Losing You

Raspberry

Valeria

"And then he got hit by a f*ck!ng car,"

"How does that make you feel?" my therapist asks me. I hate it when she asks me that. I don't know what I feel. Shouldn't she be the one answering my questions? Isn't this what I pay her for? Instead, I always get one question, followed by another question.

"Well, in my dream, that's what I see happening. I think it's my brain's way of trying to make sense of this. It just doesn't seem right, you know, that he disappeared without a trace. Not even private investigators could find him. He was not found in any hospital or jail. How could this happen? Is he dead in a hole somewhere, or could he be hiding? If so, where is he hiding? I just don't understand any of this. He is the love of my life, and I thought I was his. He wouldn't just leave me and our daughter, would he? I don't even know how to feel. My dreams sometimes make me feel insane," I finally answer her question after blurting all that out. I tend to do that a lot. Just blurt things out.

"Well, sometimes we don't really know people the way we think we do," she tells me. I am shocked. This is the first time she hasn't asked me a question.

"I want to think that there has to be some kind of explanation as to why he's gone, but that's just me being delusional. I now think it is because Delilah grew up. He didn't have any other obligations with me, besides her. We never had any other kids. We were so happy and content with just her, but she's grown now," I say. I hate that my brain tries to make excuses, but let's be real. Ant didn't love me the same way I loved him. He lied to me and cut our forever short. That's the only explanation. Some of the members from his club even think he changed his name and that is why he hasn't been found.

She doesn't say anything, so I continue talking. I mean, this is what she gets paid for, to listen, and I can't tell my family any of this. I stopped talking about him to them a long time ago.

"I hate that Delilah now feels like she has to pick up all of my broken pieces. I see her worried face. I tried explaining it to her when it first happened, but as time passed, and we lost hope, she changed too. One day she just told me she understood.

Now, she also doesn't like talking about him anymore, even if it's always the elephant in the room. She put all the pictures that included him away in the garage, and she acts like he doesn't exist. You know, my daughter and her grandpa investigated when it first happened, and they found out there was a crash reported the night he went missing, but we could never get any more information. There weren't any details reported, just that when emergency services showed up, there was no accident. No motorcycle, which is what he was driving that night, no cars, no people, nothing. At first, Delilah thought that was her dad, and I think her thoughts have infiltrated my mind. I don't think she cares any more though," I say.

She writes something down in her notebook.

"Uhmm," she says. I think I need a new therapist. This one just isn't clicking for me. I had high hopes, as this would be the 5th time I have had to change my therapist, but I just don't feel a connection or any level of understanding.

"So, what do you think?" I ask her, but her timer buzzes like it always does. "Times up. Work on those breathing exercises, and don't forget to drink your melatonin and get some rest. I will see you again, at the same time next week," she tells me. I already know I won't be drinking melatonin. Yes, it helps me fall asleep, but the dreams are too vivid. They feel way too real.

"Perfect!" I say, knowing I will be shopping around tonight. Not even coming to a different town and trying a new therapist is working for me. Hopefully, a big glass of wine makes me feel better today, and no melatonin needed. Maybe I can go back to my safe place and drink there instead of forcing myself to sleep. I say goodbye and make my way to my car.

In the parking lot, I send Delilah a text asking her what she wants for dinner.

"I'm going out with my friends' mom. Maybe you should go out too. I know today is a big day. Maybe it's best you aren't alone," I read her response over and over. I can't even think when the last time I went out was.

I head to the grocery store. Since it is just me tonight, I will be making my girl dinner while I decide if I should go to the beach or stay at home. My mind is all over the place. I didn't even bother telling the therapist that today should be mine and Ant's anniversary as it is also the anniversary of his disappearance, and she knows that. Talking about it still doesn't sit right with me. Why can't I just let it go already?

I grab the shopping cart and head inside. I make my way slowly around the store. I have nothing else to do, so I take my time. I look at new items. I read the ingredients.

I head over to the bakery, looking to satisfy my sweet tooth. They have these conchas, stuffed with what looks like a cream filling, and they have strawberries inside. I have never seen anything like this. I know there are donuts filled with either cream or jelly, but these are different and they look amazing.

"Hi there," I say. "Hello sweetie. You don't look like you are from around here," she tells me. I chuckle awkwardly. "What gave me away?" I ask. She shrugs. "I always see the same people around here, and I've just never seen you," she says. "I'm not from around here Just stopping by to grab some things since I was close by at an appointment," I overshare. "Well, that's good honey. Are you doing okay? I hope your appointment wasn't anything bad. You look a little sad," she tells me. Damn, she's a bit nosy. "I'm doing good," I hate the look she gives me. Everyone looks at me with this look. The look of pity. "Well, you look good," she says. L!ar. "Can I get one of those? The pink one. They look amazing!" I point to the sweet bread. Changing the conversation is usually what gets people to stop giving me that look or making stup!d, small, and pointless conversations. "Great choice. These just came out and got stuffed. They are nice and soft. I am sure you will love it," She tells me. She places the dessert in a small box and hands it to me. "Thank you. It was nice meeting you," I say as I make my way to the deli.

I decide to go with different cuts of meats and cheeses, then I head through the aisles, looking for things I think will pair nicely so I can build a charcuterie board. I'm not as smart as my sister, and I was never meant to work for others. When I was younger, I tried it, and ended up getting fired or quitting every job. I realized how good I was at party supplies and planning. With Ant's help, I slowly set up my own business, and it worked out for me. It blew up, and now my daughter helps me manage it. I taught myself how to make these boards when I saw how big they were getting. A small board like the one I am about to make for myself can range from 150–300 dollars. They are so fun to make. My favorite are the ones I make for weddings or big events. I love having a whole table to work with.

I grab mini pickles, different kinds of crackers, grapes, blueberries and strawberries. Can't forget the assorted nuts. I stop and pick a bouquet of flowers, before I remember that I need my jam. I quickly make my way to grab it. I think about grabbing a different flavor other than Raspberry, as that jam was mine and Ant's jam. He loved to mix the cheese and jam on a cracker. I decide to just grab it, as it is my favorite too. Plus, it is the last one on the shelf, so meant to be. I reach to grab it and some lady on her phone bumps into me. I turn around. She looks at me and I realize the color drains from her face, and she looks at me with wide eyes.

"Oh, I'm so sorry miss," she composes herself. "I was reading the list I wrote down on my phone, and didn't see you and didn't realize this was the last raspberry jam. My husband loves this stuff. It's so gross and too sweet for me, but he asked for it," she says. I smile and nod. I look at it in my hand, and I hand it to her.

"Here, let him enjoy it. I can grab any other flavor. I'm not picky, and it sounds like he loves it," I say, remembering how much Ant loved this jam. He would request just jam sandwiches almost daily. "That is so kind of you. Thank you," she says. "No problem," I grab an orange marmalade instead and head to the checkout stand.

Nina

I watch her walk away and turn the corner before I can compose myself and dial the number. It rings three times before she answers. "Granny, you were right. I just ran into her," I say. "You ran into whom?" she asks me. "The woman in the photo," I say. "Dios mio. What did she say? Does she know?" she asks me. "No granny. How would she know? I ran into her at the grocery store. What is she even doing here?" I speak quietly into the phone. "Oh, child," she sighs. "She was shopping for the f*ck!ng raspberry jam," I say quickly, before hanging up. I need to get home right away.

I head to the checkout stand and see the bag boy loading her groceries into her cart. I stand in line and try not to look at her too much, but man is she as beautiful in person as she is in that picture. I get rung up and hurry out. Unfortunately, I run into her in the parking lot, because we parked next to each other. Luckily, she has already finished loading her groceries into her car.

"I hope your husband enjoys the jam," she tells me before she hops in her car. I just awkwardly grin. I don't move until she backs out and leaves. Then I can finally sigh in relief.