The Day We Met

I remember the day we met.

I was running late for a photo shoot. I couldn’t find the lens I specifically wanted, it turned out it had been on the camera body the entire time. So I was frazzled, under-caffeinated, and hadn’t eaten anything when I arrived at the bird sanctuary. I gathered up my gear from the backseat of my little Honda and jogged, carefully, across the open green space to the barn where I was going to be shooting.

The director smiled in relief as I stumbled through the door, “Thank god, I was starting to worry! I hope everything is okay?”

“Everything is fine,” I say as I set everything down. I walked over to her and stretched my hand out, “Thank you for being patient. I am sorry I was late. I’m excited to meet the birds.”

The director shook my hand and gestured behind her to you. I had never seen you before. My breath got caught in my throat; you had a barn owl perched on your arm, nibbling on your hand. You looked up and smiled, unable to wave because of said barn owl nibbles.

I spent the next three hours photographing the barn owl, a snowy owl, a screech owl, and a red-tailed hawk for a fundraising campaign for the sanctuary. I was doing the photographs pro bono because I love the sanctuary and spent all of my weekends there volunteering as a teenager. It’s where I learned how to photograph wildlife. You handled the birds with such care, with tender and calm words and obvious affection.

You offered to let me handle the barn owl, Margery. And that’s the moment I began to fall in love.

I remember that day in vivid detail, your green flannel and worn blue jeans and gray beanie. I remember seeing that half-smile and your one dimple for the first time. The callouses on your fingers when they brushed against my arm. The way the sunlight caught in your hair, and suddenly it was shining with streaks of gold that perfectly matched the glowing flecks in your eyes.

This morning I wake up, and the sheets next to me are cold, just like they have been most mornings for the last few months. I roll over and curl into myself, my ring digging into my cheek where my left hand pillows my head. I try to think back to when this started, to find a reason we’re pulling away from each other. I come up blank.

I roll out of bed, shower, and wander into the kitchen, where I can smell the coffee brewing. You won’t wake up with me, but you always have coffee waiting, even though you don’t drink it. You’re sitting at the island with your tea and toast, scrolling through Twitter. I walk behind you, landing a feather-light kiss on the crown of your head before quickly moving to the counter to pour myself some coffee.

You don’t look up. You don’t say good morning. Until I do. I ask how you slept, I get the same one-word answer I’ve been getting for months, “fine.”

Suddenly it feels as if my ribs are being crushed inwards, my sternum crumbling under pressure, my lungs tighten in sharp pinpricks of pain, and my heart beats double, struggling to keep up. I know I’m losing you. Tears gather in the corner of my eyes and spill hot and fast down my cheeks before I can choke them down. I can’t hide. I’m facing you; you’re still looking at your fucking phone. And the first sob escapes as I gasp for breath.

You look up. Your face crumples. I can see the truth right there as answering tears escape down your face. You stand and walk around the island to me. Your arms come up around my back, and I fall forward, burying my face where your neck meets your shoulder. I shudder through my sobs and hang onto you as you quietly cry into my already damp hair.

We stand here in our kitchen, holding each other for a while. Until the tears dry on our faces and our breaths come evenly.

“It isn’t supposed to end like this,” I whisper into your skin. You stiffen, and then I feel your body relax, limb by limb, back into my embrace.

“I know.” You whisper back, “I’m sorry.”

“What happened?” You pull back a little, but not away. You look into my eyes; we stay like that for a minute.

“I don’t know. I woke up one day, and I realized this isn’t what I dreamed of, what I want.”

My throat squeezes shut. The crushing vice tightens around my chest again. Every fear I have ever had in secret confirmed and the voice is screaming loudly in my head, you are unlovable. I pull out of your arms. I take a step back. I can’t look at your face. I see your hands reach up, reach for me. I take another step back and smack my elbow on the counter. I’m not breathing. I turn around and stumble to the sink. I turn it on and splash my face. The ice cold water is enough of a shock to startle my lungs into working. I grab a glass from the cabinet above the sink and fill it. I gulp it down and just stand there, braced against the edge of the counter, head bowed, breathing.

“Okay,” I say. Because it is. This isn’t what you want. I’m not what you want. I can’t make you love me or want to stay. I’m not going to fight you on this. “You deserve to be happy.”

Your hand is on my shoulder. I’m not ready to turn around. You know this. Your arms go around my middle, your face is buried between my shoulders. I feel you breathing in time with me. We stand here like this, breathing, for a long time.

I hear your muffled whisper, “I’m sorry. I love you. I’m sorry.”

We decide that you’ll move out. Our extra bedroom is my photo studio, natural lighting like this is hard to find. You find a new place, and in a few weeks, you’ve packed your things, kissed our cat Margery, named after the barn owl, goodbye with the promise of shared custody. And I’m left alone in our home.

I can’t open our closet for weeks. I know the dress I was supposed to wear is hanging there in its bag, waiting for the day that will never come. We’ve canceled the venue, the invitations go unprinted. Finally, I call my brother. He comes over when I’m not home and takes the dress away. He comes back after, and we sit on our couch with beers and something playing on the TV. We don’t talk. But he stays the night, sleeping in our bed with me like when we were kids. It’s the first night I have slept since you left.

He decides I need a change. He ventures to Target the next day and returns with a bright yellow duvet and matching pillows and shams. He rearranges our bedroom furniture, remakes my bed, and even hangs some new artwork on the walls. Margery, the Barn Owl, used to hold a place of honor in our bedroom, the thing that brought us together. He takes her down and replaces it with a sunset along the northern coast of Spain.

He spends the night again and wakes me up with coffee like you always did. He takes me to the farmer’s market. We get cookies from my favorite bakery. Fresh vegetables to make soup. And some soap from a new stand.

He kisses me on the cheek and leaves me to myself in our empty apartment. I turn on some music and get to chopping vegetables to make that soup. And so, I start to relearn who I am without you.

Six months later, on the day we had set to get married, I have a photo shoot with an animal sanctuary. I have no idea what kind of animals I’ll be photographing; it was a last-minute booking without a lot of details. I have my lenses ready to go when I wake up; I even have enough time to swipe on some mascara and lipstick before leaving.

I walk into the barn where I’ll be shooting today, and the sanctuary director greets me and indicates where I should set up. As I’m getting everything out, I hear the door open at the back of the room. I look up. I see the barn owl first, and then I see her. Glowing orange hair tied back in a braid, green eyes fixed on the owl, sparkling with laughter as the owl nibbles at her gray overalls. She looks up at me, and her smile somehow gets wider, and the room gets brighter.

“Hi! This is Pearl, the barn owl, and she is very excited to get her picture taken today. Would you like to hold her before we get started?” I look at Pearl and then at her and feel my smile stretch just as broad across my face in response, nodding.