J A N E T T A

01 | my last day

Sigh.

I always imagined my last day would feel... monumental.

Like the sky would know. The ocean would rage. Or the universe would offer some grand farewell.

Instead...

Mumbai carries on.

Children chase each other across the sand, a couple argues over whose turn it is to carry their shoes and someone nearby laughs so hard they snort.

In short, life goes on. Even when yours has already stopped.

The waves reach my feet.

Retreat.

Come back again.

Persistent little things.

I envy them.

One more step will all it'd take.

One stupid little step.

Funny, that six months ago, I thought my biggest problem was learning how my husband took his coffee.

Now I'm standing on a beach wondering how cold the water will feel before I stop feeling anything at all.

I tighten my fingers around the straps of my sandals and begin walking away from the shore. Weaving around the cheerful chatter of the people, the beach begins to thin the farther south I go.

By the time I reach the narrow trail, the voices behind me have faded into nothing more than a distant hum. It's quieter here. The tourists don't wander this far, and the locals seem content to leave this stretch of beach alone.

I don't blame them.

The walk through the trees isn't long anymore.

A week ago, I counted every step because I didn't know where I was going.

Now my feet know the way without me having to think about it.

I duck beneath the low branch hanging across the path and stop in front of the broken section of the fence.

I still can't believe I found it by accident.

A gap hidden behind wild bushes.

Easy to miss unless you happened to lose your balance exactly the way I did.

Lucky me.

I slip through the opening and brush the dirt from my palms before making my way toward the water.

This side of the beach feels different. Quieter and untouched. Almost... protected.

The familiar mansion rises beyond the trees to my far left, hidden just enough that it looks like it doesn't belong to the rest of the city. I've never seen anyone come or go. Never heard voices or seen lights in more than a handful of windows.

Sometimes I wonder if anyone even lives there.

Not that it matters.

I'm not here because of the mansion. I came because this is the only place I've found where nobody asks why I'm sitting alone for hours. Or why I keep staring at the ocean like it's trying to tell me something.

The soft breeze ruffle my hair as I pull my phone from my bag and stare at the screen.

My thumb hovers over the name I've dialed without hesitation for years, then finally click green.

I should've called weeks ago.

Instead, I convinced myself he was better off without me.

That he was probably still angry and maybe I'd finally pushed him far enough away.

The call picks up before I can change my mind.

"Jan?"

My eyes close.

He still answers like that.

I swallow around the lump in my throat. "Hi Rob,"

A beat of silence passes before he lets out a quiet laugh.

"I was beginning to think you'd forgotten I exist."

I wince. "I've been busy."

"Mm."

He doesn't believe me. I don't blame him. I won't believe me either.

"How's Mumbai?"

I glance at the waves rolling onto the shore.

"It's... different."

"Different good or different bad?"

I smile despite myself. "Still trying to decide."

"I'll take that as progress."

Another silence settles between us.

Not awkward though.

We've never really had awkward silences. Roberto, my best friend, has always been the one person I never had to perform for.

"How's work?" he asks.

"Tiring."

"You sound tired."

"I am."

"You sleeping?"

"Sometimes."

"Jan." There it is. The voice that always knew when I was lying.

I close my eyes. "I'm okay."

A soft scoff reaches my ear. "You're a terrible liar."

"I've had practice."

"You've had terrible teachers."

That pulls a laugh out of me. A real one. I didn't think I had one left.

"I miss that," he says quietly.

My smile fades.

"So do I."

Neither of us says what we're actually talking about.

It's easier this way.

I curl my toes into the wet sand as another wave brushes over my feet.

"Uh listen Rob, I- I wanted to apologize."

He doesn't answer immediately.

I don't think he's surprised.

"I should've called sooner," I continue. "I just..."

"I know," he says gently.

"No." I shake my head even though he can't see me. "You don't." Then I whisper the one thing I've spent months refusing to admit. "You were right."

His breathing is the only thing I hear for several seconds. When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter than before.

"I wish I hadn't been."

A broken laugh escapes me.

"Turns out my husband is indeed not very interested in monogamy." I add jokingly. 

Those were the words he had told me the day we fought.

'Jan, try to fucking understand, Cosimo Ferri is not very interested in monogamy, dammit!'

"I should've listened to you."

"No."

I frown. "No?"

"You should've been able to trust the people who were supposed to love you."

My grip tightens around the phone.

Another wave curls around my ankles before retreating.

"I was so sure I could make it work."

"I know."

"I really thought..." I let out a shaky laugh. "I thought if I tried hard enough, eventually he'd love me."

"He didn't deserve the chance."

"No, he didn't."

I blink against the sting in my eyes.

For a while, neither of us speaks. He's always known when to leave me alone with my thoughts.

"You know," he says eventually, "I almost got on a plane."

"What?" I blink.

"The day you left."

"You did?"

"I had my passport in my hand."

"Then why didn't you?"

"Because I knew you'd hate me for it." He laughs softly.

"Probably." I laugh too.

"You definitely would've."

Another smile finds me.

It's becoming a dangerous habit.

"I just needed to know you were somewhere they couldn't reach you."

"They won't find me here."

"I know." He says it with so much certainty that, for a second, I almost believe him.

"Are you eating properly?" he asks.

I roll my eyes. "There he is."

"What?"

"My eighty-year-old grandmother trapped inside a thirty-two-year-old man."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

"You always skip meals when you're upset."

"I had lunch."

"Today?"

At that, I go silent.

"Jan."

Sighing, I admit. "I had coffee."

"Coffee isn't lunch." He nags.

I roll my eyes again. "It was a very committed coffee."

He sighs. "Mio Dio, I miss you."

(My god,)

The words hit harder than they should and at once wetness fill my eyes.

Because I miss him too.

More than Italy, the home, and most of all, the life I thought I'd lost.

"I miss you too." I bite the inside of my cheek, willing the tears to stay where they belong.

"So..." His voice lightens deliberately. "When are you coming back?"

Never.

I look out at the endless stretch of water.

"Jan?"

My eyes close, and a traitorous tear slides down my cheek.

"I don't know." It's not a lie.

"Alright, just promise me one thing."

I already know I'm going to hate whatever comes next.

"What?"

"If it gets bad again..." He pauses. "Call me."

My chest heaves and I quickly bite my knuckle from letting out a sob.

"I mean it, Jan."

I yank the phone away from my ear and turn my face away to squeeze my eyes shut. Quiet sobs rack my chest as I try to control them.

"Jan? Jan?" Roberto's voice distantly calls out from my phone and I swallow thickly before clearing my throat, hurriedly placing the phone back on my ear again.

"I'll answer, no matter what time it is."

I stare at the horizon until it blurs.

"I promise." 

The lie leaves my mouth easier than I expected.

"Good." His voice softens. "I'm glad you called."

"So am I." I bite my trembling lip.

"Try and get some sleep tonight."

"I will."

Another lie.

"I'll call you tomorrow."

This one almost breaks me.

"I'll be waiting." I swallow hard. 

"Bye, Jan."

"Bye, Rob." Forever.

The line goes dead.

For a long moment, I simply stand there with the phone still pressed against my ear.

That's it.

No more calls or messages.

No more pretending that tomorrow is another day I'll somehow survive.

Lowering my phone, I switch it off before I can do something stupid... like turn it back on and call him again. Or listen when he inevitably tells me not to do this.

Because he would.

Roberto always knows.

He always has.

A humorless smile tugs at my lips.

He was right about my marriage.

He'd probably be right about this too.

Too bad I'm done listening.

I slip my phone back into my bag and put it on the sand before bending down to unbuckle my sandals.

I won't be needing them anymore.

The first step on the sand feels cool beneath my feet. I've always hated walking barefoot. I like shoes. Expensive ones. Luxurious ones. Preferably, italian leather. Another thing I'll never need again.

I leave them beside the rock where I always sit.

For a second, I just stand there looking at them.

It's ridiculous, really.

I've spent the last hour making peace with dying...

...and somehow I'm more worried about someone stealing my sandals.

I almost laugh.

The water reaches my feet the moment I step forward. It was cold enough to make me suck in a quiet breath, but not enough to stop me.

Nothing is going to stop me anymore.

I keep walking.

The waves lap against my ankles before retreating, only to return a few seconds later.

Persistent things.

If only people fought that hard to stay.

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