Heartkiller

Thursday December 5, 2013

Ville woke up in the middle of the bathroom. His cheek was pressed against the cold linoleum floor, and his hair was matted with sweat against his face. When he opened his eyes, his vision was blurry for a few seconds. Ville slowly backed up until he hit the wall behind him whereupon he sat up. He rubbed his eyes and saw the wooden cabinets and toilet in front of him, reminding him where he was. He vaguely recalled buying beer the previous night, but not much else after that. It was clear that his first drinking experience since rehab had not gone well.

I drank too much, too fast, he thought.

He tilted his head back so that it leaned against the wall. There was a persistent pulsating feeling in his forehead since his body was exhausted from puking his insides all night. His throat burned from the drinking and puking, but he was also severely dehydrated. It was a strange feeling; it had been a while since he had gotten drunk and experienced a hangover. Ville let out an exasperated sigh and sat on the bathroom floor with his legs sprawled out before him. He examined his body for battle scars and noticed that a spot on his arm was discolored and sore to the touch; he had bruised himself last night when he slammed into the bathroom trying to reach the toilet in time.

"Tsk," he scolded himself.

He pulled his hair back into a tight bun to keep it out of his face. Slowly, he stood up and reached for a hairtie on the counter. He tied away his hair haphazardly and grabbed his toothbrush and toothpaste from the tumbler. He rinsed his mouth with some water before he started scrubbing his teeth. After spitting out the toothpaste, he rinsed his mouth and pulled out a bottle of mouthwash from the medicine cabinet to clear his throat of any remaining vomit. Once he finished, he returned the bottle to the cabinet and turned to the toilet to relieve himself. He flushed, zipped his pants back up and returned to the sink. With his palms on the counter to support himself, Ville stared at his reflection in the mirror. His face was blotchy and red. His eyes were bloodshot. Baby hairs at the edge of his hairline were pressed against his skin due to his sweat.

The man in the mirror was a familiar person to him. This man was someone he hadn’t seen in years, since a time when he was young and overworked, using the alcohol and drugs to get him through each gig. Seeing this person took Ville back to the days when he was still dating Jonna and the two would dabble in the particulars of whichever region HIM was visiting. Some days it was alcohol. Others it was pot. Occasionally, it had been the addictive drugs that destroyed people. But only occasionally; Ville couldn’t allow himself to be sucked into that scene with Seppo breathing down his neck. Ville reached out with a shaky hand and touched the reflection of his cheek in the mirror.

"Hello, old friend." he whispered.

A smile crept on his face.

His fingers dragged down slowly and left behind distorted prints on the mirror. It blurred his already splotchy face in his reflection, and he stared into it. At the forefront of his thoughts was the fact that after he picked up the beer, he hadn’t spent any time thinking about Avery. It’s not that he wanted to forget her; rather, the alcohol provided an escape for him to a whole other dimension that nothing else could match, not his music, not the therapy, not sex with Paige. The alcohol allowed him to be peaceful, if only momentarily, and live in the euphoric and ignorant state in which he could let himself believe that everything was alright. For a few hours at a time, Ville could black out and be blissful.

That was what he needed right now. Because the honest truth was that he was fucked up beyond repair until he could find some closure with his wife’s death. Until then, Ville wanted to find solace with the bottle. Although they wouldn’t solve anything, the substances would delude Ville enough for him to believe that these issues didn’t exist. For now, that was good enough. For now, that’s what he needed.

Ville exited the bathroom with his shirt clinging tightly to his chest. The feeling of the fabric rubbing against his skin annoyed him; he pulled the shirt off swiftly and let it land on the floor in the hallway. Right now, his mind was set on reaching the beer on the coffee table. However, when he got to the living room, the bottles that should have been on the table were gone. His gaze flit about the room and he saw Paige near the dining table, hunched over and scribbling something on a piece of paper.

"What are you doing?" he asked. His groggy voice broke the stillness of the apartment and caused her to jump due to surprise.

"Huh? Oh, hey. I, uh, I was writing you a note to explain, but I suppose I could just tell you now that you’re up." She rambled nervously. "I’m going to my parents’ house. I told you last night I would, but I don’t suppose you remember that."

"Not really."

"Yeah, well, I’m off…" She said quietly.

Paige was troubled by the way things had unfolded last night and was able to see very clearly how insolently they had behaved a few days ago. It was foolish for her to think that a cheating spouse was the same as a dead one. It was stupid, childish even, to think that sex with him would fix her; instead, it only sent Ville on a tailspin and pushed him into the substances with which he had struggled for so long. It was not her place to be so careless; someone needed to watch out for him now that Avery wasn’t around. She needed to leave and to let him grieve instead of bringing her own problems to him.

With her fingernails picking the skin on her palm, Paige continued to apologize to Ville, “I’m gonna head out. I don’t want to burden you when you’ve got your own things to worry about. I’m sorry I came by at all to tell you the truth. I- I shouldn’t have imposed, especially knowing your situation.”

"S’okay…” He didn’t care much for whatever else she was saying; he was adamant to put a drink in his hand again, returning to old habits. As Paige picked up the duffel bag from the floor, he asked, “Where’s my beer?"

"I’m taking it. You shouldn’t be drinking, and I’m not gonna let you destroy yourself like this."

"Taking it away isn’t going to fucking stop me. It didn’t work the last time." Ville said matter-of-factly, referring to her visit shortly after Avery’s death when she took his wine bottles.

"Yeah, but you know you better. Avery wouldn’t want—"

"As far as I can tell, Ave isn’t here right now, and you’re certainly not going to fuckin’ replace her, so I really don’t have to listen to whatever bullshit you have to tell me. Now, give me my fuckin’ stuff back," Ville said coldly. His voice was strained as he tried not to yell, and Paige was stunned by his tone. He had never spoken to her like that before, but she didn’t realize that this wasn’t Ville. This was the demon within him, the black and blue creature he had caged away so many years ago, that was breaking free.

"Um… yeah. Yeah, here, sorry." she said awkwardly.

She pulled out the plastic bag of beers from her duffel. Ville walked to the dining table and took the bag from her, pulling out a bottle and twisting the cap off. He took a few gulps; the beer was tepid from sitting out all night, but he didn’t care.

"Alright, I’ll, um, I’ll get out of your hair." Paige muttered and started for the front door. “Thanks again for letting me stay here.”

He eyed her with the bottle to his mouth as she left the apartment. Once the door closed behind her, he turned and went to the kitchen with the beers. He didn’t want to make the same mistake he had made last night by drinking on an empty stomach. Although the shelves of the fridge were bare, there were a few frozen burritos in the freezer, which he pulled out. After removing the plastic wrapper, he put the burritos on a plate. He popped them into the microwave and set the timer for two minutes. While he waited for them to heat up, he took a few more swigs of his beer. The microwave beeped and he took the plate out. The burritos were a tad soggy since he hadn’t thawed them first, but he didn’t mind. Ville took the steaming plate of food to the living room and sat on the couch with his legs stretched out on the coffee table. With his beer still in hand, he flicked on the tv and settled for some nonsensical reality show that was playing.

He ate the meal and took the occasional sip of beer. It was a mind-numbing activity, and it was enough to blur together the days until he could piece together his life again. That’s what he wanted. He wanted to be knocked out of reality long enough to let the desperation that consumed him to pass. He wanted to reach a point where he could accept Avery’s passing and could conceive the possibility of moving on, whether or not that meant falling in love with someone else.

After a few hours, Ville was numbed by the alcohol. His body felt light and airy, no longer weighed down by the pain or the grief. His tummy tingled as the beer was now in full effect. He could tell that his face was red with heat, and he had a goofy grin. He was happy, or so he felt. Ville leaned back on the couch with a cigarette between his lips. There was a lighter in his hand, and he flicked it on and off to play with the flame. The red and orange hues of the fire were mesmerizing, and Ville ran his hand close to it, nearly burning himself. He was captivated by the dances of the flame and the sways of the light from side to side.

The landline phone started ringing, disrupting the peace. Ville stood up and sulked to the kitchen counter to retrieve it from the base. When he saw that the caller ID read Avery’s parents’ house number, he hesitated. The sober part of him knew this was a bad time to answer the call. As anyone who has ever been drunk would know, the intoxicated mind is not very rational. Ville couldn’t stop himself from hitting the green ‘answer’ key.

“‘ello,” he answered, holding the phone to his ear.

"Hi, Ville.” Grace cleared her throat. “How are you?"

He looked around the room: there were beer bottles strewn about, his clothes were haphazardly thrown onto the couch, and the ashtray was overfilled with his cigarettes. He turned his palm over to look at his hand, which felt tingly and looked spotted. Though his vision appeared clear, he couldn’t remember what he had done just ten minutes ago because of how much alcohol he had consumed. The room looked dark and his body felt exhilarated, though it was deceitful. Ville sat down on the couch again to steady his gait. How was he?

"I’ve been better." he confessed.

"We called for your birthday, but you didn’t answer."

"I wasn’t in much of a speaking mood that day. I didn’t feel the desire to celebrate as you can understand. Sorry." he said and took a long drag of his cigarette.

"That’s okay… I’m calling to check in with you and see how you were doing. Things have been really silent, and I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I’ve been drinking again… I’m hammered right now, actually, if you can believe it." he blurted out.

This was probably why he shouldn’t have answered the phone. He was hoping to keep his vice to himself so that it wouldn’t get back to Seppo. If his manager were to find out, it could compromise the deal he had made with Ville to let HIM play the Helldone festival in three weeks. This was something he wanted to keep to himself, a form of self-medicating used behind closed doors. Grace didn’t respond right away, but he heard her breathe sharply.

"I know." she admitted. "Paige called me last night and told me that you weren’t doing well. I’m really sorry for the way Easton and I have neglected you in all this. We’ve been trying to deal with this ourselves that we didn’t really… “ she deflected and rephrased her thoughts. “You know, it’s just hard to talk to you without thinking about Avery even more. But still, I don’t think that’s any excuse for being so careless about checking up with you."

"Trust me, I wouldn’t have it any other way, Grace. Like I said, I haven’t been in the speaking mood lately, so you needn’t waste your time."

There was something else on Grace’s mind that she wanted to talk to him about. She bit her tongue, unsure of whether she should even bother to bring it up. The fact that he was drinking again wasn’t a good sign, and she wasn’t sure how he would react to what she wanted to talk about. The lull in conversation didn’t bother Ville whatsoever; he hardly noticed since his mind was still deluged with the alcohol. He held the phone to his ear with his right hand while his left tapped a beat on his thigh. With one eye closed, he looked at his feet, which he rocked from side to side as they rested on the coffee table. The little movements were enough to amuse him in his inebriated state. Finally, Grace spoke up.

"Ville, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.” she started.

“Shoot.”

“I, uh, I looked for your parents at the funeral, but I’m sure it wouldn’t have been easy to get to New York on such short notice, so I didn’t mind it.” she started. “Then I called your parents a couple of weeks ago. I spoke to your father to see how he and your mother were taking it.”

Ville panicked and sat up in his seat. “Fuck, you didn’t tell them about Avery, did you?”

"Um, no, no, I didn’t. It was clear that they didn’t know what had happened, and I thought you’d want to tell them yourself." she reassured. Surprised by his tone, she continued, "Wait, they still don’t know?"

"No, I didn’t want to tell them." he rejected.

"What do you mean you didn’t want to tell them? Haven’t they asked about her?"

"I haven’t answered anyone’s calls, Grace. I’m sure they want to know what’s going on, and I’ll tell them when I’m ready."

"What exactly are you waiting for?"

"Answers. I’m waiting for answers." he said with an exasperated sigh as though it were obvious.

"Answers to what?"

She was puzzled as she clearly wasn’t aware about half the clues that Ville had come across. To her, it seemed like a car accident that had claimed her daughter with Ville being the grieving widower. Grace remembered the last conversation that she had had with Avery, but he couldn’t recall his last words to her. He didn’t know why Avery had suddenly remodeled the study, a room she had dedicated to her work and one she hadn’t changed in the seven years that Ville had known her. He didn’t know what the appointment on Avery’s calendar meant that read ‘Tell VALO.’

He had all these clues that Grace didn’t. He had all these pieces that signaled that Avery was hiding something from him, and it made him feel like he didn’t know his own wife as well as he thought he did. Until he could figure out the big picture and understand how these pieces fit together, he couldn’t tell his parents. He couldn’t leave New York until he knew everything and had a clear conscience. Ville was annoyed. Grace didn’t understand what he was going through. No one understood. Too drunk to waste his breath with an explanation, Ville waived it off.

"Nothing. Nevermind." he said.

Realizing his mood and state of mind, she let it go. “What are you doing Saturday? Why don’t you come over for lunch?”

"No, that’s okay."

"Come on, Easton would love it. It would really help him out to be able to see you again. And we’re in the city this weekend, so it won’t be a long ride. I’ll send a car over to pick you up." she convinced.

Knowing that she wouldn’t give up until she got her way, Ville complied. “Okay. I’ll come.” he said, taking a drag of his cigarette and holding onto its very tip.

"How does noon sound?"

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

"Okay great, I’ll see you then."

"Alright, then. Take care. Bye."

He hung up the phone. He threw it beside him on the couch, and it landed on the pile of clothes he had taken off the previous night after getting his beers. Talking to Grace had reminded him of all the things he was trying to forget by drinking. The study, the painting on the wall, the mysterious appointment; he didn’t know what any of it meant. After having been drinking for a while, he didn’t remember. Answering the phone brought all these things back into his conscious stream of thought.

He stood up and took a moment to find his balance before stumbling down the hallway. When he reached the study, he held onto the wall on either side of him in the hallway and looked down at his feet. There was a small part of him that was trying to stop him from walking into the study, which he knew would unravel his emotions. There was a larger part, a more powerful part, that was convincing him to go inside and take a second look at the painting. He wasn’t sure what it would accomplish, but he had the urge to go inside, disregarding his earlier vow not to enter the room until he was able to remember what happened the night of the accident. He wrung his forehead and rubbed his eyes with his right hand to release his frustrations. Ville begrudgingly succumbed to the latter part of him and swung open the door to the study.

He clambered inside, and the hardwood floors felt as cold as steel to his bare feet. No one had entered this room in weeks. He closed the door and rested his forearms on top of his head. The colors of the painting blended together in his alcohol-induced stupor, but Ville was able to fill in the missing details from the first time he had seen them. He could picture the cocoon that hung from a twig and the beginning stages of color that had been painted. The main focus of the image, though, was the striking butterfly that Avery had so beautifully drawn with its large wings taking over the wall. The creature had only its pencil lines drawn in but Ville knew that she had intended to finish this piece. Painting was one of Avery’s passions for which she could never devote much time. There was always some new case or brief or nonsense for her to finish before a deadline. She had never taken the time for herself to indulge in her desires, but he was glad that she had changed that.

The ends of his lips twitched into a frown, and Ville backed up until he was in the corner of the room nearest the doorway. He slid down until he sat on the floor and pulled his knees to his chest. Though his head rested against the closed door, his eyes were transfixed on the opposite wall with the painting. Ville was heartbroken. He didn’t know what any of this meant, and he didn’t know where to start digging or whom to consult for the answers he so desperately needed. He seemed to have all these puzzle pieces, but he wasn’t sure how to fit them together to see the bigger picture. His jaw trembled and he bit his lip, but he couldn’t contain his sadness. Tears started to fall down his cheeks, and he rested his chin on the top of his knees.

“What happened to you? What ha-happened to u-us, Ave?” he begged for an answer between heaving sobs. His chest started to seize and he pulled himself tighter into a ball. “What happened?”

Saturday December 7, 2013

By the time Saturday morning came, Ville was able to fix himself up and feign a sense of completeness in order to see Avery’s parents. He was dismally dressed in his usual black attire. His overgrown hair had been tucked into a beanie, and he had shaved his goatee this morning to improve his appearance. He hadn’t cared much for his hygiene in the past few weeks, but he didn’t want to show up to his in-laws’ like a vagrant.

Ville stepped out of the town car that Avery’s parents had sent to pick him up. His black hightop converse shoes hit the sidewalks of Upper East Side, and he thanked the chauffeur before looking up to admire the skyscraper in front of him. It was a tall gray building with meticulously clean windows and neatly trimmed fern flanking the doorway. The December weather had lightened up since the last time he had been out: though there was a cool wind sweeping through the city, there wasn’t any rain or snow. Ville walked through the revolving door and into the lobby. He made a left to reach the elevators and hit the arrow to call for an empty car. It came and he pressed the number 26 before watching the recently shined elevator doors close in front of him.

He was able to see his reflection on the gold walls of the elevator car. Confronting his image in such an enclosed space made him uncomfortable. By all appearances, he was fine. Not a hair was out of place, and he looked very well put together. However, it wasn’t his immediate presentation that was so hard to witness. It was the emptiness in his irises, the paleness of his skin, and the dark circles under his eyes. Having been drunk for the past few days, he hadn’t noticed how gaunt he looked. He had welcomed the unrefined look that almost hinted a sense of character and uniqueness. Now that he was sober, he could see how wrong he had been. Ville could see that the emaciated person before him, the one who last made an appearance before rehab, was not a look he should have been proud to sport.

When the doors opened again, he followed the familiar path to his in-laws’ apartment. Ville shook off the feeling of uneasiness as he readied himself to see Avery’s parents. He had been here many times over the years with his wife for the occasional dinner or to celebrate the holidays, so he was accustomed to the layout of the building and knew his way. He reached the navy blue door with the number 2634 written in brown stencil. After ringing the doorbell, Ville stuffed his hands into his pockets. It wasn’t long before the door opened and Grace’s bright face greeted him.

"Hey, Ville, how are you?" She asked as she pulled him into a hug.

"Hello. I’m good," he replied with a polite smile and they pulled away. They walked into the apartment, and he closed the door. "How are you?"

“‘Bout the same. C’mon inside, lunch should be ready in just a minute. I have to season the soup and that’s it… Easton!” she called out into the apartment.

Grace went off into the kitchen to continue cooking, and Ville turned to put his coat on the hanger by the door. It was a large square foyer with bright white walls. There weren’t many decorations in the first room, but the rest of the apartment was boldly adorned with various works by local artists. He turned and went up the light yellow hardwood steps to the middle room: to the right was the kitchen from which rose the sweet aromas of a chicken soup and risotto while to the left was the living room and dining hall. Ville turned into the living room and saw Easton coming down the hallway.

“Hey, how are ya, son?” he asked though his usual broad grin was missing.

“I’ve seen better days.” Ville admitted but didn’t care to elaborate. “How are you?”

“Good, good. Sit down,” Easton offered and the two sat on the black leather couch.

Avoiding eye contact, Ville twirled his foot to trace the designs on the Persian rug that was under them. He didn’t know what to say, and it was unusual for them not to have spoken in such a long time. Normally, Easton liked to keep himself in the know as to how Ville’s touring had been or whatever new adventure he and Avery had gone on together. Whenever the couple would come over for the holidays, Avery and her mother would wander on their own while the boys hung back and talked. There was never a silent moment between the two in the past, but now it seemed that neither knew just what to say. Even the dynamic of this very lunch seemed askew because an important member of the family was missing.

“How’s Brody?” Ville asked. “Is he still out in California?”

“Yeah, he’s working that Silicon Valley gig he got. He’s into the whole start-up town.” Easton replied. He leaned on one elbow and played with his hands.

“Mm.” he acknowledged.

"He’s throwing himself into his work to keep himself busy and to keep his mind off of…" He trailed off, unable to utter his daughter’s name.

"I suppose that’s one way to deal with it."

"Yeah, I fly in to see him every now and then to make sure he’s okay. He doesn’t have anybody else out there for him."

"What about Diana?"

"Oh, they broke up months ago." Easton informed. “I don’t know what it was exactly. I think he broke up with her because she was pressuring him into getting married, and… I don’t think that boy has any plans of settling down with one gal any time soon.”

“Lunch is ready!” Grace announced and the two men stood.

Ville motioned for the older man to go first and he followed behind. They walked to the dining table set where all the food had been laid out. While Easton took his seat at the head of the table, Grace and Ville sat on either side of him. The three held hands to pray as the family was accustomed to do before a meal.

The three closed their eyes as Easton began, “Dear Heavenly Father, we thank you for this food and for the health and safety of this family.” He paused and chose his words carefully, deciding if he wanted to address this at all. “We are gracious not only for this meal that we are blessed to have but also for the people who have entered our lives. Although… although they are not always present, we know that they live forever in our hearts. We are thankful that we were lucky enough to live in their presence for however brief a moment as it has been. In Jesus’ name I pray, Amen.”

“Amen.” Ville and Grace repeated.

“How are you? How has retirement been for the two of you?” Ville asked.

“I’m still adjusting. It’s strange to have been busy with surgeries all the time and to transition now… I feel like I’m sitting on my hands.” Grace said. “I’ve been in search of new hobbies.”

"She’s such a workaholic." Easton claimed lightheartedly.

"I know the type," Ville agreed.

"That’s not fair, Easton. You’re the one who still has an active role in your company." She argued.

"I’m on the Board of Directors, but I’m not doing much. I go in once a month to hear how the company is doing, and it might as well just be an attendance sheet. I’m not doing any real work. That doesn’t count."

“He’s right,” Ville said, cracking a smile. “After how overworked he used to be, a meeting once a month can’t possibly compare.”

Graced raised an eyebrow. “And the son-in-law still takes your side, hm? Some things never change. I know that Av—well, I… need someone on my side.”

Ville looked down at his plate and did his best to ignore her slip-up. He felt weird that she couldn’t even bring herself to say her daughter’s name aloud. After clearing his throat, dismissing what had happened, he complimented. “The risotto is amazing, Grace.”

“Thank you. It’s a new recipe I’m trying out. I hoped it would come out well.”

“Indeed, it did…” He redirected the conversation to the earlier topic. “How is your company going?”

“Well, things are on the up and up, Ville. In this economy, I’m just glad we’re still holding our heads above the water.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“Yeah, I don’t worry too much about it. I’m more concerned about this one,” he said, gesturing to his wife, “She seems to be so antsy to keep her hands busy. You know, in our younger days, we used to travel together, but now… I’m getting old and it’s hard to sit on a plane for that long. I don’t know what I can do to help appease her boredom.”

"You’re on the lookout for some new hobbies, huh, Grace?" Ville asked.

"Yes, I am. I retired too early. My advice to you is not to make my mistake and retire 7 years before you have to, thinking you’re being wise to enjoy life without work… Although, at my age, it’s hard to be confident in the precision of your motor skills during a surgery. Keep making music as long as you can."

"That’s what I intend to do." he said with a grin.

“So tell me, what have you been doing lately? You’re staying busy, I presume.” she asked.

Ville hesitated and his smile faltered. What was he to say? “I’ve, uh, you know, I’ve been writing music, and trying to… I guess, keep myself preoccupied. I figure that if I keep myself distracted, I won’t have to face… the despair. Or I can delay it, at least.”

“Has that been working?” Easton asked.

Ville shrugged. “I suppose. I guess… I don’t really know.”

“Well, you know that you can always come to us. If you need help, or if you just want to talk, or whatever. Our door is always open for you, Ville.” he said.

“Thank you, I appreciate that… I’ve been seeing a therapist, too, so that… is supposed to help, I think.”

“I never thought you were into that sort of thing.” Grace commented as she took a bite of her food.

“I’m not. It’s more of something that I’m doing to appease my manager’s concerns.”

“What concerns does he have?” Ville’s father-in-law asked.

“I don’t know, he’s a bit of a worry wart,” Ville dismissed casually, leaving out his suicide attempt.

“Well, I hope everything is okay.” Grace said.

“You know, Ville, you should keep yourself busy and be around company. Why don’t you come to a baseball game with me?”

“Oh, Easton, the boy has never been into that sort of thing.”

“No, come on, it’ll be fun!”

“You’ve tried to convince me many times in the past, and as history would repeat itself, I must politely decline yet again.” Ville said with a grin as he took another bite of risotto. He continued to joke, “Besides, us Finns are into hockey. We don’t know too much about your ‘American’ sports.”

“See, he wouldn’t even know what was going on, honey. I know you miss going to the games with Brody, but don’t force the poor child.”

Thirty seven years old, but he was still considered a child among his parents and his in-laws. He would never understand that.

“Oh, no, I would be able to follow baseball, somewhat. Ave taught me a little bit, here and there,” Ville said, smirking at the thought of her first mention of baseball: the first time they made love at the Finnvox studios. It was a rather good memory.

“I see.” Easton. “I don’t want you to become a hermit, that’s all. Take care of yourself, son.”

“Well… I’ve always been a bit of recluse.” He dispelled.

“Anyway, you said on the phone that you still haven’t told your parents about… about what happened.” Grace brought up. “I know you weren’t… in the most lucid state of mind when we spoke, but have you called them since?”

Ville’s gaze dropped to his plate and he absentmindedly started to stir his food around. He didn’t know what kind of explanation to give that provided them with enough information without having to divulge the clues he had. They seemed to be coping well, and he didn’t want to ruin how positive they seemed to be.

“I haven’t. They’ve been trying to reach me for a while, actually, but Mige gave them an excuse for me a few weeks ago. He explained that I need some time for myself, which I do, but that I’m okay and that there’s nothing to worry about.”

“I don’t understand, Ville. Why are you lying to them?” Grace asked and her husband put his hand over hers to get her attention. Easton gave her a side-eye glance, signalling her to drop the subject.

“I’m not lying to them.” he said with a sigh. “I just—my parents are so important to me and I’m trying to make them proud of me with everything I do. I don’t want them to worry about me or… my happiness. It’s better if they think I’m okay. I’ll be going to Finland in a few weeks though, and I’ll…” he swallowed hard before continuing, “I’ll tell them then in person. Please, don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine, they’ll be fine.”

Avery’s mother had more questions. It seemed to her that Ville was making excuses and avoiding the situation, but she couldn’t understand why. She wanted to implore him for more details, but her husband gave her a warning look, cautioning her from pushing their son-in-law further.

“We trust you, Ville. She’s just a little concerned about you, that’s all.” Easton waived.

He looked up from his plate and gave a reassuring smile. “I’m fine.”

“Fine,” Easton repeated to himself with a sneaky grin.

“What?” Ville asked, a smirk playing on his lips, and felt left out of the apparent joke.

“There’s a line from this movie called the Italian Job. It’s a little dialogue between two of the characters. ‘You know what fine stands for don’t you?’” Easton quoted, hoping to lighten the mood.

“‘Freaked out, insecure, neurotic, and emotional.’” Mr. and Mrs. Wentworth said in unison.

“We’ve seen that movie so many times.” Grace said.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing, honey!”

“Well, it’s a good movie, I suppose, but not really one worth watching twenty-seven times.”

“Oh, hush. I’ve seen you fawning over that Jason Statham fellow. You do realize he’s almost 20 years your junior, don’t you?”

Ville saw his mother-in-law look down at her plate and bite her lip, a crimson rushing in her cheeks. He smiled. Seeing her was like looking at Avery being embarrassed about something Ville had pointed out about her behavior. For a second, it was a pleasant sight, but the smile on his face quickly disappeared.

Ville closed his eyes. Avery. Avery. Avery. Everything he did or said, his entire environment, always reminded him of her. She was the spitting image of her mother, and it seemed like the world was playing a cruel joke on him. He was in the presence of someone who looked just like Avery would have decades from now and who behaved so similarly to Avery. But it wasn’t her. It wasn’t his wife. It seemed so misleading.

The couple before him was the one he and Avery were meant to be someday. They were supposed to grow old and live out their dreams together. And once they’d traveled the world and played amazing gigs and scored wealthy clients and raised incredible children, he and his wife were going to settle down in Helsinki again. Perhaps they would be sitting on lawn chairs on the roof of his tower and recounting their favorite memories together. Hearing all these things and noting the nuances in the interaction between Grace and Easton was enough of a painful reminder that he would never be an old, married couple reminiscing stories from years ago.

The couple continued their conversation, oblivious to what he was thinking. Ville grit his teeth and pulled the roots of his hair; he tried to release his frustration, and he suddenly stood up. His in-laws looked up to see what was wrong, but he was unresponsive. Without conscious control of his action, Ville shoved his plate off the table in a heat of frustration and let it fall to pieces onto the hardwood floor. The food flew off the plate and painted the cabinets nearby. The Wentworths flinched in surprise at the sound and saw their son-in-law with tears streaming down his face.

The last thing Ville saw was his in-laws coming to his aid. They were awestruck and unsure of what had happened. Grace was almost immediately at his side and providing some needed words of consolation. Although she tried to get his attention and to calm him down, there was no use; his eyes were glazed over and he was a different person.

“It’s okay, Ville. It’s okay. You’re fine.” she soothed as she tugged his hands, pulling him towards the couch and away from the scene.

His father-in-law, unsure of how to help Ville’s psyche, opted to clean up the mess and went to fetch the broom and dustpan. Grace was able to get him to sit down, and she remained by his side. She wiped away the tears from his face and smoothed his hair down. The warm movements, she hoped, would be enough to console him. Though she wasn’t sure exactly what had set him off in this moment, she didn’t have to guess that it was concerning Avery. As much a loss as her daughter’s death had been, Grace couldn’t begin to imagine the perspective Ville had on the situation. She didn’t know half of what he had been through before meeting Avery. She didn’t realize that her daughter was his savior, pulling him from an epoch of darkness. Without her, he felt lost.

Within a few minutes, he pulled himself from the reverie and found himself sitting on the couch in his in-laws’ living room. The glare of the sunlight reflected off the crisp white ceiling, and Grace’s concerned face was in his line of vision. He didn’t know what happened; his mind had defensively blocked out the rest of the world and retreated to lick his wounds. When he looked at her with his eyebrows perked up in astonishment, she could see that he was no longer in a daze.

“Oh, Ville. Are you okay?” she asked.

His eyes flit about the room to take in his surroundings, and he slowly remembered where he was. When he realized what he had done, Ville pulled himself up so that he was sitting upright on the couch, and his eyes widened in alarm.

“Yeah, I’m-I’m okay.” he replied dubiously. He stood up and ran his hand through his hair. Looking over to the dining table, he saw Easton cleaning up the fragments of the ceramic plate off the floor, and he turned red with embarrassment. He couldn’t be here anymore. While he retreated towards the front door, he mumbled, “I’m… I’m sorry for what happened.”

“Ville, wait! It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. It’s no big deal.” Grace reasoned, trying to make him stay so that she could ensure he was feeling better. She didn’t understand what had happened to set him off like that, but she didn’t want him wandering outside in this state of mind. She got up and followed him as she pleaded, “It’s fine, really. It’s just a plate. Please stay, I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“No, no, I… I should go. I’m fine…” Ville grabbed his coat off the hook and turned the doorknob of the front door. “Thank you for a lovely lunch, again, Grace. I’m sorry for… what I did. I’m really sorry.”

Without waiting for any more of her pleas, he rushed out of the apartment and closed the door behind him. As he went to the elevators, he slipped his coat on and pulled the box of cigarettes out of his pocket. What the fuck had he done?