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Not to things that mean the most.
So I’ll live in the real world and keep making decisions that are best for me.
And wait to see if Caleb can ever be one of those decisions.
6
My period startstwo days later, so I’m definitely not pregnant.
I’m relieved. Of course I am. A tiny part of me gets a thrill out of the idea of having Caleb’s baby, but that’s an irrational impulse I know better than to indulge. This would be the worst possible timing for a pregnancy. We’re not together. I’m in danger because of my family, and he’s in danger because he’s protecting me. Nothing is clear or decided yet.
Plus Caleb has been standoffish since our conversation the morning after we had sex.
We agreed to put any major decisions on pause until we give it time and figure things out, but I didn’t think that meant he would back off so much that it’s like we’re strangers. He’s as cool and stoic as he used to be years ago. As he was the first week or so after he started working for me recently.
It’s confusing. And it hurts.
It also pisses me off.
I try to rein in my instinctive indignation since it’s not fair for me to try to control Caleb’s preferred method of dealing with a messy situation. He might feel like his job is on the line. It’s not. I’d never let having sex with me affect his livelihood. At very worst, we could do as he suggested and have him reassigned to another family member.
But the truth is the lines are blurry for him, and they probably should be for me too. I’m not his supervisor. I don’t pay his salary. But my family does, and I need to make sure not to exert any sort of pressure on him or make him feel uncomfortable.
In truth, I don’t think that’s the main issue holding him back. If he wasn’t being such a guarded, closemouthed jerk, he might actually tell me what his problem really is.
He doesn’t, of course. And I don’t shake the answer out of him, which is what I really want to do. Instead, we go through the next five days with our regular schedule and routine, and he doesn’t touch me even once.
It’s not a good week, and I’m annoyed for most of it.
Caleb… Well, I have no idea what Caleb is.
On Saturday, I have dinner at a local seafood restaurant with my friends, but I’m not feeling all that energetic, so I’m back by nine (with Caleb in tow, of course). I take a shower since I still faintly smell of beer, and that lingering scent always makes me nauseated. Then I put on my pajamas and wander into my studio.
Caleb has retreated into the guest bedroom, and Trey is on duty outside, so I pull the cover off the canvas I’ve been working on for weeks now. It’s an impressionistic portrait of Caleb from behind. He’s walking into darkening woods, wearing dark clothes that blend into the scenery.
It feels like Caleb to me, but even someone who knows Caleb might not recognize it as him.
I work on his hair, the line of his shoulders. The creases on the back of his shirt. The stubborn cut of his jaw.
Then I take a step back and gaze at the painting.
It’s good so far. It’s him. Walking away from me.
Glancing at the clock, I’m shocked to see it’s almost midnight. I have no idea how the time went by so quickly.
I don’t feel sleepy, but I’ve gotten too unfocused to work any longer, so I put up my paints, wash my hands, and carefully re-cover the canvas so no one but me will see it.
It probably wouldn’t reveal anything significant even if everyone else saw it. But it feels private, so I’d like to keep it that way.
I should go to bed now, but I don’t want to. Instead, I flop down on the couch, stretched out lengthwise with a throw cushion behind my head.
Caleb has probably gone to bed. He’s asleep. No matter how much I chide him, he always works long hours. Far too long. He needs to rest. And evidently he’s not being driven crazy with frustration and uncertainty like I am.
My mind won’t settle, and—perhaps predictably—it keeps landing on an evening years ago. It was during the month or two when I’d started to party pretty hard but hadn’t yet dropped out of college. I was on the last legs of my relationship with the guy who got me into the wild lifestyle, and my dad was worried, so he’d talked me into spending a couple of weeks at his place over Christmas and New Year’s while my boyfriend was on a skiing trip in Europe.
Caleb was still assigned to my dad back then. I’d seen him around for several months, ever since I first met him in Paris, but I’d had other things to focus on, so he existed only on the periphery of my mind. Interesting but inconsequential.
But those weeks I stayed with my dad, I saw him all the time. I didn’t have a lot to distract me since the friends I’d been hanging out with were home for the holidays. And Caleb was always there.
