"There is a place where the sidewalk ends, and before the street begins . . ."
Chapter 1 - Edward
The sound of staplers stapling and fingers doing finger-like things—such as typing, and clicking, and pushing, and scribbling—and papers being put where papers belong, and questions being shouted across the room, and phones being answered and hung up and ignored, and idle chatter being made, and air whirring through the vent above my desk, and the computers starting and restarting, and overheating and cooling down—well, it all gets overwhelming.
I have to leave every hour. I get up from my creaky desk chair, log off my computer. Trudge up the stairs to the roof. Take the pack of cigarettes from my pocket. Take out a cigarette. Put it in my mouth.
And then I put it back. The pack goes into my pocket. I stumble down the stairs. I log onto the computer, sit down in my chair. I get back to work.
The normality that my life seems to have taken on is disturbing. The mundane nature of it. The stunningly dull routine that is nearly numbing enough on its own. That is, until I walk out the office door, which I do at precisely six o'clock every single day.
The desk work isn't fun, and it doesn't feel particularly rewarding, but supposedly I'm doing something good since I'm an accountant for a relatively eco-friendly company.
The drive home is quiet, aside from the whistling sound that the a/c makes and the buzz of a blank tape filling the air. The radio broke last year.
I hesitate before pulling in the driveway—every day, I can't help it. I wait for some sign of movement in the windows. I look for the garden shoes left by the side door, a window left open, the desk light turned on. Nothing.
I pull into the driveway.
The house is on a nice street, with nice people and nice houses, mowed lawns and well-groomed trees. We both went to UW in Seattle, but moved to my hometown after graduation.
I go inside the house, and the silence that greets me makes my heart ache. The rabbits—the stupid rabbits, her rabbits—are waiting in the living room, on the wicker table she painted blue. They look up at me a moment, Peter's left ear raising, listening. They look away.
I head into the kitchen where the yellow cabinets with their bright colored knobs make my chest tighten, and I listen to the voicemail on the answering machine. It's my mom.
"Hi, sweetie, this is your mother . . . I know you're busy with work, but your father and I would love to have you for dinner sometime this week. Give me a call back. Love you!"
I delete the message.
Dinner. I can't remember the last time I ate dinner. Oh—it was the last time I went back to my childhood home, two weeks earlier.
I make a mental note to have some dinner sometime this month. I untie my tie and hang it over the chair in the kitchen. The house phone rings, and I glance at the screen. It's Charlie.
I let it go to voicemail.
My father-in-law's voice fills the room. "Hey, son." He pauses, clears his throat. "I'll be headin' down from Bellevue this weekend." Pause. "I'm sorry it's been so long since I've come down. I spoke to your mother, and she said she'll throw together some dinner plans with all of us. You, me, your parents, and the boys." Deep breath. "Hope you're doin' alright. I'll probably get there noon on Friday. I'll give you a call later."
I sigh. Oh, Charlie.
Peter scampers into the room, Pancake not far behind, and I watch them with frowns. They look up at me. Sit back on their haunches. "What do you want?"
Their ears twitch towards me, in the direction of my voice, before hopping on over to their makeshift sleep area, made up of a small dog bed and some dog pillows.
I sigh again.
"Hey, Eddy!"
I look out the window that faces the front lawn. Emmett is coming up the walkway.
I sigh and head to open the door.
He smiles at me when he reaches the porch. "Hey, little bro. I saw you get home, thought I'd come by. Mom said Charlie's coming in town this weekend." Emmett lives across the street, two houses over. He's a stay at home dad, and he spies on me. I swear he does.
I nod. "He just called."
Emmett nods a few times, squinting into the house behind me. "Yeah. She said we'll have dinner at their place on Friday."
I shrug, but my chest aches. Friday. Maybe he doesn't remember, but I do. Charlie does.
Emmett squeezes my shoulder and asks, "How you holdin' up?" But then again, maybe he does remember.
I scratch my forehead, furrow my brow. "Good, you know. The rabbits tore apart the kitchen last night, but otherwise I'm good."
He raises his eyebrows, and I see the question. Why do I still have the goddamn rabbits?
Because they were hers. They were hers, and she loved them.
"Alright, well," he says. "I wanted to come by and say hey. You haven't been over in a while. The kids miss their uncle."
I frown. "Tell them I'll see them at dinner on Friday. I'll bring them something."
Emmett grins. "They'll be so glad to see you." He musses my hair. "Friday, alright? Mom misses you."
I look over his shoulder. "It's been two weeks."
He presses his lips together. "Yeah, well. We'll see you on Friday, alright? Have a good week, bro. Rose told me to tell you she said hi."
"Tell her I say hi, too. See you on Friday."
"Don't forget, bro! Friday!" He starts to walk away.
How could I forget?
Therese Fowler, someone I read about somewhere, said something about profound moments. That's all I remember about what she said, but it crosses my mind sometimes. Profundity. Lives are made up of profound moments. My life is made up of profoundly wonderful moments that have all been tainted by one profoundly terrible moment.
For example, my birthday. Ordinarily profound, at least until it became the day that she adopted the rabbits, and therefore their makeshift birthday as well. Christmas—profound for obvious reasons. The day that we met. The day I proposed. Our wedding. The day we found out we were expecting. All wonderful things. All incredible.
Now, all ruined.
This Friday. May 17th.
It's funny how much can change in one day.
This chapter is a bit slow, I know. Don't give up on me just yet!
