"Take care of my darlings for me,"

**Trigger Warning, Depression and Substance Abuse**

I moved my kid's and I to South Dakota at the end of January 2022. We needed a new start.

The smell of coffee, breakfast food and the bleach water mixed together as I wiped the tables. It was sticky hot but, in my defense, I'm used to an Alaskan summer. The 8 hung over fisherman at the next table over were silently eating their breakfasts. "You're awfully quiet this morning!" I said cheerily, with knowing eyes and a playful smile.

"Yeah, not awake yet." one of them mumbled rubbing his eyes.

Another one stretched and said "Tell us a joke!"

I was taken aback by the sudden request. I quickly scanned my brain and while it revealed no jokes, I made an attempt to be clever.

"My life..." I quipped after a pause.

Success! A round of chuckles. I should be in stand up!

"Why is your life a joke?" was the resulting question, I take it back who would willingly deal with hecklers? I flushed, at one point I would've thought he was cheeky and handsome. I might be dead inside, but I recognize an attempt at flirting when I see it.

I smiled less cheerily, and said less confidently, "you don't want to know my story."

With that, a little deflated after involuntary reflection, I walked to the kitchen to start the dishes from previous customers.

The Plains are flatter than anywhere I'd ever been before. I called my daddy and talked about it the first week we'd been here and he said, "look really hard and you can see the back of your own head."

I've found havens of trees and spots to get down by the Missouri River, but I feel like the cracked ground. Like this drought is in my soul, and the wind is howling, unrelenting. It's getting cold again. I suppose in December it's allowed to.

My sweet babies had a great summer, with more freedom than they ever had in the city. The town pool was basically the babysitter for them while I worked waitressing and housekeeping. I'm not used to manual labor. I've worked with heels and blouses and slacks and skirts for the past 7 years. Before that only part time work as I was also raising my babies. I suppose 13, 11, and 8 is too old to call them babies but whatevs.

The divorce was super hard financially. I can stand that though; I grew up in poverty and have only known brief periods of time with plenty. It's heartbreak that really messes with you. I love D still, especially because he gave me our sweet babies. He wasn't a great husband to me, but he is now a great friend and co-parent. It was O that broke me.

It's been over a year and a half since we were together intimately. 11 months since I saw him in person. It was only a short while we were actually together officially... romantically.

He broke up with me the first time at the end of February 2020, just before Covid-19 sent us all into lockdown.

"I know you broke up with me, but we all need people right now and I know you don't have anyone, so the kids and I are going to be your people." I was resolute and ready to be just friends, have someone to interact with in person since everyone was quarantined from each other.

We saw each other nearly every day after that. My sweet children grew to love his easy laugh and fun loving nature. True attachment between all of us grew. Acting like a family probably didn't help.

He invited us to the cabin for Father's Day Weekend with his family. After feeling like we were spending quality time with "in-laws", I went to him and told him while I can tolerate things being not exactly fair to me, it was starting to not be fair to my kids or his parents, who don't have any grandchildren of their own. He admitted that was true and we were together again. Just like that, I had the happiest summer of my life, in 2020 no less. The whole summer felt like a honeymoon barefoot among the trees in the sun. When he conceded, I don't know why, I thought he meant for always.

I sit here with tears in my eyes. I remember, at the cabin while working of the hotspot on my phone writing emails and when he got up from his book to get something to drink. Walking past me to the kitchen he sees me in a hoodie, covered in a down blanket, typing away. He paused, he reaches down with those lips that felt so natural against mine. Soft, relaxed. making it feel like he was merging his whole self with me, like it wasn't just our lips connecting it was our whole beings curling around each other. Only for a second. He stood up and decided it wasn't enough, so he reached down again. All 6'2 of him reaching down to little me in blankets on the couch for another one. Then again. One more just to taste me and be a part of me for just another second. I've never had that. No one had ever not had enough of me before.

The cabin is small, one room, which made it awkward for making love. After Father's day weekend we kept the tent outside up so we could sneak out there while my kids slept. One day it rained, and we forgot to shut the tent door, so we couldn't make our morning "getaway" there. I asked if he wanted to go to the car. I mean, he's 40 and I'm 34 but it didn't matter. We ran through the rain, laughing like barefoot children, down the path to the car. I've read before about people crying from a climax. I didn't know that it could actually happen.

Maybe I'm not good at short stories. I want to tell you about my life. I want to tell you about my ex-husband, the kid's dad. I want to tell you how I grew up. I want to tell you how I retreated into books. How I learned to not give myself to people. How O demanded more and more of me. Wanting to initiate next step. Until he didn't.

Maybe, I was too much in the end.

He's dumb, but smart. Obnoxious, yet considerate. Too much, but unavailable, like me.

I feel like our story isn't done.

He doesn't come to me in my dreams much anymore. Just over phone calls that are hours long but too short. He even FaceTime's once in awhile. He wants to see our faces.

Love is weird, and different with every person. With O it was slow and I didn't even realize I had feelings for him until I realized how mortified I was that he saw me on a date with another man. Well it finally dawned on me, then the days were filled with him, sunshine, and wine and beer, crossword puzzles, and spending more time naked than clothed (when the kids were with their dad, of course). Then it was just him and beer and vodka and coke. Then it was me alone, with street lights through the window in the dark and whisky.

With Taylor, it was fast and passionate until I was ghosted for his ex. He had to convince me too, and he had. While it only lasted for 2 months, it left me in love withdrawals for a year, and more tears than I knew I had in me. I howled in my bed at the moon when I couldn't cry anymore.

With D, it died somewhere pretty early. Actually, I can pinpoint it. I was in love with him till I was told he hit on a guy we worked with while drinking. Then it was like a light switch flipped off. I'm thankful I was spared the heartache, but being married went on for far too long.

Maybe, I did leave them all behind. I also took them all with me. Can we leave the people we've cared about the most behind? I definitely tried, but I'm comforted by the fact that someone remembers me and talks of me in a longing affectionate way. I know O does. I know D does. Maybe even Taylor wonders when his girl annoys him.

Some part of me is coming alive again. I find it horribly sad that I may be less in love than I was a year ago. Than I was a week ago. I suppose Shakespeare had it right all along.

Parting is sweet sorrow.