less becomes more

'cause the weight is too heavy,

i swim in the water

that's breaking your l e v e e

〰️〰️〰️

At quarter to six o'clock on Friday morning, I entered my apartment with Ziggy after our brisk walk around a couple of blocks. He sprung through the door first, frolicking all over the living room because he knew what came next. A treat.

I went to hang his leash on its usual wall hook right by the front door, but it appeared that I was taking too long because he let out a single, impatient yap.

"Hey," I barked back with a glare over my shoulder. "Relax, dude." My slightly harsh, chastising tone made him sit down and stare at me instead. I gave him a smile for his obedience, after all the hard work Gus and I put into training him, and said, "Good boy."

When I turned around, I wasn't sure what I was expecting to see. Gus was just getting out of bed when Ziggy and I left, since I'd woken up before him at a much earlier time than a typical day. I knew if I didn't get my ass up at the mere crack of dawn that we'd be late for the funeral, especially knowing Gus' tremendous tardy reputation. I wasn't about to let that happen.

Needless to say, I wasn't expecting for him to come waltzing out of our bedroom with his gym bag in hand like it was a normal morning.

My mouth fell open and an eyebrow shot up at the sight. When he noticed me, he matched my expression, but with a closed mouth and more of a clueless look. I knew right then he had no idea what was going on.

"What?" He finally asked, freezing in place.

"The fuck do you think you're doing?" I demanded.

"Going to the gym," he said, every word enunciated as if that was making it easier for me to understand. He held his bag up as if to prove his point further, forehead wrinkled in perplexity at why I was so offended.

I shook my head and scoffed, wanting so desperately not to believe this, but it was Gus after all. Forgetful Gus who was in a hazy state of grief and misery.

"Don't tell me you seriously forgot about your Uncle Rodney's funeral today."

His face dropped.

It was likely just force of habit for him. Wake up, go to the gym, go to work. Those were his weekday mornings and even though we deliberately both let our jobs know on Monday that we were taking off Friday for a funeral, it still slipped his mind. To a certain extent, I guess I couldn't blame him. Death had a tendency to throw anyone off balance.

I considered that, I really did. It was a delicate time for Gus and me berating him over this wouldn't help. He hadn't been himself all week.

Keeping that in mind, I deeply sighed before speaking again. Tread lightly.

"We have to leave within the hour if we want to make it on time, especially because there's gonna be work traffic," I said calmly. It was bad enough the drive was going to be just over two hours without traffic, but with the AM rush hour and a funeral looming overhead, I knew it was bound to be a grim car ride.

"Fuck me," Gus groaned, throwing his head back as he dropped his gym bag to the floor. It took him a minute to look at me again, his eyes reaching mine but still seeming so unfocused. "Do you need to shower?"

"No, I did last night so if you need to, you better be fast. I just have to get dressed and put on some makeup," I told him with a gesture to our room.

He grabbed at his hair and glanced around like he didn't know what to do next. When I gave him an impatient look, he darted into our bedroom while grumbling, "Jesus Christ, I can't believe this."

"I can," I retorted with a chuckle, walking over to Ziggy's designated cabinet and grabbing him a treat. "I mean, we knew about this since Sunday. I don't know what else you want me to say."

The shower turned on and I heard Gus holler from the other side of the wall, "Yeah, but you know how I am."

It was a simple statement that summed up my life a little too well.

My lips flattened as I gave Ziggy his treat after he politely gave me both of his paws. Stuck in a brief reverie, I watched as he happily devoured the miniature bone shape in seconds.

"Yeah, I do," I ended up whispering.

And the hour that followed was a blur.

Gus in the shower, Gus out of the shower. Us both needing the sink at the same times. Clothes everywhere. Me barely dressed in my bra and underwear, unable to find a befitting funeral outfit. Gus throwing on his black suit and white dress shirt, but stopping because he needed help with his tie. The dog watching us from where he was curled up on our bed, wondering why we were behaving so frantically.

It was such a classic, manic morning in our apartment, but instead of going to work we were going to a funeral.

Standing before Gus in my lace undergarments, with my concentration on straightening his tie and his eyes fixated on me, I took a moment to glance up.

I stared at the man I was unconsciously in love with, the man I had devoted my entire life to, and I tried to remember what it was about us that made us work.

Right then, I couldn't.

I found myself smiling at him anyway. It was virtually lifeless, but at the same time it was like a muscle reflex. Look at Gus; frown. Really look at Gus; smile.

Perhaps it couldn't be put into words. There didn't have to be one sole reason why we worked, why we were together, how we survived for this long. We didn't have to explain it to anyone. There was no need for convincing or rationalizing our relationship. It was what it was.

Consuming and fierce and inexplicable.

Sometimes I thought I deserved better. Sometimes I thought he deserved better. At the end of the day, we were it. As good as it was going to get. I was his, he was mine.

I never used to know what I wanted out of a relationship, or out of love. I refused to believe love was a necessity, that it was just another perk in life. In my eyes, you either got it or needed it.

I didn't need it, but I got it. I guess that was the difference between myself and most people.

〰️〰️〰️

I'd always been good at communicating with adults. Collin always hated me for it because I made it look so easy. He'd call me the parent whisperer, which honestly wasn't a title I'd ever hoped of achieving in life. Though down the line, it was quite a nice gift to have.

Growing up in a household of six people sort of forced maturity onto me. It made me become a more independent person because with a big family, the spotlight was never on you. Especially if you were a middle child like me. Sutton was also a middle child, but she was a completely different breed. Attention would fall onto her like grains of sand through fingers.

I wasn't that type of person. But I did have the hidden talent for confidently carrying on a conversation with almost anyone.

We'd made it through the viewing after rolling up to the funeral home thirty minutes late thanks to some brutal Philly work traffic. I tried not to be too irritated about it and just thanked my lucky stars we were only half an hour late. I couldn't remember the last time I was hugged by so many people or surrounded by so many teary eyes. After the viewing was the funeral mass held at a nearby church, then the burial at the graveyard and lastly, the luncheon.

I was by Gus' side the entire time, literally and figuratively. He wasn't feeling too chatty for a majority of the morning for obvious reasons, which left me to do all of the talking. Whether it was a curious aunt or a distant cousin I may have met once, I was like the intermediary of the two of us. They'd try to get more than a hug and a sad smile out of Gus, and occasionally he'd offer a feeble how are you? to a few select people.

By the time we got to the luncheon, I was drained. One, because we hadn't eaten since seven o'clock when we drove through Dunkin' for a quick, shoddy breakfast and two, from all the talking and catching up I had to do with Gus' family, both immediate and extended members. I relayed my job, my relationship, my own family's well-being, and whatever other details were asked of me what felt like three hundred times.

I had to tolerate it for just a few more hours. For Gus.

I was sitting at one of the long tables in the private room the family had rented out for the lunch reception. The restaurant was a bit fancier than I'd anticipated, finding myself stunned when I came face-to-face with some naked, peeing cherub statues that were part of this grand fountain right upon walking through the entry doors. Then again, this was the Monahan's – nothing was subpar with them.

Once we'd arrived and ordered our meals, Gus and some of his cousins relocated themselves to the bar. It was across the room, away from where most of the adults were mourning or reminiscing, aside from a few mischievous uncles that were trying to relive their glory days through beers and guy gossip. I knew one of us still had to drive home, preferably before it got too dark out, so I avoided the bar and stayed put at the table we claimed along with Gus' parents and sisters.

Claire Finnegan, an aunt that wasn't actually a blood relative but close enough to be considered like one, was all too keen on my life. She had swooped into Gus' unoccupied seat next to me when she noticed I wasn't talking with anyone, which was a blessing in disguise to me. I knew my solitude wouldn't have lasted much longer, though. I was just peacefully waiting for my food to arrive because I was on the verge of fainting within minutes.

The woman was very levelheaded which I liked and man, she could handle her wine. She must've had three glasses while we were trading stories and she didn't seem fazed by the alcohol at all. I wasn't sure if I should've been concerned or fascinated, but I was leaning more towards the latter.

"So," she said, leaning an elbow on the table covered in white linens as she eyed me. "You and Gus have been together for... a long time, right?"

I nodded with a modest smile. "It'll be seven years in April."

"Well damn," she praised me, nudging my arm with her hand. "Forgive me for asking this because I'm sure you're sick of hearing it, but are you guys thinking about tying the knot anytime soon?"

"Oh God, not at all," I chuckled. My skin prickled at the mere thought of this topic, but I tried to come off like I was more lighthearted towards it. I was pretty sure she sensed my discomfort from my instantaneous answer, but if she did she ignored it. "To tell you the truth, my sister is getting married at the end of January, so I'm really not thinking about it."

"Ah, I get it. Planning a wedding is a bitch. If I had to do it all over again, I'd have somebody smack some sense into me," she laughed too. "I didn't understand it at the time because we're programmed to think weddings are this magical thing, but I get it now why people elope."

"Yeah, especially that she's having a destination wedding in Hawaii, it's like, double the stress. I'm just glad I'm only a bridesmaid."

Claire's eyebrows raised in surprise, disappearing under the bangs of her bleached pixie haircut. "Wait, you're a bridesmaid? Why not Maid of Honor if it's your sister?" She questioned, seeming more offended about this than I probably should've been. If she knew Sutton, she'd get it.

"We're uh... not the best of friends," I said to summarize. She fell back in her seat and slowly nodded. "But at the end of the day, she's still my sister. I love her one way or another, even though we want to kill each other more often than not."

"I feel that," she said, then she chugged the rest of her current glass of Pinot noir. I blinked, the dark liquid vanishing from her cup with all the speed and gusto of someone who'd been drinking far longer than I'd been alive. "Siblings, man. Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em."

That was something I could wholeheartedly concur with.

When I looked back at Claire from where I was previously glaring at the blank space in front of me where my chicken parm should've been, I saw her eyes were focused on something above my head. The ends of her cherry colored lips curled up and as soon as I wanted to ask what the look was for, I found out.

A pair of arms encircled me from behind, followed by a chin leaning on my right shoulder. I didn't even have to guess to know it was Gus.

"Ah! There's my boozer of a son!" Mrs. Monahan howled from where she sat on the other side of Claire. Her eyes were narrowed in amusement behind her luxury glasses as they skimmed over Gus, who had ditched his jacket as soon as we sat down and loosened his tie I'd perfected just hours ago.

"I could say the same about you, winey," he said, hinting at her near-empty glass of wine. At that, she rolled her eyes and turned back around in her seat. Gus then chuckled, followed by murmuring in my ear, "Hi."

I shifted, leaning back a little in his grasp and meeting his eyes with a coy smile. "Hi. What are you doing over there, Jägerbombs?" I was kind of joking, but kind of hinting at how many times I saw his head tip back from taking shots. I may have been across the room from him, but I kept a close watch on Gus like a mother on her disobedient child.

Resisting the urge to come off too condemning, I pulled out a smirk and a teasing tone in my voice for the sake of the situation. I knew he was drinking to try and forget about what we were all doing here, to desensitize the fact that his favorite guy in the world was no longer alive. I didn't want to take that temporary oblivion away from him.

What I did want was to keep a tight rein on it. Drunk Gus was a completely different person from sober Gus. Overemotional, throwing sentiments left and right like free change. Brazen and reckless when not looked after. He takes handsy to a new level.

A drunk and grieving Gus was a combination no one asked for.

"Irish Car Bombs, actually," Gus clarified lowly for me.

"Oh, I see," I said, nodding my head once. "Well I hope they're tasty."

He squeezed me and kissed my temple. "Just like you."

I glanced up at whoever else was seated at the table, and my stomach clenched when I realized they were all watching us. Starry-eyed, buying into the picture we were portraying for them of our relationship.

"This woman is my saving grace," Gus suddenly announced to everyone surrounding us, and I flinched at how loud his voice was in my ear. I heard gasps and sighs; cooing thoughts on how endearing we were, so I pushed out a smile. My hands held tighter onto his arms around my shoulders, a silent plea for him not to cause a scene. He didn't get it. "I don't know what I would be without her. Look at her – she's beautiful! I mean, come on. Am I not the luckiest man in the world or what?"

Claire next to me held out her bare wine glass for a waiter on the other side of the table, eyeing him for a refill. She let out a defeated breath and said to me, "At least you have a man that'll admit he's lucky to have you."

A few women agreed with her, vigorously nodding along and ranting about their own husbands. I acted like what she said really meant something for the sake of the day, and just solemnly nodded my head too.

Of course you could believe us when we'd become so good at pretending. Nearly seven years with the same person taught you a lot – pretending like everything was okay when it wasn't was one of those things.

I knew he was intoxicated. I knew his words or actions meant next to nothing. I knew drunk Gus was a completely different person than sober Gus. These people didn't, and it was better off that way.

While all of that may be true, there was no lack of certainty that Gus and I loved each other. If anything, that was the one constant between us. We had a strong, genuine love that I don't think anything could break or bend.

Was it always healthy and easy? Absolutely not. But that was love.

As a group of waiters finally came over to serve us our meals and Gus took his original seat next to me, I tried to imagine a different life for a moment. A life where I didn't have to put on a mask, where a smile like the ones I was used to faking would just naturally make its way onto my face because I was truly that happy. Right then, I couldn't.

〰️〰️〰️

Getting home later that night was a huge accomplishment in itself.

It was after six o'clock by the time we were on the road, so my plan to leave before dusk didn't hold up. The luncheon came to a close around four, which to me seemed like a perfect time to head home. It meant we'd be back in Philly by dinner time and I'd have plenty of time to mentally prepare for Donatella's monthly meeting and my sister's party the next day.

I was wrong. We ended up getting corralled back to the Monahan's house for some more mourning and family time.

I told Gus on the car ride to his parents' house we're not staying long, as if his whiskey-soaked brain could even comprehend me at that point.

That didn't happen. I loved his family, but all I fucking wanted was to be home. I had to take control when they went to open a third photo album and decide then that we were leaving.

Before we left, Mrs. Monahan thanked me for taking such good care of her son and told me I was an "angel". That term was debatable but with her, I knew it wasn't the wine talking and that she meant it. I could only hug her in return.

The lack of traffic the whole way home seemed to be the only light at the end of the tunnel. Between Gus' unrestrained, drunken ramblings the entire two-plus hour car ride and total exhaustion taking over my every last brain cell, I was surprised the car didn't hurtle off the side of the highway.

Bottom line, I was painfully sober and Gus was out of control.

After parking in Gus' normal spot in our buildings' garage, somehow I got the both of us up to our apartment, battling sloppy neck kisses and extra grabby hands throughout the feat. Had Gus not been so tanked, it would have been an entirely different situation.

"Gus, cut it out," I grunted, hoping that our neighbors wouldn't hear us.

He cackled right in my eardrum as he kept fumbling with my hand while I tried to unlock our door, making the task much harder than it needed to be. The arm I had around him was slipping, my strength failing me as his six-foot-two frame was draped on me like a scarf. It felt like I was dealing with a giant, drunk toddler.

When I shoved his fingers away once again, I managed to stick the key in the lock due to his slow reflexes and kicked open the door. On cue, Ziggy came rushing over to us, more than happy to see us after a long day. I had Collin pop in to feed him and hang out earlier, but other than that the poor guy was alone.

"Hey Zig!" Gus shrieked when he saw our dog. He pried himself off of me and dropped to the floor, holding Ziggy to his chest. It was probably the most affectionate I'd seen the two of them in a long time.

I may not have been in the best frame of mind, but I couldn't deny that it was the cutest damn thing.

Gus grinned up at me, as did Ziggy in his own way by wagging his tail with his tongue hanging out of his mouth. The smile that surfaced onto my face was real – sincere and exactly like the kind I mentioned earlier.