Summer 2018
Why is this so hard? Andy is sitting less than 20 feet away from me, but I feel like he's 100 miles away. We're not fighting. We're not talking. We're not doing anything, and that's the problem. What the hell is wrong with you? I wish I could say that to him. Why can't I just open my mouth and say that? Maybe, I don't really want to know the answer. I haven't seen him smile in days.
"You want something to drink?" he asks me on his way to the kitchen. I just shake my head no, and continue to study the blueprints laid out in front of me on the dining room table. I'm doing some consulting for the LA Convention Center. The venue has major security issues, and I've been hired to help improve their security policies and procedures. I really didn't want to take on a task this large so soon after retiring from Major Crimes, but the money was just too good to turn down.
As Andy walks back by me with a bottle of water, I instinctively reach for his arm and pull him to me. "Do you mind turning off the game so we can talk?" I ask him. "Sharon, it's tied up in the bottom of the 9th. Can it wait?" I just shrug my shoulders and tell him never mind. He didn't even hesitate to pull away from me and head back to the TV. I guess that tells me just about all I need to know.
When the game ends I expect him to talk to me, but that's not what happens. He just stretches and yawns loudly as he heads to bed. I didn't even get a good night peck on the cheek. I can't concentrate on these damn blueprints. I want a drink and a cigarette. I pour a very generous glass of white wine, and root around in the junk drawer, in the kitchen, for my pack of American Spirit and an ashtray. Thank God, there's two cigarettes left. I've had this pack for six months because I don't smoke that much, only when I need to relax. I head out to the balcony. He hates it when I smoke, and what he doesn't know isn't going to hurt him.
I know I'm probably not fooling him. He can smell smoke on me. That won't really be a problem though because he doesn't get close enough to me to smell anything lately. I've been drinking too much the past few days. It's not like me and it bothers me. I'm not an alcoholic. I can take it or leave it. Right now, I'm going to take it until I finish what's left in the bottle.
I love this time of night. The city lights are beautiful and the breeze feels nice. I enjoy my quiet time. Andy and I spend most nights together, but he still has his place. Most people would think it's odd how we've arranged our lives around each other, but it works for us. At least, I think it does.
I try to be as quiet as possible when I finally get in bed. Andy is asleep curled on his side, and clinging to the edge of the bed. It's as if he wants to be as far from me as possible. I gently reach out and touch his back with the palm of my hand. He doesn't wake up. I leave my hand in place, and I can feel his deep breaths in and out. Just this simple touch brings tears to my eyes.