I wash my hands, splash some water on my face.
When I look up, there’s a spider. Yet another spider. This one is much bigger. He’s a different shape. He has a distinct head and body. The same long, spindly legs. He’s slinking along the edge of the sink. I think he’s attempting to be stealthy. He extends his legs far ahead, staying low.
“I see you,” I tell him. “You’re coming with me.”
I have to fetch the glass from the kitchen, where it’s drying facedown on the dish rack after two thorough cleanings.
“This is my house,” I tell him as I usher him onto the windowsill. “It’s not your house. That’s your house.”
I point to the woods. He doesn’t move. I close the window, leaving him to figure it out on his own.
By the time I finish unpacking, the sun dips below the trees, and I make a lap around the apartment, flipping on every lamp, every light switch. I didn’t realize earlier that there are no curtains. No blinds. I’m in a fishbowl.
I check my phone. A response from Sam: Ha ha. Call me later, if you want.
I call him immediately.
“You stop at McDonald’s or Wendy’s?” he asks.
“McDonald’s.”
“Left to your own devices. We’ve been over this. Wendy’s is far superior.”
“I like McDonald’s. I was raised on McDonald’s,” I say. “Cut me some slack.”
“You want that cut thin, thick or cubed?”
Maybe this is hard for him, too. Harder than he anticipated. Not having me home. We’ve cohabitated for so many years in that space. My not being there must be strange for him.
“How’s the place?” he asks.
“Good. Pictures weren’t fakes, so that’s a relief. It’s a nice apartment. Very bright. I’ll need to get some curtains, though. It was fine during the day but it’s kind of creepy now.”
I walk over to the front window and peer outside. A car is coming down the street. The speed limit on Maple is twenty-five, but this car must be going under that. It’s crawling.
The car’s interior light is on, and I can see people inside. Two in the front, one in the back. They’re far away. Blurred by the distance and distorted by the glass. But I think they’re looking at me. I squint.
Yeah. They’re not in profile, not facing the road ahead. They’re turned toward me; their eyes are on me. I feel the hot grip of their stares.
“Annie?” Sam asks. “You there?”
“Yep,” I say. I stand back from the window. The car passes, the red glow of its taillights retreating into the silky darkness of the August night.
“Sorry,” I say. I shuffle into the bedroom and spread myself across the mattress. “I’m here.”
“I’ll, uh, actually I’ll let you go,” he says.
“Oh. Okay.”
“Wanted to make sure you got there in one piece.”
“Let me double-check,” I say. I do. I check. I feel around my body. Is it all here? “Yep. One piece.”
He laughs. It’s his laugh lite. His this is amusing but not genuinely funny laugh.
“Night, Annie.”
“Good night, Sam.”
He hangs up before me. I hear it. That horrible disconnecting noise.
I roll over onto my stomach. It’s strange. Sam and I have been sleeping separately for months, and I’m still not used to it. I want to be, but I’m not. I wonder if I’ll ever get used to sleeping alone or if, from now on, I’ll go to bed huddled up to one side, waiting in vain for warmth beside me.
It’s so easy to adjust when you’re newly in love, when you’re all gooey, soft and malleable as an infant’s skull. You make so much space in your life and in your heart, and when the person you love leaves, you’re all stretched out. There’s so much room inside me that I don’t know what to do with, space I don’t know how to fill. I’ve been waiting for it to shrivel up, for me to take my former shape, to be how I was before I met him, but it’s not happening.
It’s been so long; I don’t even remember who I was before him.
* * *
—
On Main Street in Rowan, there’s a sign that reads WELCOME TO ROWAN, AMERICA’S BEST-KEPT SECRET.
I can’t even scoff, can’t even roll my eyes at the pure Velveeta cheesiness. All I can do is nod in agreement as I drive through town for the first time. It’s so quaint it makes my insides warm, and I can feel them churn with instant affection. That new-crush endorphin surge. I bet there are little hearts where my eyes used to be.