Neighbours

The apartment across from Max’s is empty. I can see right into the place with it’s big floor to ceiling windows.

Today I noticed a couple taking measurements. They look exactly like my ex-husband and his new girlfriend. Carbon copies. I watched them, I couldn’t help it. I felt my blood pressure rise as she leaned against him, her messy bun flopping against his chest.

It’s not them of course, but it aches to watch just the same. At first glance you could easily substitute either one of them. Body doubles. Fucking fantastic.

They stand in the empty apartment. They walk around pointedly, taking turns holding each end of the measuring tape. They stop to take in the view, oblivious that I’m watching them as I smoke, seething a little as I project a life that isn’t theirs across the sky between us.

I’m jealous if his new girlfriend. I’m jealous she gets to see him without all of the bullshit in the way. I’m jealous she gets his genuine smile, his gentleness, his time. I know those gifts will tarnish, I know real life creeps in, but I envy those moments, that energy. I remember what they felt like.

I’m jealous that she gets this grown version of him, after the decades of work I put in. She gets the results without the hurts and the harm. Without the damage and baggage and bad memories. I know they’ll make their own, mere mortals, but I’m jealous of this lovely little lie she gets to believe in for a while.

I can’t help but wonder what would have changed for us if we’d had access to the long kid-free weekends without obligations they get together. Our resentment and responsibilities made room for little else near the end. I think of the early days, 19 and in our first apartment, when we both worked restaurant jobs and took Mondays off together every week. We would sleep in, we’d fuck, try to stay in bed as long as we possibly could.

“If you wrap yourself in the bedsheet to go make coffee that totally still counts.”

“What if I bring a pillow instead?”

“I’ll allow it.”

“We’re totally gonna beat last weeks record.”

When I think of this memory I can hear the giggles, picture the light dancing in his eyes, remember the snow swirling in the air outside our window. Where is the room for this kind of restorative attention once you build a busy life together? Where is the time for this kind of love?

The couple across the street stand in the middle of their empty new livingroom. They embrace, and rock gently a little, she disappears in his big arms. You can see their excitement, all the possibilities of something fresh and new.

I can’t take my eyes off of them.

I hope they buy curtains.