaurant. I saw him first and I think she recognized his walk or stance or that old shirt in her peripheral vision because she turned to see him. Then there must have been something similar reacting in him and he looked up to make eye contact with her, then us.
I waved. He waved. We started to walk over. Then he forced a smile and waved goodbye and quickly entered the restaurant.
We stopped. I looked to her and saw a kind of surprise that made me feel, I don't know. Low and terrible and fighty all at the same time. I guess this was jealousy. But jealousy of what? Of his ability to hurt her? Of some past that was the past?
On the drive home, we talked about other things. But there were these gaps in the conversation where we would go silent and see if one of us wanted to dig into that moment. We never did. But after we parked the car and entered our home, there was this drive in me to kiss her, to feel the back of her neck and press her body close. I wanted to undress her and feel her and and and - I don't think it was love. I do not think love should be so multifaceted to include just stupid stupid jealousy.
It was someweeks later I heard them talking on the phone. Though I could not hear but I knew it was him. I know they still talk sometimes. It's not something I want to acknowledge yet. At the start, love is supposed to be simple and clear. But why is it that it never ever is?
