Stages of Grace - By Carey Heywood Page 0,3
when my co-worker Nikita comes in. Nikita is twenty-two and somewhat of a partier. With her come the obligatory big plans for the weekend question. I have no idea why she still even asks. Maybe it is out of politeness, but either way, my answer is always the same.
"Nothing, do you have any plans?"
"I was thinking about checking out this new wine bar. One of my girlfriends went there last week and said it was fun. Or there's that new movie coming out, you know the one with that funny girl who won the Oscar."
"That sounds nice." I add, and it did.
It's been so long since I've done anything fun like that. Single pretty girl that she is, Nikita always seems to be doing something interesting. I can’t believe how much older I feel considering I'm only twenty-five, twenty-two seems like a lifetime ago. Nikita chats happily as she follows me back to our desks. The office will be opening shortly and so will the phone line. Between the both of us we cover the patients getting checked in, making photocopies of insurance cards, updating addresses to manning the phones and setting new appointments. I'm thankful our office is busy. It keeps the time to chat down to a minimum, and I feel better when I'm doing something. The only downfall is it seems as though the days fly by, and I'm back in my car again, headed home.
Jon will definitely be up tonight when I get home. He will also be expecting dinner. The days of him cooking are long gone. I put my hand on my neck as I slowly roll my head from one shoulder to the other. I get my now empty lunch bag and purse from under my desk and walk out with Nikita. She is still happily chatting without a care in the world while I, on the other hand, move slower with each step, almost willing my car further away. Resigned to the fact that I have to go home and that Jon will be there. I slow as I cross the Cuyahoga, wishing for the peace I feel when I look at it. That feeling of peace leaves me once I'm past the river, replaced with a dread that builds each mile closer to home I drive.
Parking the car, I look up at our apartment. It had once been a place of so much joy. When Jon brought the idea of officially moving in together I had been thrilled. We had been dating exclusively for almost a year since the night we met at the bowling alley. I had been thrilled. We had basically been living in my cramped studio apartment for the last six months. It was decided, Jon would move out of the house he shared with his buddies, and we would find a place to rent together. The complex we settled on was halfway from both of our jobs. It meant a little bit longer of a commute for both of us but not by much.
Our apartment felt like a castle in comparison to the tight squeeze of my old place. We had so much fun decorating it and making it feel like home. I had felt bliss there at one time. Now all I feel is as though I am walking a tightrope suspended over a deep canyon with no hope of making it across. No, I shake my head. We are fine. We are going to get through this. I love Jon, and he loves me. Everything will be okay. I unbuckle my belt and gather my things before carefully making my way up the walkway, then the stairs. False smile ready, my key is in the lock.
Looking up at me from the leather armchair, Jon smirks. My face already feels exhausted in maintaining my false grin, as though someone had said, "Say cheese!" before being ready to actually take the picture, and I am forced to stay there, just waiting for the shutter to click. Jon's face shows no visible sign of being happy to see me. His eyes survey me, stopping when they meet my eyes and then drop back to his book. I hang my purse, keys and lunch bag on the hook by the door. The hook is one of three attached to a plaque that says Home Sweet Home. Shrugging off my coat, I hang it in the coat closet, then go to the kitchen to start dinner.
"No need to make anything