Komorebi

We met serendipitously on Bumble, days after Will moved back into his parents' Brooklyn brownstone, and days after I decided to seek short-term companionship in the wake of my father's death.

Will had just returned from Tokyo, where he'd spent a year teaching English. I'd been living in a shoebox studio on the Upper East Side for two years at this point, slaving away at a small publishing house and dreaming of the day my own novel got picked up. We bonded over words, both the written and unspoken kind.

Since we were both twenty-eight (and in New York City, that feels like eighteen) we agreed that neither of us were interested in anything serious. This would just be a fun chapter in our lives. Nothing more, nothing less.

Yet somehow, two months later in July, I found myself laying inches away from him on a picnic blanket in Central Park, gazing up at the sky as he whispered into my ear, "Look at that komorebi."

I chuckled, glancing over at him curiously. "What?"

He smirked, as if he was about to educate me. I knew he missed being a teacher, whether he would admit it or not (he wouldn't). "In Japan, komorebi means 'sunlight leaking through trees.' Isn't that cool?"

I gazed back up at the dark tree branches, studying the bright green leaves as sunlight filtered in past them. It all suddenly seemed as if it had been painted against a perfectly blue sky specifically for this moment in time; a memory I'd return to, year after year. Joy melted across my face.

"I love it when you smile," he murmured, his lips brushing against my neck. "It so rarely happens."

***

Three months later, at one in the morning, I stumbled into a dimly lit women's restroom at an exclusive Manhattan club. I'd been dragged here by a relatively new group of friends. My vision spun in circles, my head pounded from the tequila shots I'd been peer-pressured into, and my cheeks flushed from the inside out. The bathroom attendant shot me an empathetic smile as I locked myself into a stall.

I sunk into the corner of the stall, down to the tiled floor, cradled my face in my heads, and wept.

"Don't cry, Maggie."

Will sat inches away from me, his back against the locked metal door. He had the same copper curls and the same pale brown eyes from my memories, except instead of passion, they were now filled with pity.

"What are you doing here?" my mind asked him. My lips did not move.

"I'm here to help you," he told me.

"I don't need your help," my mind spat back.

He cocked his head to the side, the left corner of his mouth lifting in amusement. "Maggie," he said, as if I were a child. "You're going to be okay."

"Stop," I insisted.

"You just need to-"

"Don't you dare say it."

The door to the bathroom blew open, temporarily allowing in a draft and blast of music. Will evaporated instantly, like a ghost.

"Maggie? Are you in here?" my friend Anna called out.

I cleared my throat, dabbed at my eyes with tissue paper, and flushed the empty toilet. "Yes! Yes, I'm here." I struggled with the lock for a moment, and then stepped out just as Anna was passing a five dollar bill to the bathroom attendant.

Anna beamed obliviously at me. "We're heading to the after party now. Come."

***

The next morning, I slept in until noon. I would have slept longer if my mother hadn't called my phone five times, forcing me to exit my peaceful dreams (I dreamt of nothing) and face the reality I no longer welcomed.

"Hi Mom," I groaned into the phone.

"Maggie, are you okay? You sound sick!"

I sat up against my headboard, gazing around my disheveled studio. I stared down at myself, realizing for the first time that I was completely naked. I must have drunkenly stripped my club clothes off and not bothered to put on pajamas. "I'm not sick," I told her. "Just tired."

"Well, it's Sunday. Did you go to church?"

I rubbed my face with my free hand. "Mom, is this important? Because, actually, I don't feel that great..."

"Yes! Yes, it's important." She sighed heavily. "I found a guy in Ohio who said he will convert all our home videos from VHS to a thumb drive. Isn't that exciting? Oh, I am just so happy!"

My mother had been saying for the last ten years that she would convert our VHS home videos (the ones my father recorded, so unfortunately he was not in any of them aside from the rare mirror shot) to a modern digital format. Every year, she'd claim she found a guy in some random midwestern state who converted VHS home videos for a small fee. And every year, she'd neglect to actually ship our videos to him.

But this was a new little dance my mother and I did, especially now that Dad was no longer here to play the part she so desperately needed. In the past, I'd offer to help package the videos up. I'd offer to drop them off at the post office. I'd offer to coordinate with the man or service she'd found online. And every year, I'd express frustration when she failed to accept my help, and nothing happened.

But now I had to step into my father's previous role. Now I had to pretend to believe my mother would actually do this herself, despite us both knowing she never would. And I couldn't give her grief when the inevitable happened. My role was to smile and nod, and love her unconditionally.

I swallowed my pride and forced a smile. "That's great, Mom. I'm so happy, too."

***

Two months later, I decided to stroll around the neighborhood on a random Saturday afternoon. I poured homemade hot cocoa into my mug, pulled on my wool gloves and peacoat, and stepped out into the crisp December air. A harsh gust of wind slapped my face instantly as I exited my building.

I tried to force myself to think about work, about all the manuscripts I needed to edit on Monday. When that didn't do the trick, I tried to make myself focus on the plot of my latest novel, which needed some rearranging at this point. When that didn't succeed, I decided to empty my mind and just focus on how grateful I was to be living in the city I'd always dreamed of as a little girl.

But before I could stop my thoughts from spiraling, Will's face entered my mind.

We'd only spent six months together, but it had felt like an entire lifetime to me. I'd never met someone whose mind amazed me like his; whose voice I could listen to for hours without complaint. His laughter reverberated like music. Whenever I became shy, he'd hold me and nuzzle his head against mine in a silence I assumed we both enjoyed, but later discovered he found unsettling.

"I can't really get to know someone who doesn't share their opinions as freely as I do," he told me in August, as we sat in a coffee shop in Midtown. He stirred his tea, staring out the window, avoiding my eyes as he broke my heart.

"Oh," I replied, stunned. "I feel like we're still getting to know each other every day. And I like to go with the flow. I'm naturally shy. It takes a lot for me to open up to people, but I feel like I'm opening up to you more than ever now-"

"It's just not working out for me," he said, finally meeting my gaze with a cold stare. "I think we should just move on from this, Maggie."

Tears transported me back to present day in the Upper East Side, where I was now standing outside an antique store, peering through glass but not actually seeing anything presented there. I didn't realize I was crying until the saltwater pricked my dry lips. Suddenly I was choking on air. I had to turn away and dry my face with my gloves.

How could I ever forget the man who'd shown me a world so colorful and vivid, unlike anything I'd ever experienced before? How could I ever forgive myself for letting him slip through my fingers because I hadn't been magnetic or special enough; because I hadn't said enough witty things to capture his heart the way his beautiful mind and alluring words had captured mine?

He'd speak about a topic, and in my mind, I'd agree with him wholeheartedly, or think of something new to add. But had I always vocalized my thoughts? Sometimes I did, but sometimes I just listened instead. He'd wink at me from across a restaurant, but did I always smile back? Or did I freeze due to the insecurities I latched onto, because this man was the most incredible man I'd ever met, and how could any of this possibly be real? How could he actually like me? I didn't even like me.

But I deeply loved him. Oh, God, I deeply loved him. And up until that day in August, I began to believe that maybe, just maybe, he loved me, too. I told myself he didn't have to say it. I hoped I would someday feel it in his heartbeat, as we were merely skin against skin, laying on a picnic blanket under a canopy of trees in a park or a forest. Two souls embracing in our favorite place.

But I was slowly coming to accept that love wasn't just an intuition or a word. It had to also be expressed through undeniable actions.

***

Months later, spring has emerged. It's April, and the weather is beginning to warm up again.

In May, I meet a new man through one of my friend groups. His name is Reid, he works in finance, and he's a few years older than me, clearly enjoying the bachelor life. It's understood that I'm just one of many on his roster, and he's just the current distraction of the moment for me. He invites me to his parents' second home on Long Island, a small rustic cabin miles from the ocean, surrounded by trees.

We carry a blanket to the forest and lay on our backs side-by-side, and begin talking about politics and religion and culture. This time, I don't hold back out of shyness or fear, and I can feel his astonished gaze on me, but I don't dare meet his eyes.

Eventually, as the sun sets and a golden glow filters in through the trees above us, I lift my hand and point out the komorebi. He laughs, and asks what in the world that means.

I turn and gaze at him fully, allowing myself to soak in his cheekbones, hair, eyes, smile. I barely know this man - his soul hasn't infiltrated mine - but I prefer it that way. I wonder briefly is this is how Will truly felt about me, deep down. Perhaps Will had been secretly relieved that I was unlovable to him, after all.

"A friend once told me that, in Japan, komorebi means 'sunlight leaking through trees,'" I tell Reid. "Isn't that beautiful?"

I watch him carefully. His eyes light up with excitement. He turns away from me to absorb the komorebi again. He starts laughing and agrees.

Mentally I file this away as an endearing memory I'll collect, among many others. Nothing more. Nothing less. Hopefully Reid doesn't fall for me the way I fell for Will, but even if he does, he'll eventually have to convince himself that I was never really here. It's the only way to survive.