After fourteen weeks of this silent treatment, I couldn’t sleep. One night around two in the morning, I got up and took my phone into the kitchen. It had been over three months. Almost a full season. If he wasn’t going to return my calls, I was just going to have to wake him up in the middle of the night. Finally, the phone stopped ringing.

“Hello?” The voice was strained, but it was Alex. Not Griffin.

“Hi, Alex. I need to talk to Griffin.”

“Yeah. He can’t come to the phone right now.” She paused. “Um, Bailey, I’ll try to get him to call you when he sobers up.” She hung up.

I thought about the conversation he and I never had about “us.” I was frightened for him.

A few days later, I was about to leave the apartment, embarking on my first big-time, legitimate, “put my name on the map” job opportunity since working on Ipanema. My phone buzzed. It was Griffin.

“Hello,” I said, reminding myself to have restraint in this conversation.

“I know you know.”

“Back at you.” I had gotten married. Griffin had become a drunk. “Are you okay?” I heard myself ask.

“I don’t know. I need time, Bae.” And then he said, “Can I still call you that?”

“Of course. That’s my name.”

“Your husband won’t mind?” He almost choked the word out.

“Wait just a minute. You’re the one who broke my heart. You refused me.” I was shaking.

“I didn’t marry Alex. It’s not like that. You know that.”

“How? When I called, you were sleeping with Alex. In the bedroom I decorated.” Our words retreated. But neither one of us made any motion to end the conversation.

“Griffin … What about us? Are we ever going to be okay?” Silence covered us like a scratchy blanket. He didn’t answer. We just sat there. In an odd way, we were at least together. I feared if I hung up, I would sever our relationship for good. So, I held the phone to my ear, cradling our fragile connection.

“There will never be an ‘us.’ Not anymore.” More silence.

Finally, I said, “I hate this. What chapter is this in your caregiver’s book?”

“Chapter Forty-Three. Relapse,” he said. “Or regret.” We sank deeper into silence. A thousand thoughts darted between us, but no words landed on our lips. My heart broke again even as it was bursting.

“I’m so sorry, Griffin,” and I hung up the phone without letting him hear me cry. I shed tears for Griffin before anyone else.

My anger fell away. My happiness fell away. All that was left was unresolved longing and sadness I couldn’t quench or bear.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Three

The brutal winter yielded a warmer than normal spring. April ushered in sprouting daffodils and sun worshipers in Central Park.