One Half

“Fuck,” Greg spat as the bright red sauce sputtered from the pot onto his white shirt. Great. What a great sign. What a great idea. What a great moron. He breathed in slowly, consciously ridding his mind of the negative self-talk. Remember what Annie always said: confidence is key; our thoughts become our reality; blah blah blah. Her self-help drivel always buoyed his spirits, even if just the humour of the threadbare application.

Tossing the soiled shirt towards the laundry basket, Greg rifled through his other options. He’d already done this part of the night, agonising over what to wear. He had lost patience for it a while ago, so he just grabbed the shirt closest to him in the hopes that if it were the wrong choice the sauce would once again let him know. He sniffed, staring down at the white shirt that lay limp on the ground next to the basket.

The grating sound of the downstairs buzzer jolted through him. “Shit,” he said under his breath. She was early. He looked over at the squint clock on the wall. He was late. Heart hammering, he lifted the phone on the wall off its perch and pressed the button for her to enter. While she worked her way up the stairs he dumped the spaghetti into the colander in the sink, cursed the steam fogging his glasses, and grabbed a couple of plates from the cupboard, cursorily checking they had been properly cleaned.

A friendly knock on the door. Greg took a deep breath, smoothed his hair. “Hi,” he said when he swung open the door, too heavy on the enthusiasm.

“Well, hi,” she beamed from the hallway, holding her bag in front of her like armour. She was taller than she had looked on her profile, but Greg didn’t mind that. She was just as pretty as her pictures with her bright eyes and little dimples. “Greg, I presume.” She giggled, crossing over the threshold.

“It is I,” he said, bending into a strange bow. For fucks sake, he thought. Not only was he acting like he’d never met another person before, but he had forgotten her fucking name. How hard would it have been to just take another look at the app when he was getting ready earlier? Idiot. “Sit down, sit down.” He gestured to the little round table, unfamiliar to him when set for two. “Let me take your coat.”

“Ah, perfect.” She shrugged off her coat, scanned the room. “Nice place you’ve got here.”

“Thanks.” He hung her coat and began serving up the spaghetti. It was something with an N, he thought. Nicole? Natasha? Damn it. “I don’t have much of an eye for those kinds of things – house stuff, you know. My, um, my friend did most of it for me. Annie.”

“Annie has good taste.” She smiled widely, nodding at Greg’s offer of wine.

He placed the plates at their settings and took his seat opposite her. “Spaghetti bolognese.” He gestured for her to begin. “It’s quite a speciality dish, I don’t know if you’ll have heard of it.”

Her laugh was musical. He grinned. Laughing was good. A good sign. Annie always said Greg’s jokes weren’t funny, but she never said it with a straight face. His grin faded to just a smile.

For the entire dinner, Greg was kicking himself for forgetting her name. He tried picturing her profile in his mind but it loaded up as just a vague blur. He wondered if he could get through the whole date without having to name her, wondered if he could excuse himself to the bathroom and quickly check his phone.

But even without a name, his date was absolutely charming. She didn’t say anything about the pasta being undercooked, finished everything on her plate. She was well-travelled, Greece was her favourite. One of Greg’s favourites too, despite the fact there had been an earthquake the last time he’d been there. He hadn’t travelled since, as he’d promised Annie. She liked murder mystery books, Greg was able to offer interesting conversation on that, murder mysteries being Annie’s guilty pleasure. He made sure to keep making jokes, and she continued to laugh even at the stupid ones.

Greg felt more at ease the longer they sat, even began enjoying himself. Maybe it was the wine, but he felt a pleasant warmth in the presence of this woman. Riding the high of flowing conversation that has once been so familiar to him, he found himself wanting to reach out and touch her hand as it lay invitingly on the table, but something stopped him. He was afraid of what he might feel, or what he might not.

Her eyes were bright blue like a sparkling sea, the envy of so many, Greg would wager. Annie always wanted blue eyes, the deep chocolate brown of her own boring her. But, of course, she’d never swam in those brown eyes when the late afternoon sunshine melted them into sweet, warm honey.

Another oversight, Greg had forgotten to prepare anything for dessert. He apologised, hoping his date would see him not as a tactless mess but a lovable goof, perfect fodder for a cheesy romance. She said it was okay, though. That it was getting late anyway, she ought to get going. Greg told himself not to read into this as it was only half-past eight, but his mind became muddied anyway with ways he had gone wrong and ways he could have been different.

“I had a nice time,” he said when she once more stood on the other side of the threshold. He had intended to say something more but instead, his sentence was inorganically cut short, he didn’t really have anything more to say. He plastered on a smile, feeling as though he was posing for a picture of his teeth.

“So did I,” she said, maybe not all that truthfully, Greg thought. “But…” Ah, of course. “I think that… you should just tell Annie how you feel.” She was smiling at him as though doing him some sort of favour.

“I – I’m sorry?”

She laughed coyly as if he were in on the joke. “Greg, you haven’t stopped talking about her all evening. You clearly want to be with her. You should tell her.” Still with that charitable smile.

He didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. She sighed blissfully. “If someone spoke about me the way you do her… I’d melt. Fall in love with him in a second.” Her eyes glazed over as a Greg-figure waltzed around her mind, telling her the sun shone out of her arse.

The silence stretched out between them, it had been too long since Greg had said anything. So he shrugged, a you-caught-me kind of shrug. “Yeah,” he sighed, “maybe I will – tell her.”

She nodded, pressing her lips together. In her head, she had just changed two lonely lives forever. She was a martyr, stone-faced cupid. “Good.” She kissed him on the cheek, gave him one last admiring smile and disappeared down the hallway.

Greg stood in his doorway long after she was gone. Her kiss was cold and wet on his cheek. He regretted mentioning Annie at all. He regretted that stupid date. Regretted his deep wound of desire for companionship. Regretted ever meeting Annie. It’s not true that it’s better to have loved and lost than never loved at all. Because ignorance really is bliss. And Greg wished more than anything that he could be ignorant of what love could truly be. Felt bitter about having tasted the sweetest honey this life had to offer because once it was gone nothing tasted the same. Before Annie, he was perfectly happy being half a person because he didn’t know there was any other way to be. But now, not only was he half a person, but he had a raw edge down his side where the other half had been ripped from him. The throbbing pain coursed through him with every beat of his heart, a constant reminder that Annie had once been, and was no longer. Her absence so acutely felt every second of every day. It was fucking unbearable. All he wanted was some sort of balm, some sort of dressing. Just anything to numb the pain even for a moment. So desperately he wanted the wound to become a scar. So desperately had he hoped that he could find some cure in those sea-blue eyes.

The bed groaned as he flopped backwards onto it. He didn’t know how much longer his back could survive that mattress. He rubbed his eyes until stars flashed and danced beneath the lids. Annie’s bedside table was just as she’d left it: a stack of spine-cracked books; a little orange pot of hand cream; a glass of now-dusty water with the faint smudge of her lips on the rim; a silver picture frame turned away from the bed.

After Annie died he had had to clean the bathroom – a tub full of bloody water was no use to anybody – but he could never bring himself to put away those little pieces of her that she had left next to their bed. He reached for the picture frame, cradling it gently in his hands as if the glass might shatter, or the smiles on their faces might fall from the photo. The frame was engraved at the bottom. Annie & Greg. Those people – that entity – ‘Annie & Greg’, beaming from behind the glass, bow-tie and white gown.