"Load the car and write the note
Grab your bag and grab your coat
Tell the ones that need to know
We are headed north."
~The Avett Brothers, "I and Love and You"

Now

When I saw you tonight, you looked like nothing happened. You looked like you didn't kiss me in Coney Island last night, like we didn't spend hours drinking coffee in Chelsea or dancing during alcohol-fueled nights in Brooklyn dive bars. You looked like you erased this summer. But even worse than that, you looked like you had erased the first time we were together as well. The outfit you put together looked new, although that could have just been because I was so used to seeing you in torn jeans and tank tops that I forgot how you looked in Prada and Gucci. You stood by Jack and indulged him by letting him see the image of you that he was used to, instead of the one the rest of us have known and loved (although, if you were to show him who you truly were, apart from the money and the socialite status, I know he would love you). But the thing that broke me the most was that when I walked in with Leo, you gave me the look I had been dreading, the look that acted like I hadn't known every inch of your body, caressed every inch of your skin. The look that acted like we were nothing more than co-workers who had achieved a slight level of friendship.

It was a cold slap in the face. And I deserve it.

The only reason I called this dinner so quickly was because I was willing to do anything to make this pain go away as fast as possible. And if that meant jumping right into a perceived normal with Leo, then that's what I had to do (this apparently also meant that I would gather a bag of my belongings, transfer them from the Riverside apartment—my home—to Leo's and play house like everything was all right). I didn't even know you were going to be there; I hadn't called you to let you know this was happening, I thought it was far too soon for us to walk on the old path like we had both easily gotten over what was between us (I will never get over it, but I can only speak for myself). So maybe Will talked to you. Maybe Jack mentioned it and you didn't want him to ask questions as to why you weren't going to be there for your friend. But as much as I wanted to see you again, to see you in this situation, to see you the way you looked, was harder than I ever anticipated.

I don't know what was worse: the fear that you would make a scene at dinner—and I realize that this requires some conceited element of my being at this point—or the fact that you said nothing at all. You had done all your fighting in that kiss last night, and you thought you lost. So what was the point of starting something now? And in the end, Will picked up your slack, stating the obvious and dragging you further into it than I knew you wanted to be; Jack was sitting next to you, after all, and I knew that now you would be saddled with two years worth of explanation that you didn't want to give. But god, Will's words are still ringing in my ears ("I can't just sit here pretending like everything's fine when you would rather patch things up with a man who has hurt you in the past—and will probably do it again—than to be with the woman sitting across from you who has given you everything you could possibly want or need. It's your life, Grace, and you can do with it what you will. But I can't watch this anymore. Karen, I'm sorry that I tried to go along with this charade." All before he left the restaurant with Leo looking down at his lap and Jack with an expression on his face that cannot be described).

He was right to storm off, you know (of course you know). I always had that feeling, but sitting down to that dinner solidified it. As much as he couldn't stand watching this pathetic show that was obviously not going to end well, I couldn't stand being the principal actor in it. I spent all day with Leo today, and I realized what rebuilding our life together would mean. It would mean an uneasy feeling when he goes off into the city alone. It would mean wanting to question him endlessly about where he's been and knowing that it would come off sounding insane. It would mean swallowing the fact that he broke his promise to me every time it comes back up. It would mean trust that could never be mended, and knowing that that is what I'd have to live with until death do us part.

It would mean looking at him and wishing he were you. Because that's all I've done tonight.

Before he went to bed, Leo told me that it didn't matter what anyone else thought; what truly mattered is what we thought, and I couldn't figure out if the "we" meant as a couple or individually—he and I. Because if he meant the both of us, collectively, he had more optimism than he should. I couldn't bring myself to end it just then. He looked so damn hopeful that even though any love for him was now gone, I didn't want to see the look in his eyes change so dramatically. Which, when you think about it, is a sad turn of events. This man hurt me in one of the worst ways possible, and you'd think that would give me a clean conscience to return the favor, to tell him to his face that he lost me forever all because of a lapse of judgment. But I just couldn't do it. As much as I wanted to, the words wouldn't come. They were jumbled in my mind, so much I wanted to say but didn't know how. But standing alone on the sand in Coney Island, taking in the lifelessness of everything that was once so vibrant to be because you were there to share it, I realized that I didn't need to be so verbose. Everything could be said in a few simple words. Or written down, anyway.

Back in the Brooklyn apartment, I packed everything that I brought with me when I made the swift exit from the life I was living over the summer (and a few things I left when I made the swift exit from married life a few months ago), as soon as I walked in through the door. I know he's still asleep; when we were married, he barely noticed when I got out of the bed in the middle of the night, so what makes me think that anything I do now will wake him up? My bags are by the door, and as much as I wanted to leave him without any warning, I know I have to at least give him something.

Walking to the bedroom, I'm suddenly brought back to the first time you and I were alone here, after getting close to the tune of "Just Like Heaven." And I know I'm about to do what you did that night. But there's a difference. You were doing it out of respect for the person who was sleeping in the bed. I was doing it for my sanity. I look at him now, and all I see some random woman who is faceless but you know she's gorgeous all the same. I can never un-see her, and it makes me even more positive that I'm doing the right thing.

I find a notebook on the nightstand that I know must be his, and for a moment I want to look through it to see what he's written. If there's anything in it about her, about me, about what he was thinking when he was in Cambodia. But what good will that do me now? He's already done it; knowing the thought process behind his actions won't make things any better. I rip the last page out and pick up the pen that was lying next to the notebook. And then I write down the only thing he needs to know.

I can't do this.

Maybe this time he woke up. Maybe he saw the note just after I walked out the door. Maybe he thought he still had time to catch me before I was gone. Maybe he was wondering if it was worth it to try. But I don't know. The cab just pulled up and I'm loading my belongings in the back.

I probably never will know.

But I think that's how I like it.

I've got a plan, and I really think that it will work. I believe it will, so it has to (all I've got left is childish faith. Forgive me).

As much as I wanted to tell the driver to speed towards Park Avenue, I knew that I couldn't just show up at your door with my bags at my feet and pick up right where we left off. I'm not that foolish. There has been damage done, and I know it's on me to fix it; I am the one that caused it to begin with. But I know I can fix it. I saw it in your eyes last night. You can't get over things that quickly. And I hope you don't resist me.

The cab pulled up to the Riverside apartment, and I felt my heart drop. I was almost afraid to go back in. Will seemed angrier about what I've done than you were, so how exactly was I supposed to tell him that this was all for nothing, like everyone knew it would be? I stood on the concrete sidewalk for a few minutes after the cab took off again, and thought for a moment about how I could put this off. But the fact of the matter is this: I don't know if you're willing to have me, and until I know, I have no place to stay if I didn't go in there right then. Take a deep breath, Grace. Face the music.

I stood at the door of 9C for a moment before I knocked on the door, softly, pathetically. After all that's happened, I wasn't sure if I should consider this my home, if I should just use the key and let myself in. I heard nothing coming from the other side of the door and was certain that Will was fast asleep. But just before I started to make my way across the hall to see if Jack would let me sleep on his couch tonight, the door opened, and I heard a quiet, "Gracie?" I haven't heard anyone call me that since the last time it spilled from your lips. It made me want to burst into tears on the spot. He could never say it in the perfect way you do. And before my entire being is overwhelmed with this feeling, I murmured the only thing I can think of.

"I messed up. You were right."

He took me in, wrapped me in his arms. He didn't make me feel like the bad guy, the person I've been making myself out to be lately. There was no judgment, no "I told you so." I had made this out to be much worse in my head, when in actuality, I perhaps should have been focusing on what would happen when I see you again. But that's where my head is at now. That's where it will continue to stay until the moment happens.

Now, I'm in my bed, but it is no longer mine. It is ours. It belongs to you just as much as it belongs to me. It has been at least an hour and a half since I heard Will close the door to his bedroom, and I know that he's asleep by now. I don't need him interfering in this, and I am too determined to let it wait until morning. I need to see you. Regardless of whether or not you want to see me, this is something that will stay with me like an insatiable hunger, because deep down, that's basically what it is. Your kiss…I can't stop thinking about your kiss—not only the one you planted on my lips last night, but also every one you gave me since we first started this journey two years ago. I can't stop thinking about your laugh, that special one that seemed to only come about for me. I can't stop thinking about your touch, your eyes, your love.

I can't stop thinking about you.

And in a fit of nostalgia, I take this time to sneak out of the apartment, sliding past Will, on the way to Park Avenue.