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I want to show her the book. Tell her that Lisa will buy one of our dresses. Maybe she’d like to wear a suit, I don’t know. I’d like to find out.
Now I’m terrified that she’ll just point at any one and say ‘yeah well its fake. So, it doesn’t matter.’ This scene plays over in my mind until I’m positive this is what she will say.
When we sit down to watch TV, she doesn’t sit next to me. I try to draw
her into a conversation about the reality shows, but she keeps me at bay with one-word answers.
I can’t expect someone I picked up out of the gutter such a short time ago to just fall in love with me. When I examine the thought, I realize how utterly absurd that is. I’m a hopeless romantic, clearly. A little intimacy and shared giggles and I’m anyone’s. I didn’t realize I was that easy.
Maybe, for Roxy I am.
As I stare at the TV, I feel a great space opening up around me. It’s full of pain and fear and now I know why I worked so hard on my calm every day of my life.
Because all those around me always seemed to be in terrible pain. Joy, loss, love. All I could see around me was people twisted into horrible shapes by their own feelings. I refused to let that happen to me. But here I am.
I glance to the side and take in Roxy’s beautiful profile. She looks like a pixie, a slightly devilish one. Depending on how the light hits her features, she looks heavenly or mischievous. Always beautiful.
She doesn’t look at me. She looks into her lap and picks at a nail.
I feel rejection weighing heavily in my chest. I don’t know how to do this. How can I fake being her wife now? All I want is to hold her in my arms. How can I stand by her side and hold her and kiss her and not love her?
When I go to bed, I snap my mouth shut on the words I want to say. If Roxy wants her space, she can have it. I traversed the miles over to her once. Unless I know I’m going to be welcomed, I won’t make that journey again.
Twenty
Roxanne
We both went to bed pretty early. It was like having my suspicions confirmed when she got home. She clearly didn’t want to talk to me. It made me so miserable I could barely eat.
I’m not good at faking responses. I just tell people what I think. It was probably a good thing that I was drunk the other night. It gave me the courage to fall in love with Helen, at least enough to fool her boss.
I hear Helen moving almost silently through the kitchen as she gets ready. I can tell she’s trying not to wake me up and that’s nice. She even bought some iced donuts and chocolate croissants at the market because she knows I hate healthy food, especially for breakfast.
By dinner time I can convince my stomach to have some vegetables. First thing in the morning I just need sugar and there is no compromise to be made.
I wait for her to leave before I sit up. I wipe my eyes, a fairly normal thing for a person to do in the morning—but I’m shocked to find tears.
I get a coffee and some donuts and then I just basically sit with my misery for awhile. Its been years since I felt like this—since I let myself feel like this. You can only get hurt if you put yourself out there. So, I didn’t. I don’t think I’ve cried properly since Dads funeral.
I didn’t even cry over Karen.
I may have cried over a few physical injuries, but nothing has made me feel like this.
Like my heart is breaking.
Why does your chest ache when you are the saddest you can be? Why doesn’t it show up on medical equipment? People have died of grief, of a broken heart. Why isn’t there some procedure you can take to stop your chest hurting?
Maybe if they could heal your chest, the emotions would follow soon after.
I finish my coffee and donuts, feeling the sugar rush tingling through me. I look around and I wonder what I should do with myself. Helen and I haven’t discussed payment, not that I really wanted t to be paid. But the fact remains I don’t have much money.
If I stay here, I’ve got everything I need, but I don’t think I can take another day on Helen’s couch watching daytime TV. The apartment is pretty clean so I can’t do that. If I am going to stay, I’ll have to learn to read books or something.
Staying here, doing nothing, it’s tempting.
A couple of days ago I wouldn’t have thought twice about it. But all I see everywhere is Helen. She’s practically all over the walls. If I stay here, I’ll just be staring at what I can’t have.
I feel so lost and powerless that I know I have to do something.
