Tap. Tap.

I jolted back to reality to see a middle aged, redhead knocking on my window.

"Are you OK, sweetie?" she said with the thickest southern accent I've ever heard.

If she only knew how loaded that question was.

"Umm. Yeah." I stammered.

"We've been watching you for 10 minutes now. Wanted to make sure you didn't have a stroke or sumthin'."

"Oh. Thanks."

"Honey, maybe you should take an Uber home."

"No, thanks. I'm fine. Really."

She slowly walked away as if she didn't really believe me. Honestly, I don't believe me. It's only been a week since Bram left. It still doesn't seem real.

I begrudgingly get out of the car to make the trek across the Publix parking lot. It's crazy the things you have to relearn when you become single. For a moment I instinctively wait for him to slowly walk around the car. I didn't bring the reusable shopping bags either. He always remembered. He's thoughtful like that. He makes lists so I don't aimlessly get the craziest shit I allow my empty stomach to buy with our money. Well, my money now. The recipes for the week would be so intertwined. Bram would find a way to use every ingredient we purchased for the week, and it never got old!

Stop. I feel my cheeks getting warm and swallow the lump in my throat. Damn my father and the hereditary ease of crying he sent my way.

I walk in circles throughout the store and muster enough items to fill one of those tiny carts. You know, the ones that seem like they're for small children, but they're tall enough for adults. The ones that scream: "I'm single and I'm grocery shopping on a Friday night!"

I get to the register and choose the self checkout. I don't feel like talking to anyone. After wrestling with the weight sensor yelling at me to place items in the bagging area, I pull out my card to pay. I run my finger over the raised letters at the bottom edge: Simon Spier-Greenfeld. Boy was his father upset when we decided to put Spier first. I knew all along he wasn't ok with us. I don't think he's homophobic by any means, but for some people it's hard accepting certain realities about your own child. It was hard to believe that his handsome, athletic son would "be the girl" and change his last name.

"Darlin', you're doing it again."

Once again the southern redhead brings me back to reality tonight.

"Are you drunk or high? I'd have to tell my manager."

Her name is Tammy. Of course it is. Her weathered name tag was surrounded by faded stickers that had surely taken a ride in a washing machine many times.

"No." I answer her. "Just a really shitty week."

"I was wondering what all the Oreos was about."

She leans in and aggressively punches her fingers onto the screen for what feels like hours.

"Thanks for using your coupons, Sweetie. Have blessed day." She winks and walks away.

I see my new total and think about how generous this strange woman is to me. The words "employee discount" appear under every line. In the south, it's hard to know who may accept me for who I truly am. It's made me very cynical. I pay for my groceries and head back to the car thinking about the terrible things that happened after Martin posted to that damn Tumblr. It's been so long since high school, but the smallest things still feel so fresh. I wonder what those guys would think now. How would they feel knowing what they said and did is now contributing to the worst week of my life?

Do you ever drive all the way home and realize you don't remember how you got there?

My phone starts ringing and I hit ignore as soon as I see the words "Mom Cell" appear on my dash. I should really answer her eventually, but she'll just be too analytical for what I'm ready for right now. I pull into the driveway and load the groceries inside. The cabinets were almost empty and most of the items in the fridge are well past their expiration date. I should've noticed something when he stopped cooking.

Everything was perfect for so long. I know that sounds cheesy, but it's true. We got married, bought a house, finally took our big romantic trip to Europe, and even discussed adoption. Then, slowly he changed. Hell, maybe I changed too. He worked later and longer hours. He didn't have the same Bram energy. Of course, he's never been overly enthusiastic, but he was different with me than anyone else. It felt like he was hiding something from me. Not a cute, secretive plan, but something that he knew wouldn't make me happy. We stopped having sex. I think that hurt the most. We kept waiting for the honeymoon phase to wear-off, but we couldn't keep our hands off one another. It was more than lust. It was intimacy. It was love.

Buzz. "Leah Cell"

She hasn't called since he left. I feel so incredibly angry for a moment, but then the desire to speak to someone completely pushes that away.

"Hey!" I sound overly cheery. You're forcing it, Simon.

"Si. I am so glad you answered." I hate that I can hear the pity in her voice. She continues, "How are you doing?"

"How do you think I'm doing, Leah? I feel pretty fucking awful."

She's silent.

I'm silent. I'm making her talk next.

"Si, I'm so sorry I haven't called. I just. I don't know what to say to make you feel better."

I feel myself loosening. She's really trying.

"Do you need anything? Is there anything I can do for you?" She pleads.

"I'm think I'm good. I finally went to the grocery store." I force a chuckle. She doesn't find it amusing. I continue, "Maybe, you can come over tomorrow? I'd really like to see you."

"Of course! Let me know when you're on your way home and I'll be there."

She doesn't know I haven't been going to work. They stopped calling. I don't even know if I have a job anymore.

"That sounds amazing. I'll let you know."

"Simon, I love you and I'm here at any hour if you need me."

"Thanks, Leah. Love you too."

I hang up and walk around the house. I've been sleeping in the office since he's been gone. I can't stand the fact that I can smell him on the couch and bed. I feel like such a fool. We lived in this house, OUR HOUSE, and he was hiding something from me. God, I'm so stupid. Why didn't I notice it. Was I just blinded by the perfection of us?

Buzz. "Mom Cell"

Ignore.

Knock. Knock

Jesus Christ. Did my mother actually just drive across town? I weave my way through the house and gather some of the food wrappers and empty bottles from the living room. I really don't need her judgement right now. I swing open the door mentally preparing to see my mother, and there's nothing. I look left. Nothing. Right. Nothing. Then I notice a white envelope perfectly placed on our welcome mat. My welcome mat. Written across the top is one word: "Jaques".

Are you fucking kidding me? Was he here!? I recognized the handwriting immediately, so I knew it had to be his. It's incredible how a simple envelope can make me feel so many things. Hopeful. Angry. Sad. Devastated. I have never wanted to do and not to do something so strongly. This could change everything. It could make everything so much worse, or so much better.

"Son, are you OK?"

Part of me expects to see Tammy in front of me. My new fairy godmother I suppose, but it's Mr. Wells from next door.

"You've been standing there kind of out of it for a bit." He says.

"Yeah. Apparently that's something I do now."

"Well, you let me know if you need anything. I heard about what happened, and I truly am sorry." He looks at my car sitting next to an empty carport spot.

"Thank you, Mr. Wells. That means a lot."

The day we moved in Mr. and Mrs. Wells were determined to be the first neighbors to introduce themselves. Janet told us almost immediately they have a gay son who lives in Cincinnati with his partner. It was awkward, but sweet. She wanted us to know that she accepted us.

I come back inside and grab a beer from the fridge. As I make my way back to the office, I struggle deciding if I'll open the letter tonight, wait until morning, or put it immediately into the shredder. Reluctantly, I grab the letter opener and cleanly slice through the envelope. I take a deep breath and I'm already crying as I look at his handwriting. What good could he think this would possibly do?

Jaques,

I'm glad you decided to open this. I'm sure you spent a considerable amount of time coming to the decision of reading these words. Of course, for all I know this letter is making its way through the shredder.

I want to first tell you how I am so in love with you Simon Spier-Greenfeld. Nothing will ever change that. The last few weeks have been difficult. I hate hiding things from you. I made a promise on our wedding day that I would never do that. I'm so incredibly sorry, Si. There's nothing I could possibly do now to make things better, but I have to try.

I want you to know this isn't the last letter you'll receive from me. I hope you'll find the strength to continue reading them. I'm going to ask a small favor from you in each letter. Something that I know will make things better for you. Slowly. Simon, please sleep in the bed again. It's going to be hard, but you hate that air mattress I know you're using right now in the office...

Simon, please give me a chance and do what I ask. I know you. I know that you're hurting so bad right now. I know that you've hurt more this week than you ever thought possible. I love you so much, and I hate that I'm the cause of this pain you're having.

I will never be able to fully express my love for you, Simon. What we have is perfect. You're perfect. Please know that you are the only one for me. Now and always.

Yours,

Blue

PS. Answer your mother… ;)

I read it again. And again. I trace my fingers over the familiar script. Eventually, I stand and walk to the bedroom. I haven't touched our bed in over a week. I sit on his side. I look on his night stand to see the trivial items that were emptied from his pockets every night. Loose change, chapstick, gum, and a few scattered business cards. I begin crying as I slowly lower my face onto his pillow. It still smells like him. I take it in. I inhale until my lungs can't possibly take more. I'm outwardly sobbing at this point. I haven't allowed myself to do that yet. Damn him. He knew the bed would get me. This was our place where troubles melted, arguments were resolved, and no one could hold us back. This will be the first night I'm unhappy in this bed. I consciously decide to fall asleep on this side. His side. Maybe, just for a moment, I'll wake in the morning and forget he's dead.