Page 57 of The Vow

“Me? Are you sure?”

“Yes. Ma would want you to be a part of this.”

Alex wiped at her eyes and gently unfolded the sheet of paper, but not before kissing it.

“It’s so old. It’s almost falling apart.”

“I know. Is it legible? What is it?”

“It depends. What does Z-E-P-P-O-L-E mean?”

Words can break a heart or help piece it back together. I thought my mother would leave me final words of wisdom or pass down a story I’ve never heard. I thought that I could read something heartwarming, or comforting. Looking up at Alex, the woman who still owned my heart, I told her, “It’s a donut recipe.”

Twenty-Two

There was nowhere to hide from her obsessive cleaning. I almost preferred to be alone. First, she vacuumed, then she cleaned the main window, and now she’s dusting with furniture polish, and every few minutes, she stops to search for her wine glass, having forgotten where she placed it.

The radio D.J. relayed the news of a plane crash before playing a pop song to cancel the tragedy. The mail was delivered on time. Lightning struck before thunder exploded. The world is turning as it always has, unaware of the miserable souls who have ceased to inhabit it. Alex could have my body taxidermied and nothing would change.

It’s two o’clock in the afternoon and her third glass of wine is almost empty. “Stop using so many paper towels.”

“I’m using the right amount. Do you need anything? A snack?”

“I need you to stop using so many paper towels. There’s a dust cloth under the kitchen sink.”

She sneered at me but searched for the cloth. “I can’t find it.”

“Look harder.”

“I’m telling you, it’s not here.”

I wheeled myself to the kitchen as if my chair had jet engines. The first thing within reach was a flashlight. “What’s this?” I asked, waving the cloth around.

“I didn’t see it.”

“You didn’t look hard enough.”

“Okay! I get it! Sue me.”

Dropping the cloth on the floor, I wheeled back to my usual spot in the middle of the living room between the couch and the television. Alex refilled her glass, and then, in an act of defiance, she lit a cigarette.

“What the fuck are you doing? Don’t smoke in the house.”

“It’s only one. And the window’s open.”

“What’s wrong with the garage?”

“It’s kind of chilly today,” she said, slurring.

“Either put it out or go outside. And why the hell are you drunk in the middle of the afternoon?”

“Stop reprimanding me!”

Our relationship has morphed into something hideous. In my mind, I saw myself approaching her, kissing her. I could hear myself telling her that I’ve been an ass, and begging for her forgiveness, but that man is dead. With her head lowered, leaning on the kitchen island, she, too, was mourning what we once shared.

“This can’t go on like this.”

Looking at me, she said nothing, and then walked towards me with caution like she would a feral cat. “No, it can’t. Because I... I want you, but you’ve closed yourself off. You can still love me, Pip.” It was vulgar the way she brushed her fingers over my arms, my chest, my face. She was trying to seduce half a man. “Make love to me.”