Page 7 of The Weight Of It All

“You did real good today, Henry.” He spoke to me―and to all his clients, I presumed―like I was the only person in the room.

“For the next two days, do some gentle walking, gentle stretches. Give your body a rest, but try not to be still for too long. And I’ll see you on Sunday at eight o’clock, yeah? ”

I nodded. “Yep. If I’m not dead.”

“I’ll text you tomorrow to see how you’re getting on. Is that okay?”

“Sure. But isn’t tomorrow your day off?”

Reed nodded. “Yep. I have Wednesdays and Fridays off. But I don’t mind.” He perked up and gave a mock salute. “It’s my duty as your personal trainer.”

I found myself smiling at him. “Sure. I better get going. I gotta go home and get showered and into work by nine.”

“We have showers here.”

I blanched. Never in a million years would I shower where anyone could walk in and see me. “Uh, no thanks.”

Thankfully Reed didn’t push it. Maybe he saw the fear on my face. He looked at his watch. “Shoot. It’s eight o’clock now.”

“Ten minutes to home, twenty minutes to shower and shave, and fifteen minutes to drive to work. Believe me, the longest part will be the walk from the elevator to my desk.” I did my best rusted Tin Man impersonation, though I wasn’t acting, and walked/shuffled out of the gym .

And by the time I fell into my office chair, the familiar yet still-surprising-at-every-turn muscle pain mowed me down again.

Friday night I did nothing but eat grilled chicken and salad, wishing it was pizza, wishing I didn’t hurt like hell, and wishing Graham hadn’t left me.

Saturday morning, even though I could barely move, I pottered around the apartment gathering up the bits of pieces of what remained of Graham’s belongings.

Well, anything below the knees could bloody well stay where it was because I couldn’t bend down that far to pick it up.

By eleven o’clock, the dining table had a neat little collection of his things: his favourite coffee mugs, a red glazed bowl he bought from the Queen Victoria Markets from one of our many trips to Melbourne, a stack of DVDs which he clearly forgot to take with him, a pile of neatly folded clothes―most of which I had bought for him―some old books, an umbrella, some shoes, and a bunch of stuff from the bathroom vanity.

When he’d moved into my apartment, he hadn’t brought that much stuff with him.

No furniture, just mostly clothes and personal belongings, a box of kitchen utensils, and odd plates and cups.

He left all his old mismatched furniture for his old flatmate when he’d moved out, considering I had everything we’d need.

But eight years later, there were now very visible gaps around my apartment of where his stuff used to be.

The curved designer chaise he’d paid a small fortune for, the floor lamp which I always thought looked like a giant butt plug, the canvas off the wall in the hall, the centrepiece vase from the dining table…

There were also very visible gaps in my life.

Eight years is a long time to spend with one person.

We mostly had different social circles but there were some mutual friends, and I wondered idly who’d get whom in the split.

I’d spoken with most of our closest friends during the week.

Some were shocked at the news we’d broken up, some didn’t seem too surprised at all.

Like Colin and James, from their reaction, I gathered they knew it might have been coming for some time.

Graham must have told them long before he told me, and I figured they’d be on the Graham side of the divide when the dust settled.

And that was okay. Sure, they were great guys, but they’d always been closer to Graham.

With that in mind, I fished out my phone from my pocket, scrolled through recent calls, and hit Anika’s name. She answered on the second ring. “Hey you.”

“Hey.”

“How are you today?”

“I’m going through the things Graham left behind.”

“Oh. Did you need me to come around?”

“No, I’m okay.”

“Gonna sell them on eBay? Or perform a ceremonial burning?”

“Well no, I was going to call him.”

“Oh, Henry,” she said quietly. “Don’t do that to yourself. Burning everything will be much more therapeutic. I can bring around some petrol if you like.”

“I’m not going to burn them.”

“Then just text him.”

“Why can’t I call him? We were together for eight years. Surely I can call him?”

“What if he doesn’t answer?” she asked gently. Then after a short silence, she added, “And what if he does?”

I sighed and plonked myself onto my couch. “Ow. Shit, goddammit. I keep forgetting I hurt all over. ”

“I applaud your efforts for getting healthy,” Anika said. “But jeez, it sure sounds painful.”

“It is.”

“You sound miserable. Let me take you out for lunch.”

I might have wallowed in my own pain and misery for a moment. “Will it involve pasta?”

“Do you want it to involve pasta?”

“Does a one legged duck swim in a circle?”

“A simple fuck yes would have sufficed.”

“Then fuck yes.”

“Okay, we’ll pick you up in twenty minutes.”

“God bless your soul.”

She laughed and disconnected the call. Twenty minutes later, I was standing out the front of my apartment, trying to ease myself into the backseat of Anika’s car. Sean, Anika’s boyfriend, turned in his seat. “You okay?”

“Nope. I’m pretty sure I’m dying of some horrible disease that I Googled, but my personal trainer called it something more reasonable like sore muscles.”

Sean made a face that was half amused, half sympathetic. “Ouch.”

I liked Sean. He and Anika started dating a few years back, and he just slotted into our lives. He knew Anika and I were a package deal, there was rarely a day that went past that we didn’t speak, and Sean had no issue with that.

After Graham had dumped me, I called Anika and she and Sean came straight over.

It was Sean who bought the wine for us, and the food, and he gave me a big hug and listened, right along with Anika, as I sat on the floor and sobbed my stupid heart out.

Now ten days later, he didn’t look at me with the pity I would have expected.

He just smiled warmly at me. “I hear pasta is on the agenda for today.” Then he looked at Anika.

“I’ve heard good things about a new place on Norton Street. Wanna check it out? ”

Norton Street was synonymous with Italian food. It wasn’t called Little Italy for no reason. “Sounds perfect,” I said, even though he hadn’t technically asked me. Anika was already heading toward Leichhardt.

It was perfect and just what I needed. It felt good to talk about other things, and the change of scene and being sociable were already making me feel half human again.

I even ordered the tomato-based sauce with vegetables instead of the creamy bacon sauce I usually chose, and I even turned down the garlic bread.

Anika and Sean both stared at me like I’d been possessed by some freakish dieting alien. “What?” I retorted. “Do you know how long you have to run on a treadmill to burn just twenty calories?”

“Oh Jesus Christ, Henry, you’re not gonna become one of those people are you?” Anika asked.

“What people?”

“The type of annoying healthy person that lectures on everything. Like a reformed smoker. You know the type: smoked like a chimney for years, they quit smoking then they change into some preacher of how disgusting it is.”

“I won’t change that much,” I replied. “Because believe me, when this pasta comes out, I’m gonna suck those carbs down like a blowjob.”

Sean choked on his drink, and Anika raised her glass to mine. “That’s my boy.”

We talked about Anika’s work, Sean’s family and how much they adored Anika. Then we talked about my sister, my new exercise program, and of course, my new personal trainer.

I should have known Anika would latch on to that topic. “What kind of surname is Henske? ”

I was confused. “The six letter kind?”

She rolled her eyes. “Is it German?”

“How the hell would I know?”

“Does he have an accent?”

“No.”

“Is he gay?”

“I don’t know.”

“How can you not know?”

“Because I didn’t ask him.” I deliberately didn’t mention the eggplant and lube conversation I’d had with him.

“Maybe you should.”

“I’m not interested,” I said. “Actually, I’m the complete opposite of interested. If there was an island of the fundamentally not interested, I’d be on it.”

She ignored me. “Is he cute?”

I sighed. “Yes. He’s built like a fridge, has a Colgate smile, and looks like one of those guys off a sports clothing ad.”

“So, he’s gorgeous?”

“I don’t know. I’m still on the island of fundamentally not interested, where I will be forever.”

She was suddenly serious. “No you won’t. Maybe right now, but not forever.” Anika’s gaze softened. “Did you text Graham?”

“No. I still don’t understand why you think I can’t call him.”

“Because you need to not hear his voice right now,” Anika said. “And you definitely need to not see him.”

“Why?”

Sean answered. “Because she doesn’t want you to be hurt all over again. And she’s right. You need space right now.”

“I need him,” I whispered.

“No you don’t,” they said in unison.

Anika smiled then added, “It’s been ten days, and whether you know it or not, you’ve already started to move on. ”

“No I haven’t.”

“Yes you have. You’ve joined a gym, changed some eating habits. You’re changing your life.”

“For him,” I added lamely. “I’m doing it for Graham.”

Anika shook her head slowly. “You’re doing it for you. Because you don’t want to be the person you saw in the mirror ten days ago.”

I had no answer for that.

Sean said, “And for what it’s worth, fuck him.”

Anika and I both stared at him.

“Sorry,” he said with a not-sorry shrug. “But what Anika told you the day he left is right. If he doesn’t love you at your worst, then he doesn’t deserve to love you at your best.”

Anika looked at Sean and melted. She kissed him on the cheek. “Awww, that’s so sweet.”

I gave him a smile. “Maybe. But if he called me right now and apologised and said he wanted to come back, I’d say yes.”