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I spent the better part of the next day beside Dad’s bed, leaving only to get coffee or to make phone calls. Aunt Tess had already notified most of the family, but I still had to deal with Nick and the show, since I obviously wouldn’t be there for the performance that night. I got hold of Nick on his cell phone around noon.

“Nick, it’s me,” I said when he answered.

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Over the next few days, Dad’s house was invaded by relatives of all ages, shapes, and sizes. There were people flowing in and out that I hadn’t seen since I was a little girl, all of whom had to tell me how much they loved Dad, and how sorry they were. By the end of the weekend, I was ready to hang myself if I heard “I’m sorry” one more time.

The good thing, however, was the fact that there was never a lack of hands to help me sort through Dad’s belongings, and as long as I was surrounded by near-strangers, I didn’t feel the need to cry. I methodically spent two days going through each room in the house, boxing everything up, and figuring out where to put it all. Aunt Tess had rented a storage locker that would do until Dad’s will was read on Tuesday and we found out what he wanted done with all of his things.

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I tossed and turned most of the night, much to Lisa’s dismay. I couldn’t get comfortable, and any time I did, my mind wouldn’t shut down long enough for me to sleep. When the first bit of daylight peaked through the bedroom curtains, I thought enough was enough and got up. Lisa stayed snoring in the bed, drooling on her pillow.

Just as I was padding into the kitchen to make some coffee, my cell phone rang. I glanced at the clock on the microwave, and saw that it was barely five o’clock.

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I forced myself to stay calm, to set the phone on my dresser, to go to the closet and get some clothes for the day. His words raced through my head as I pulled on jeans and a t-shirt, and I had to stop myself from dissolving in a fit of tears right there on my bedroom floor.

I was just brushing my hair into a ponytail when Lisa came into the room to get her suitcase. It was almost nine o’clock, and they had to get to the airport.

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“What’s wrong?” I said as soon as I saw his face. His lips were tight and his cheeks were drawn, and his skin was pale. “Adam, what happened?”

He moved away from the door so I could enter the room. Instinctively, I took him in my arms and held him to me.

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The next morning, I woke up to the smell of bacon and coffee. I stretched out my arm to the empty spot beside me in the bed and sighed, disappointed that Orlando wasn’t there, then got up and went downstairs.

“Good morning, love,” Orlando said as I went into the kitchen. Aunt Tess was sitting at the counter, a plate of bacon and eggs in front of her. Orlando handed her a cup of coffee as I sat down beside her. He slid a plate of eggs to me, with some toast.

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A few hours later, after lots of food and laughs, I said good-bye to the last guest and disposed of the last bit of garbage, then headed upstairs. All I wanted was a bath and a good night’s sleep, but I doubted that would happen. Orlando was waiting for me when I got to my room.

“Now was that so bad?” I couldn’t help but say as I began unbuttoning my sundress. He was sitting on the bed, watching me, his face unreadable.

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I didn’t talk to Orlando again for at least a month after our conversation that night. I went back to work, and really had to put everything I had into the show, just to keep from collapsing. Sleep was still sporadic for me, and I still cried far to easily, but it got easier as each day passed.

When the landlord of the apartment building Orlando and I were supposed to be moving into called me a couple of weeks after our phone call, I wasn’t exactly sure what to tell him. He wanted to know when we’d be moving in, and since I didn’t know the terms of the lease, or what the penalty would be for not standing by it, I just said I’d have Orlando call him as soon as possible. Then I spent the next two days in a fog so thick, I’m not even sure I went to work. The idea that our wonderful apartment was empty, and that we’d never get to live in it, was almost more than I could take, but I managed to get myself through it.

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Another month went by much the same as the last had, and it all seemed to be a blur. We were heading into September already, and it would soon be a year since Orlando and I had spent our first two weeks together. It seemed hard to believe that so little time had passed, and yet it felt like it had been so long.

I didn’t hear from Orlando at all, not that I’d expected to. I forced myself to let him go, to stop obsessing about him, to get on with my life. I slept with his sweater under my pillow every night, and some nights I cried myself to sleep. The pain never seemed to change, it was always the same raw feeling that made me curl in on myself and squeeze my eyes closed against it.

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By the time we pulled up in front of the apartment building after dropping Adam at his place, and made our way past the few lingering photographers to get inside. I hurried up the stairs to change out of the white peasant skirt and tight green blouse I’d been wearing. I wanted to be more comfortable and less dressed up. I threw on an old pair of jeans, and, for some reason I can’t explain, Orlando’s green sweater over top of a white t-shirt. I dabbed some perfume on my neck and wrists, touched up my make up, pulled my hair into a ponytail high on my head, and went back into the living room.

“That’s a bad idea,” Lisa said as soon as she saw me. “Do you really want to be wearing his sweater when you go with him? Isn’t that just giving him the wrong idea?”

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