It was the card that had started it. All because of one card. She hadn't meant to show it to him, but when he was there with her, taking a lost look around, unsure where to start, it had been too tempting not to. It had seemed wrong not to share something that would have meant a lot to both of them.
"I- we got this card from Bali the other day."
"Bali? Who's in Bali?"
She pulled it out from under the vase on the coffee table where she kept it. It was silly to keep it there rather than in a drawer somewhere, but sometimes, when she sat down, she liked to look at it, to study the happy faces in the picture and decipher the neat, feminine handwriting. It gave her a sense of hope and vicarious joy, and, at the same time, it felt like rubbing salt into an already sore wound. "It's from Cragen and Eileen."
"Oh. Are they doing good?" His expression shifted as soon as he opened the beautiful floral card and a photograph nearly fell out. He took far too long to read the brief message in the card before looking at the picture of the beaming couple in colourful vacation attire, posing in a close embrace on a gorgeous deserted beach. A crooked smile spread across his face, accompanied by a tinge of something else. She liked to imagine that it was the same regret she felt. "They look so happy."
"Yeah." Her throat felt constricted, and when he finally glanced up from the card to meet her gaze, she quickly began to gather up some papers she had spread out on the coffee table and return them to her bag so he wouldn't notice the tears in her eyes. "They deserve it."
"They do. Married, huh?"
And here she was, half leaning against, half lying on her ex-boyfriend's chest, each of them with one arm wrapped around the other, his right hand stroking her hair. She could feel his breathing, and the steady motion, the flow of air, calmed her, made her feel almost sleepy…if it weren't for the nagging thought that she really shouldn't be cuddling with her ex on the day he had chosen to move out of their joint apartment. It wasn't that they were doing anything hugely inappropriate, anything that could actually mean something like goodbye sex, and they certainly hadn't parted ways on bad terms, but this was not only masochistic, it also wasn't fair to him. But she needed this, they both did, and she didn't want to think. She didn't want him to get up and start packing, and she really didn't want to have to watch him walk out.
He had called her on a Thursday, a week after the conclusion of the Grand Jury investigation. In hindsight, it probably hadn't been a coincidence. Apparently, a week was the time and space he had decided to give her after she didn't call him to tell him about the result, after they hadn't talked and he hadn't come by, just as she had asked him not to. It had been a rough week, even though she had gotten her badge back. A week of coming down from the adrenaline high and growing to realize that Lewis was gone for good, and just how close she had come to losing everything. Click. 33.3% chance of death.
It had hit her out of the blue, although it really shouldn't have come as a surprise. They had broken up a while ago and she had made it fairly clear to him that she wanted to keep her distance. A man could only live on one suit, a few shirts and jeans for so long, so Brian picking up his belongings was the inevitable thing. She simply hadn't expected it to be so peaceful and smooth. They hadn't really talked about it, it seemed like he had simply decided that he would find a new place to live, that he didn't, as he had put it, want to "hang on to it". She had told him that it was fine with her, that if that was what he wanted, it was all good, that he could come by to pick up his stuff while she was at work –more than once, in case he didn't get the hint- but he had insisted on meeting her. It was supposed to be a clean disentangling, civil and amicable without dispute. Conscious uncoupling, wasn't that the new fashionable term for it? The last thing she wanted to do was argue with him over who would get the silverware or who had paid for the glasses (she had). He could take it, take the TV, take all of it as long as he would just do it quickly and she wouldn't have to stand there, watching their new life together come apart after only a few months.
Lying here like this in his warmth wasn't going to speed up that process. It was the lazy way out.
"I love you" he mumbled into her hair. It was a sad, quiet acknowledgement of the two years between them, of how much they had been through together. It was goodbye.
She blinked. "I love you, too, Brian."
He kissed the top of her head, as he had done so many times before.
"Hey, Liv." He stood in the door awkwardly after ringing the bell for no good reason, some folded up cardboard boxes pinned under his arm. He still had keys.
"Hi. Come on in." She moved aside to let him pass.
He looked her up and down before stepping into the apartment. "You look good."
"Thanks." She had made an effort on purpose even though it was just a casual Sunday, putting on a soft day make-up, doing her hair, dressing well enough to look her regular self in brown pants and a loose apricot top, but not too well so it didn't seem like she was trying. She wanted him to see that she was okay, that this was okay. She wasn't the tearful mess who had phoned him anymore. The apartment, too, was spotless, as she had put in a cleaning session last night after work, trying to find some of his more hidden belongings. "You too."
That part was a lie. She didn't know what had been going on with him lately, but he seemed to have lost some weight which, at his size, wasn't a good thing. Brian was one of those people she envied who could eat and eat without gaining weight, even at their age. "I know" he replied jokingly, and she smiled to humour him.
"You're still staying at Ryan's?"
"Partly, I've moved around a bit. Spent some time at Jessica's." He moved further into the living room to look around, rubbing his palms against his jeans before turning around to face her again. "How are you doing?"
She shrugged. "Okay. You know. I haven't been charged. I haven't lost my job. I'm still here. I can move on."
He nooded. "I was so glad when I heard."
"The whole thing is over now. How have you been?"
"Me? Uh, fine. Nothing going on, really." It would have been easier if he had told her some small, insignificant detail of his life, so the ice could be broken. But small talk had never been their strength.
"I got some boxes from our move from the basement." She walked over to the wall she had leaned them against. "Found some packing materials, too." These were the easy, practical matters she could focus on.
"Thank you." He tried to lean his boxes against the other ones. They slid right down to the floor, and he had to pick them up again. "I have some more in the car."
"And I guess we still have to sit down and figure things out in terms of the furniture. I can make a list over the next few days of the items we bought together and then-"
"Don't worry about it; there's no rush" he cut her off, a little abrasively.
"Do you already have a new place?"
"Not yet. But I can store some things at my sister's place; she has a big basement." There was a pointless idea. It made no sense, logistically, to move twice. Unless he was trying hard to cut his ties with her. That stung.
"You can leave some things here until you have a new place. I don't mind."
"Thanks." Why did he keep thanking her? If the situation were reversed, he would do the same thing. He wandered over to the sideboard, picking up that ugly, carved wooden lizard thing he had once brought from Oaxaca.
"Oh yes, please take that with you, I beg you" she said with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood.
He chuckled. "You seriously thought I wouldn't notice when you moved it." He set it down again, making it face the wall.
This was dangerous, walking down memory lane was clearly not the way to go. She wished he would tape together a box already and get on with it. Why couldn't she be called into work the one time it was convenient? Should she give him a hand? He wasn't the most organized packer, but she wasn't sure what the protocol was here. She couldn't very well sit down to watch TV and ignore him. This was all new territory to her, and she suspected to him as well, from the way he stood around, at a loss where to begin. He met her eyes, and as she averted her gaze, it fell on the envelope tucked under the vase on the coffee table.
"I- we got this card from Bali the other day."
She didn't know who was to blame for it, but at some point, the embrace turned significantly less innocent. He was still stroking her hair, and as she lifted her head to look at him, his face was so close to hers, too close. His hair had grown a bit again, she noticed. It looked better this way, more like before. She could feel a sad smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she brought her hand to his cheek, feeling a hint of stubble. He turned his face slightly in response and kissed her palm, then leaned in and planted soft kisses on her temple, her cheek…and her lips. A rush of electricity ran through her, and she could feel the tingling sensation spread from her face down her neck and spine, her arms right down to her fingertips. This is wrong. A yearning began to build in the pit of her stomach as she reciprocated, keeping him from breaking the kiss. She wrapped her arm around his shoulders, and his hand was still tangled in her hair as his other arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her close. The kiss intensified, much like those eager kisses they had shared on his sofa at the beginning of their secret relationship. His lips felt rough, and he tasted like those glacier breath mints he was practically addicted to.
"No, no."
