OUR PLAYLIST | JENLISA

TWENTY-NINE

Lisa

Playlist: Mess Is Mine | Vance Joy
***

She sent my call to voicemail again.

I put my palms over my eyes and let out a ragged breath. It was almost midnight. I’d been calling and texting her all day.

“She still not talking to you?” Ernie stood in his kitchen and dropped ice into a tumbler behind the darkness of my eyelids.

“I fucked up,” I muttered.

“Yeah, you fucked up. Your first mistake was arguing with a pissed-off woman. You should have backed away slowly and agreed with everything she said. Pissed-Off Woman 101.”

I looked up at him as he set down the bourbon he’d poured me on the coffee table.

He plopped into the couch next to me and crossed his leg over his ankle, holding his own glass.

I felt haggard. The last two days had been hell. I was at the point that I’d apologize for being born if it meant she’d speak to me. I just wanted this to be over. She’d brought me to my damn knees on silence alone.

“I think she’s going to break up with me.” Even saying the words out loud made the lump bolt into my throat.

Ernie let out a long breath. “You guys were breaking up anyway.”

I shook my head. “No. Not like this. Not because she didn’t want me, not because I fucking disappointed her. And I would have never let it happen. I would have begged her to come with me.” I put my forehead into my hands. “It can’t end like this.”

Fuck, I should have told her everything. Why didn’t I tell her everything? I had no idea how to navigate any of this. Lola, my tour, my fame. All of it felt like some giant snowball, gathering momentum and destroying my life on its way down.

“You know, maybe she’s doing you both a favor,” Ernie said.

I took my forehead from my hands and glared at him.

He swayed his whiskey at me. “How fair was any of this gonna be for her anyway? Think about it. She stays behind and she’s alone for fourteen months while you travel the world. Or she goes on the road with you and she doesn’t see her friends or family the whole time, doesn’t sleep in the same bed for more than three nights in a row. She can’t work, can’t even fucking unpack. Either way, she’s doing nothing but living for you and you’re living for your career. You really want that for her?” He took a swallow of his drink, the ice clinking in the glass. “You’re getting famous, and what is she getting? It’s a little selfish.”

I looked away from him.

I was supposed to marry this woman. I’d known it the moment I thought I might lose her. She was it for me. The thought of being without her was as unacceptable to me as never seeing daylight again, never picking up another guitar.

If I’d fucked this up for good, I would suffer for it for the rest of my life. I’d never get over it. I needed to fix this and then put a ring on her hand and let every man who looked at her know there was already somebody hopelessly in love with her.

And they did look at her. I was going to need a very big ring.

I dragged my hands into my hair and squeezed. “Fucking Lola. I hate her.”

“I gotta tell you, none of this Lola shit sits right with me. My Spidey senses are tingling.” He tapped a finger on his tumbler. “And you’re sure you didn’t give her the gate code?”

“I didn’t give it to her,” I mumbled.

He squinted out at the fireplace like he was thinking.

Fuck this. I got up. “I’m going over to Jennie’s. I can’t sit here and do nothing.”

I’d given her space. It had been two fucking days. If she was going to break up with me, I’d rather she swing the ax now instead of leaving me kneeling with my head on the block. Not knowing was killing me. I couldn’t do this anymore.

The drive to her house felt like I was delivering myself to my own execution. I sat in her driveway rallying my courage to even get out and try my luck at getting in the door.

It was midnight. The house was dark.

I had my key, but Jennie always put the chain on. I’d probably have to ring the doorbell and wake her up. And would she even let me in? Or answer it after she looked through the peephole?

I had to be braced for the very real possibility she would break up with me tonight. That I’d had all I was going to get. I imagined her asking me to leave, taking my key. Making me empty my drawer and then never seeing her again.

My heart would break. It would fucking shatter.

The floodlights came on when I got to the porch. I put my key in the lock and turned it under the judgmental glare. I pushed the door open an inch, then another, and the moment when the chain would have gone taut came and went and Love spilled out and jumped on my legs.

She didn’t put the chain on.

It was the first ray of hope I’d had in days. I stood with my forehead to the open door and my hand on the knob for a solid minute.

She didn’t lock me out.

I prayed this meant something. That it wasn’t just some oversight. And I hoped that this wouldn’t be the last time I ever spoke to the woman I loved.