by M. Mabie
“We should get out of here before you sprout gills and fins,” he said.
“I know. You need to get going.” I was glad he was going to work. I could only speculate about the many things he’d pushed aside to care for me. Also, I knew he wouldn’t leave if he was worried. I was getting better. I was healing on the outside enough that he trusted I’d be okay on my own for a while. I had to believe he was right.
“What are you going to do today?” He kissed my head as he stepped out of the bath.
“I don’t know. I thought about going to the store. Maybe do some cooking. What sounds good for dinner?”
What sounds good for dinner? Was this real?
As I took the towel he offered, I could see that the silly, mundane question excited him too. I never wanted to take these small things for granted.
“Kiss me,” he requested with puckered lips.
A tiny milestone and a turn in the most precious of directions. I was so damn lucky I’d get to have conversations like this—with him—for the rest of our lives. Well, if he ever asked me to marry him.
Shit. Did the paperwork even matter?
I gave him a quick kiss in exchange for the towel he’d already finished using and bent to wrap it around my head. My side still ached, but it was improving. I stood up and watched as he prepared to shave in front of the mirror.
“What can you make?”
“Please,” I scoffed. “Name it. I can make it.”
“I want ribs.” He swathed the fluffy foam over his face, then wiped and methodically cleared a stripe from his lips with the back of his thumb. Even with a snow-white Barbasol beard he was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.
“Ribs are doable. Hey, if you want, ask Troy if he wants to come over.”
He nodded as he ran the razor down his cheek and along his outstretched neck, then tapped it clean in the warm water pooled in the sink. He winked at me when he caught me staring at his reflection from behind him, and said, “You need to call Reggie. He called after you fell asleep on the couch last night.”
“I will.” I’d do whatever he said if he winked at me like that. That tiny gesture affirming everything was going to be all right. I love that man and his wink.
I kissed his shoulder and left him to it.
After reminding me he was just a phone call away no less than three times and kissing me goodbye twice and finally pulling away, I made a list of things I needed around the house and the items I’d need for dinner.
It had been nice having people take care of me—well, kind of—but I was in need of human-sustaining items, and my little apartment—not accustomed to so many people coming in and out—was showing a real need of cleaning. It wasn’t a mess, but it wasn’t in order. My order anyway. I didn’t have OCD, and I certainly wasn’t a clean freak, but—like most people—my things needed to be the way I liked them.
They’d all done a good job of making sure the trash was out and the dishes were done, but things weren’t in their typical places. Coffee mugs were in the wrong cabinet. My refrigerator looked weird. Call me crazy, but condiments belong in the door of a refrigerator, not the shelves. Silverware handles should all be going the same direction in the drawers. The toilet paper should be under the sink and not simply in an open pack next to the toilet. It was small tweaks like that which begged for my attention. None of them truly mattered, but when you’re trying to feel normal, having your house feel like your space is essential. So I swept through my place and took pleasure in making it feel like mine again.
Before the hospital, I’d never had so many people in my space. Audrey would come by every few days for a glass of wine—which she wasn’t quite old enough for yet—but she lived right next door. And Casey came to visit a couple of times, but mostly I’d been going to California on weekends.
It dawned on me that my small apartment was actually feeling like a home. A very tiny one at least. Then it made me miss Casey’s house. That place was a home. Thoughts of living there were becoming commonplace, and if that’s where he wanted to be, regardless of having bought a brewery here in Seattle, I’d go willingly. Shit. I might even suggest it.
It was comforting to me that I would be where he was. We’d park in the same driveway. Have all the same keys. He might even fill up my gas tank, if I was lucky. We’d share duties and chores and trivial tasks, which in the moment, didn’t seem trivial at all. They were exactly what we’d been fighting for.
It invigorated me, and I was as happy as a clam while I cleaned.
Straightening up my room, I found a pile of Casey’s clothes by his duffel bag. Absentmindedly, I cleaned out a drawer in my dresser for him. He shouldn’t have to live out of a bag. Not anymore. He wasn’t a visitor. He wasn’t a guest. He was permanent. I knew that to my core. I stashed away his underwear and socks in a small drawer and then emptied another for his undershirts and shorts. I hung up the shirts that seemed clean, having still been folded in his bag.
It was funny how little men packed. His toiletries were already in my bathroom, out on the sink, so I gave them real estate in my cabinet.
When all was where it belonged, I collected his and my dirty clothes to wash. I won’t say it was my wildest dream to do his dirty laundry, but the thought of taking care of him bloomed a weird sort of hope in me. As I walked to the machines, I smelled one of his worn shirts. His singularly-Casey scent filled my lungs.
Was it creepy? Probably.
Did I care? Not a bit.
That reminded me, Casey had been using shampoo to wash with. I smiled knowing I’d buy him bath wash and anything else he needed. So when equilibrium was returned to the small apartment, I sat at the breakfast bar and made a list of household things we needed. Coffee. I needed real beans. The already-ground stuff had been serving its purpose, but I desperately craved the taste of a freshly ground cup of joe. Deodorant. Paper towels. He needed more razors. It lit me up inside that my grocery list consisted of things for him.
Fact. I’d been married, but I’d never even thought of doing those sorts of things for Grant. I never worried about his razor being dull or if he preferred a certain laundry soap.
I wondered if there would ever be a time when I didn’t compare my relationship with Casey to the one I thought I had with Grant. Before the wedding, before everything came out, there wasn’t a time I could remember when being domestic with him—for him—seemed appealing. It never even occurred to me to do his laundry. I’d never thought about what he’d like for dinner. There was never a we in that marriage. No us to speak of.
If there were a pill I could take to make him disappear from my memory, I’d take two, just in case. My ambivalence to him had changed. Intensified. I didn’t just not want him; I hated him.
I consciously made myself push him to the back of my memory. He only existed if I let him. As soon as the reminders were physically gone from my body, and my name changed—back to Warren, and to Moore—he’d be gone.
He was my biggest mistake.
I shook my head. My hands clenched the edge of the counter as I, one-by-one, collected the vile thoughts of Grant and put them in a box. Then I imagined locking it and mailing the key to the Arctic.
Don’t let him ruin today.
House clean. Laundry going. I kept moving forward.
I chatted with Micah on the phone for a while before I decided to knock on Audrey’s door and see if she wanted to join us for dinner.
“Hey you,” she said cheerily. “How are you feeling? You look so much better.”
I accepted her compliment and let it fuel my need to be better.
“I’m feeling human again, so that’s a start.”
She laughed and turned, leaving the door open, and silently inviting me in. There was music playing, but I didn’t recognize the band.
“Ignore my mess,” she said as she tried to tidy the table covered in modeling clay and tools. “I’ve been up all night working on something.” She didn’t look like she’d been up all night. Her hai
r was recently washed and she looked fresh as a damn daisy. Here I’d gotten the best sleep I’d had in over a week and I still looked like a zombie.
“I won’t keep you. I just wanted to see what you were doing for dinner,” I mentioned as I studied the piece she was constructing. It was a heart. Anatomically correct, from what I could tell. “I’m cooking.”
“You are?”
“Yeah, I need to do something. I’m going stir crazy. I talked to my boss yesterday, but he told me to take the rest of the week off. So, I thought I’d grill and we could chill out back. It’s not supposed to rain so we might as well take advantage.” Before I spent so much time in San Francisco, I’d never really noticed the rain in Seattle, but now it drove me nuts.
“Yeah, sure. That sounds great. I could use some real food.”
“Cool. Troy is in town so Casey’s going to see if he wants to come over too.”
Audrey took a deep breath and paused, holding what looked like one of those tools a dentist uses.
“I might just swing by for a bit. I—I’m kind of into this thing I’m working on. If you can’t tell,” she added and nervously laughed. The normally cool and easy-breezy Audrey suddenly looked uncomfortable.
“What’s wrong? You get along with Troy, don’t you?” That was the only thing I could think of that would make her demeanor change so quickly. She’d been over almost every night when we ordered food in. From what Casey had said in the past, Troy was basically their third brother. Why would him being there change anything?
“Nothing’s wrong. I just want to get this finished is all. I might show it at a friend’s gallery, if I get it done before the next exhibition. I’m not that great with clay, and it’s really driving me crazy. And I’m just tired.” She smiled, but it was weak.
If there was one thing I knew, it was a lie like that. Over the past few years I’d become an expert at hiding the real truth with legit excuses. But, if she didn’t want to talk about it, I wasn’t going to pry—yet. I knew what it’s like to feel cornered.
“That’s fine. We’ll be out back later. I’ll text you when the food’s ready. I’m running out to the store in a bit. Need anything?”
“Nah, I’m fine. I just went yesterday.” She sat down at the chair in front of her sculpture and began scrutinizing, turning it on the spinning platform she’d built it on.
“Okay, well just text if you think of anything,” I said as I walked back to the door. “I’ll see you later.”
“Yeah, okay.”
I wondered if Casey knew why she’d acted so odd. Had I missed something while I was down and out?
Me: Have you talked to Audrey?
Casey: Not today. Are you all right?
Me: I’m fine. She just seemed a little strange.
Casey: She IS a little strange.
Me: You’re funny. How’s it going? Troy make it in?
Casey: Yep. He’s already running the place and I haven’t even hired him yet. What are you doing?
Me: Going to the store. Doing laundry.
Casey: Don’t overdo it. I can go to the store if you tell me what we need.
I thought about telling him I needed tampons and other unmentionables, but decided to go easy on him. Then I smiled knowing there would come a time when I’d thoroughly enjoy seeing his reaction to such requests. He’d undoubtedly say yes, but I’d want to see his face.
Me: I won’t overdo anything. I feel fine.
Casey: Did you call your brother?
Man. Those two were a pair. It was a double-edged sword having my brother, Reggie, and Casey becoming friends. Since Reggie returned to Chicago last week, they were in—what seemed like—constant communication. I’d call him, but I could just about predict the whole conversation.
He’d ask how I was feeling. I’d ask if he’d talked to Nora lately. I’d say fine; he’d say no. He’d ask me if I’d remembered anything about that night—again. Same as every time we spoke.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to Reggie. I wasn’t intentionally avoiding him—okay, I was. I didn’t want to talk about it. That night. And he was relentless. I might be a practiced liar, but I was never good at it. Changing the subject and saying things were still fuzzy wasn’t going to last long with him.
Just like when he witnessed Casey and me at the airport and made me spill my guts, he wouldn’t give up until he knew.
Me: I’m about to.
Casey: Good. He’s cool and all, but that dude can be scary.
Me: Please. He’s harmless.
I grinned at my phone. I was a lucky girl to have so many people who cared about me. It was a small thing, but if my calling gave them peace of mind, it was the least I could do.
Before my eyes, my family was naturally becoming his. Or, rather, our two families were blending into one. Just like a we and an us should.
Monday, June 14, 2010
“YEAH, SHE’S DOING CONSIDERABLY better. Thanks for asking,” I assured Nora from behind my desk. Calling her from the waiting room in the hospital last week had been a weak moment. We hadn’t spoken much over the past year, until that night. Now she was calling almost every day to see how my little sister was doing. The sound of her voice was calming, and in those minutes, the repetitive chatter inside my head muted. She’d always had that effect on me.
Clarity.
“Good, so how are you?” she asked.
That was a loaded fucking question.
How was I?
I was focused. I was driven. I wasn’t about to let myself fall back into the fantasy that I could have it all, because I couldn’t. We both knew how this would end. If you could even call it an end. It never really began. Unless you call a few hot nights with a woman who doesn’t understand the concept of monogamy, the beginning of anything—other than a huge pain in the ass.
That wasn’t totally fair. We had a friendship too, but that wasn’t enough. Not for me.
“You know me. I’m good.” What I wanted to ask her was how is whoever they are keeping your bed warm at night? But I knew it wasn’t worth the effort asking for two reasons: She wouldn’t tell me, and she never let anyone stay long enough for the sheets to get warm.
“Well, I’m glad everything is working out. They’ve had a rough road.”
I must have missed that it was Understatement Day on my calendar. The messed-up part was even though we were only making small talk, only approaching un-touchy subjects, it made me feel better knowing she was there. Still. After all this time. I may never know completely what her feelings for me were, but it was undeniable she had them. It was a huge fucking shame we could never agree about certain fundamental ideas on relationships.
Like I wanted her to be mine and she didn’t understand the concept.
My phone beeped indicating I had another call coming in. Blake. Of all the times for her to call me back, she picked now.
Lovely.
“Listen, are you going to be around for a little while?” I stood and looked out into the city. From the fifty-fifth floor I could see everything.
“What’s a little while?”
“Ten minutes? My sister’s calling,” I replied, trying my damnedest not to be compulsive. Not to count. Not to tell her to wait.
“I don’t know.”
“I’ll call you back in ten minutes, Nora. If you can’t talk, don’t answer. It’s that simple.” I hated speaking to her like that. I missed the times when things were easier. When we’d chat on the phone, or have dinner, or share a drink after work … before the arbitrary lines she’d drawn had been crossed.
“Bye, Reggie.” She hung up. She never was one for fighting back. Why would she? Bottom line: she didn’t need me.
“Hello,” I answered with a bit of forced cheerfulness as I switched lines.
“Hello to you,” Blake said.
She sounded infinitely better than she had on Saturday. I had no doubt in my mind Casey was taking care of her. Watching him go through hell, like the rest of us, waiting
for her to wake up in the hospital, only proved one thing. He loved the fuck out of her. And, beyond that, I knew the rest was just semantics.
“How are you doing today?”
“Better. I’m about to go to the store.”
That was a pleasant surprise. I never wanted to see her the way we’d found her that night again. Beaten. Battered. Broken.
“By yourself?”
“Yeah, all by myself. I’m driving a car, and I even have my own money.” And there was her sarcasm. She was back to being a little shit again. The return of her gusto was welcome.
She’d changed a lot since the beginning of the year, and seeing some of that fight return was definitely a great thing. It was especially good, because I had some news she probably wasn’t going to like. She’d need that fight.
“Well, before you head out, we need to talk.”
I looked at my watch. Eight minutes to call Nora.
“About what, Reggie? I’ve told you I can’t really remember anything,” she recited for exactly the thirtieth time in the past week.
I stopped her before she could finish. “I didn’t want to say anything to Casey, but you know my friend Paul, the cop?”
“Yeah.”
“He called me yesterday. He heard at the station that Grant changed his story. Since he’s looking at a pretty steep fine, probably even a little jail time for the stunt with the gun, he’s looking for a way out. Paul says Grant’s claiming Casey did that to you and that’s why he had his gun drawn. To protect himself and you.”
“No. That’s not true,” she snapped, almost shouting.
“I know it’s not true, because I rode over there with Casey. I told Paul that, but Blake, if you can’t remember, it’s just his word against ours. He’s saying it to get himself out of trouble. If they have a reason to believe he was acting in self-defense, they might drop some of the charges.”
“He can’t do that. Casey didn’t hurt me. Grant did.”
