Missing Like You

FIFTY-FIVE

SCOTT DONOVAN
SEPTEMBER 2021

The summer was coming to an end. Before I knew it, we watched August make its departure and were suddenly welcoming September with not-so-open arms.

I've always enjoyed the summer. There's something placid and refreshing about it. The warm weather, the days spent by the pool. Despite being in the office all week, Isabelle and I made the most of our weekends by heading to our friend's cottages and having BBQs on Sunday evenings. We went on a few road trips, explored the rural parts of Pennsylvania, and tried to make the most of our summer before it came to an end.

We had just celebrated our fourth wedding anniversary on the twenty-first of August. I took Isabelle to an opulent restaurant for dinner where we ate decadent food and reminisced on the past four years. It seemed trivial to be celebrating four years of marriage when it had been ten that we'd been together. But nonetheless, four years of marriage was still a milestone. Year four was fruit and/or flowers. The past three years had been paper, cotton, and leather, so I was glad to finally reach the year where I could get a bit more creative. I gave her a bouquet of roses, as well as another bouquet of lilacs because they're her favorite. I got an edible arrangement of assorted fruits that she loved, and a new laptop case with a daisy on the front.

We spent the evening basked in each other's presence, getting drunk off the intimacy of one another. I cherished every inch of her skin, every breath of hers that I inhaled. Four years was nothing. I couldn't wait to turn four into forty and spend the rest of the life with this woman.

Isabelle was trying to convince me to adopt another puppy. I told her that having one Doberman was bad enough, we couldn't handle another one. Besides, we wouldn't know how Zeppelin would react to another dog in the house, so I figured it was best that she remained an only child.

Just as quickly as that discussion was over, Isabelle was onto the next, debating whether we should get a hamster or a bird. I said to her, "You do realize that Zeppelin will eat any living creature we bring into this house that's smaller than my fist, right?"
"It would be in a cage."
"Doesn't matter. Animals escape."
"We could keep it in our bedroom, door closed."
"Zeppelin sleeps in our bedroom."
"Well she can sleep in the living room."
"Iz," I said. "Drop it. We're not getting another pet. Zeppelin is enough."
She rolled her eyes at me and went to the fridge, opening a takeout container and picking at its contents.

I stared at her then, watching her lean against the counter, hair in a messy bun, sticking her fingers into day old Pad Thai. I felt so much love for her. This woman who I had spent half my life with. This person who I knew everything there was to know about. I knew where every freckle on her body was, had memorized every inch of her skin as though it were my own. I knew her fears and insecurities. I knew her favorite words and her favorite sounds. I knew what she would want to do on a Wednesday night after she finished work, and I knew exactly how she liked her bubble baths: music, candles, and a glass of wine.

I stood up, walked over and took the container out of her hands, then kissed her deeply. Gone were the days of taking my wife for granted. We were starting over, re-inventing ourselves for the better. Life had given me a second chance at my marriage, so I wasn't about to waste it.

At this point, I hadn't heard from Lexie since that night in mid-July that she came to my house and I blocked her number. Part of me wondered if I had over-reacted. She had only contacted me two or three times after we ended things. That wasn't really considered stalking. Then I remembered everything she had said to me. This is a warning. Let the games begin.

But if she hadn't done anything by this point, then she probably wasn't going to do anything at all. Right?

Wrong.