I walk out together. I am dreading going home, I know I have to bring up the dent but am not sure how to do it. If I ignore it I wonder if Jon will stay as sweet as he had been to me the day before. It’s not like being annoyed with him will change the fact that there is a dent. What if he had been at home all day sick with worry about how I would react?
On the drive home I decide not to bring up the dent and see if Jon will. I can picture walking in the door to Jon making something in the kitchen. He would walk over to help me take off my coat and kiss me, asking how my day was. We would have dinner together, and it would be the first step to being us again. If I could just ignore this maybe that would happen, and wouldn’t that be worth it in the long run? I was home. I park, take a deep breath, and after collecting my things, make my way up to our apartment. There had been a dreary drizzle of freezing rain most of the day. Expecting slick spots, I slowly make my way up the stairs.
The apartment is dark when I walk in. I flip on the light for the front room and look around. I stop myself from calling out to Jon in case he is sleeping. I hang up my keys and purse, then take off my coat before moving further into the apartment, turning on lights as I go. The door to our bedroom is cracked. I peer inside, expecting to see Jon lying in our bed. He isn’t. Where is he? I walk back out to the kitchen to see if maybe he left a note before getting my cell phone from my purse to check for a text. Nothing.
I think about texting him to ask where he is, but the last time I had done that he had become so annoyed. He had implied that my asking where he was, was an accusation. It didn’t matter that I tried to explain I only wanted to find out if I should be cooking for two or just myself. Jon wasn’t always this defensive. Only in the last year. In the past he had been so confident and so sure of our bond. He also had an uncanny way of knowing what I was thinking of asking before I did. He seems to have lost that.
I think back to the two resumes I had faxed off for him that day with a wish in my heart that something good would come of it. I make myself a sandwich and pull out a photo album from when we first started dating. It’s a black padded album with slots for two pictures and a comment on each page, with a spot for one photo on the cover. I trace Jon's handsome profile on the cover picture. It’s a shot of us looking at each other. I laugh, looking at our sappy expressions. My laugh becomes a choked sob at the thought of how different we are today. Taking a napkin to stem the flow of tears, I close my eyes, pushing the album away.
Today is not a good day to look at it, maybe tomorrow. Getting up to wash my plate, I feel flushed. Raising the back of my hand to my forehead, I grimace at how warm it feels. I wash my plate, take some aspirin, and then suck on a vitamin C drop. I am not going to get sick. There are few things I can control right now, but I am convinced getting sick is one of them. Changing into my pajamas, I am sure that a good night’s sleep will kick whatever funk may be lurking. Still hot, I shove most of the comforter towards Jon's side of the bed.
For the most part, I sleep well with the exception of freezing at some points and then feeling too warm. When I wake and see that Jon is still not home, I’m relieved because I am certain he would have been annoyed that I tossed and turned all night. That feeling is short-lived and replaced by a combination of concern at where he is to annoyance at how inconsiderate it is of him. Those feelings are pushed aside as I hurry to get ready for work. While I do not feel one