Flat Whites & Cigarette Smoke
Dear readers,
I’ve just returned to work after a year on maternity leave. It hasn’t been smooth. I’ve craved freedom, sure. But I find myself missing them. I sit behind my computer watching the clock. I spend most of my day staring at the monitor. Drawing a blank. My son now says "Mama" and "Dada", naps only once a day, and is settled in daycare without fuss. That part hurts a bit. My husband, on the other hand, seems fine. “Don’t worry, I got this,” he says every morning while kissing my lips. Then he prods me out the front door. He works from home, drives our boy to daycare, and picks him up after.
The office is a bright, white room with desks and shelves pressed against each other by two. Sunlight pours through large windows, and we get as much as possible. I love standing by them, watching the street below me, and guessing people’s orders while they bounce out of my favorite coffee spot. Flat white and a chocolate chip muffin were my usual order. I guess what my next order will be when I decide to go back again.
At 4:30 pm, I take an elevator down to the garage. Before the doors open, there are a few seconds of pitch black. Then the lights come on. It used to haunt me. Now, these seconds are the only time I can be myself. Just me. Even for a moment. I compose myself. Take a breath. I stroll towards my car. On my way home, I pass the neighborhood we used to live in. I often think about those days, but once the apartment building is out of sight, the memory fades. Not today. Something pulls me toward it. My hand slides to the indicator. I switch lanes. Then stop at the red light. My heart beats faster, my fingers tremble. I haven’t been here in years. I park in the spot that was the hardest to get. This spot is the clearest to see from the balcony. I sit in the car, and I look up to see it. It still looks the same. Empty. The only thing we had kept there was my husband's ashtray for when he smoked. Wind scattered the ash, and rain made it stick to the windowsill. The bedroom smelled like cigarettes.
I want to go up there. To check if it still smells like smoke. Open the fridge, pour myself a drink. Step out on the balcony. Watch the sunlight break over the cityscape. The first night lights pop on. I want to order a pizza. Get it delivered by the same driver. I wonder if she still works there. The apartment was rundown when we moved in. The walls were painted orange and stained. The bathroom light flickered. When I cooked during winter, it fogged up the kitchen windows. But I loved every corner of that place. Even when it didn’t love me back. Once I was alone, and the cupboard doors fell off. It startled me. Then he came home from work, and I squeezed the life out of him. He always hugged and kissed me when he returned. He talked about his day, and I complained about a coworker. We curled up on the couch and watched a movie. He came home one night and leaned in to kiss me as usual. I felt chills run down my neck. I fucked him on the table.
I get out of the car and walk around the block. It didn’t change much. They fixed the driveway and replaced the garbage bins. I asked him if he could take out the trash. He did. He walked right here, lit a cigarette, and gave me time to clean the floors. We didn’t need more. He was there for me, and I was there for him. And it worked. Life was where we wanted it. We both had jobs and friends nearby whom we visited often before we all had kids. We haven’t seen them in months. We went out for walks every night, down this street. There’s a park. It has playgrounds tucked in between the trees. “We could have one of these,” I whispered once while we passed the children. “We could,” he replied. “You want to have them tonight?” I nodded. That night, the sex was different. It was still us, but I knew it would stay like that for the rest of our lives. I always loved him, though that night I felt the closest I ever felt to anyone. I pressed into him when he finished inside of me.
I rush towards my car. My boys are home waiting for me. Some things can’t be explained until they happen. When I open the door to our house, a blonde boy, not yet tall enough to reach my waist, will hit my knees and squeeze me tight. I’ll exhale as my husband’s arms wrap around my shoulders, and he kisses me on the cheek, understanding. I start the engine. The balcony on the fifth floor flashes in the rearview mirror as I drive away. While a lot of thoughts have raced through my head this week, this is the first time I’m proud of my ability to make great decisions in life.
Regards,
Jakub