by Karen Botha
“It certainly is,” I mutter under my breath. I have no clue where all these possessions are going to go. This is a big house, but you still need to have a place for things. The impending mess is starting to give me palpitations.
Taking a deep lung full of air and a firm grip on myself I step forward, following him to the back of the truck where one of the guys has just rolled the shutter up.
“Where do you want this?” He points at a couch. I had no idea he was bringing that old thing with him. And I swear that’s a microwave I spot perched on top of some boxes behind.
I expected him to be moving himself and his clothes in. I didn’t anticipate all the second hand crap that he bought to see him through his period of being single to be hauled over here, too. He has this horrendous golden horse and carriage affair his mother and father bought him back in the day and even though that’s not second hand, its traditional, no old fashioned, styling is quite appalling. Some things need to be found a home purely for sentimental value rather than style. But that sofa only has sentimental value to the people who owned it before Kyle.
“I didn’t do very well last night.” I decide to forewarn him. The statement was true before he turned up with all this junk.
“That’s OK. We can find space together.” His grin is going to be the death of me. Every time he flashes it anywhere near me, my heart melts.
“That’s what I thought. This way we can make this our home together.”
He nods. Phew, looks like I got out of that one. But really, Kyle, I muse, what were you thinking?
I hover in the doorway as the staff brings in the sofa. “Where do you want this?”
I look at Kyle for inspiration. “Did you have anywhere in mind?”
He shrugs. “Not really. I guess the living room will be OK?”
I’m not a house-proud man but I do like the way it's decorated. The interior designer cost me a lot of money. And Kyle's old flea pit did not factor into the design.
“How about in the garden room?” I suggest, hoping he’s not too offended. The last thing I want is for him to feel like he doesn’t have a place in his own home.
“Sure, that’s fine. Great idea.” He wraps his strong arm around my waist and pulls me into him.
Kyle
“I didn’t realize I had so much stuff.” I’m not really speaking to Elliott. It’s more a comment on the state of the beautiful bedroom I now call mine.
Elliott nips a kiss against my sleeved bicep. “It’s fine. It’s good to have you here.” His hand wraps around it and tugs me in as we survey the growing catastrophe.
“I’m thinking I should have cleared some room so we had somewhere to put at least part of what you moved in.” I hear the guilt ring through my words.
“It’s OK. Where shall we start?”
Elliott turns and walks toward the doorway. “I started clearing you space in here.” He gestures into a spare bedroom by jabbing his arm over the entrance.
“Huh?” Why is he making space for me in a different room? Isn’t the idea that we’re sharing?
“Yeah, I thought this way, all your things can be together.” I’m not sure if he’s sensing my disconcertion, because his smile is too bright.
“OK, but I’m sleeping next door with you right?”
“Sure.”
“So, why are my things stuffed in another room?”
He pauses. “I’m not sure. I just thought it would be easier.”
“This isn’t about what’s easy El. It’s about us sharing our lives, not shoving one of them off into a spare room.”
“Oh...” He fidgets, and I stare without moving a muscle.
“Is this how it’s going to be?”
“What?”
“With me shoved to the side, effectively dispersed to another room so I don’t cause any undue mess?” My hurt catches in my voice and Elliott notes it with a bite of his bottom lip. My room has that smell of a place which is used infrequently. I’m being dumped where it’ll cause the least amount of disruption.
He tugs me until I nestle against him. “I didn’t think about it like that. I wanted you to have enough space to lay everything out as you’d like without having to work around me. Something of your own.” His voice is soft.
We both pause, taking in the wires which can be so easily crossed. Moving in together is so easy and romantic in your head. The reality is quite a different story.
Elliott clears his throat. “How about this? You move your stuff into here because I don’t have anywhere else for it right now so it’s just easier and then we’ll knock this through so that our room becomes a suite?” He leaves me and heads back to the bedroom, standing side on over the threshold. “Look.” He waves his hand again. “It backs onto a vacant wall. We can smash through and have a huge, combined dressing area that we both share.”
It seems like the most sensible plan. And it will be nice to make some changes to the place so that we’re in our home rather than me moving into his, which is exactly how it feels right now. I chew the inside of my mouth, not yet ready to give up my sulk, but at the same time not wanting to ruin what should be an exciting day.
“OK, that sounds like a plan.” I walk over to the small wardrobe and open the door. It’s still half full with boxes and winter coats. “Elliott, you haven’t even cleared out the place you wanted my things to go!” My volume is raised and I’m standing with my hands on my hips staring.
“Oh, it’ll take two seconds. Come on.” He bustles past me and hauls out the jackets. “These will just move to the room down the hallway.”
I stand alone. It’s only for a second, but it’s one of those which stretches. I had not expected someone who claims to want me so much to make so little effort to welcome me. I try to shift the feeling I’m imposing myself on him, but it lingers like a bad smell.
Elliott
It’s been a few days now and we’re kind of settling in. I don’t know why us officially living together can create so much stress when Kyle has been sleeping here so regularly beforehand. What's different?
Other than a label, and a lot more stuff, nothing.
But something is amiss.
I don’t have to drink green tea now as we’re in the off season, but out of habit I’m in the kitchen starting the day with it anyway. Even that is more difficult than it used to be. Kyle brought every single piece of his life with him.
What was I expecting? That he’d leave half of his life behind and fill the gaping hole with mine? I can see that’s not fair. But I wasn’t prepared. I didn’t expect for him to turn up here with all his mugs, his pots, and his kettle. I mean really. Why would he bring another kettle? Who needs two?
After the debacle with the clothing storage though, I have bitten my tongue and instead make the tea more carefully than ever before. My drink is in one of his mugs and his is in one of mine. I’m trying to subliminally demonstrate that our lives are intermingled.
The kettle is in the summerhouse. We now have the best equipped shed in the world.
I wipe the smile from my face at that thought as I enter our bedroom and deposit his mug on the bedside table.
“Good morning sleepy head. How are you?”
There’s no reply. The covers I presumed he was hidden under are empty. I glance toward the bathroom door. It’s closed. Bloody typical. Every time I want to go, he’s already in there. Every time I want a shower, he’s in. Every single time. Without fail.
It didn’t used to be like this before, but now he’s moved in, I don’t know. I guess we’re on the same schedule.
“You OK in there?” I knock on the door before opening it to find him naked on the loo.
“What are you doing Elliott?” he screeches, his hands covering his private parts, his knees knocking together and a wide 'O' forming on his mouth.
“Saying morning, why?” I click on the fan with my spare hand.
“I’m on the fucking toilet!” His volume hasn’t decreased. “Give a man some privac
y would you.” He keeps one hand over his groin and waves me away with the other. “And shut the fucking door behind you.”
I do shut the door, making sure I stay firmly on the bedroom side. The foul smell emanating from the small room is nothing short of rancid. I do not know what he’s eaten, but at some point over the not too distant future, we need to address his diet. And I need to invest in a stronger fan in that en suite when we do the remodeling. Perhaps we could fit in a 'his and his...'
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you took shits. I’m horrified.” In contrast to the absolute horror in Kyle’s voice, mine tinkles with humor.
“You are unbelievable. Do you know that?”
I have no issue hearing him through the closed door, but I reply, “Sorry, I can’t hear you, the door is closed.”
“Fuck off Elliott.”
Kyle
I feel so awkward. I don’t understand it. I’ve stayed here for a million hours before I moved in. When I had my accident I pretty much lived here. So why I feel so uncertain now I don’t know. Maybe because the ground rules have shifted, and the delineation isn’t so clear anymore.
I don’t know.
But I feel it, and I know Elliott does too.
“Put your things up wherever you want.” I think he means it. I have pictures to hang, bits and pieces that are important to me that I want to be included in my life, but I feel awkward. It’s like I’m infringing on his space.
I’ve gotten as far as finding a place for my gold carriage. Even that wasn’t easy. I thought the perfect place would be in his trophy room. To me, it really is a trophy. It’s not something I particularly like, but it’s special to me for the memories it holds. Like an award. So, I shifted some things around and made a place for it on a shelf. I thought it looked great in the center, flanked on either side by his cups.
Not thinking to mention it to Elliott, it was a few days before he discovered it. In fact, it was the cleaning lady who saw it first and mentioned it. That’s how important that room is to him.
“You’ve put your carriage between my trophies.” He’s leaning on the door frame, speaking to me while I putter around in the kitchen, trying to find space for the contents of a box containing my Grandma’s old plates which have been in storage since I left Madeline.
“Yeah, it looks good in there doesn’t it?”
He pauses and I know I’ve made a mistake. “Yeah, but don’t you want it where more people will see it?”
I’m not particularly bothered about that. If I’m honest, it is a hideous piece, I keep it only for the sentimentality attached. “No, it’s fine in there,” I reply.
“Well, I was thinking it would look great in the dining room. When people visit for dinner, it will be on show. Come and have a look.”
He’s fucking moved it. After all the, 'make yourself at home shit', he’s taken the only thing I have on display and shifted it away from his possessions.
Anger seethes within my chest. I don’t speak because I feel blind fury caused by hurt. Once again he’s trying to keep our lives separate. “Come live with me, let’s share our lives,” he says, but when it boils down to it, he just wants us living in the same space. It’s very different from integration.
I follow him into the dining room. The ornament is the pride of place on the middle of the eight person table.
“So, when people come over for all of these formal dinners that we’re going to have, where will this go?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it can’t sit on the table can it? We’ll be eating. How will we see anyone at the other side?”
“Hmm, I don’t know if that will be such an issue.”
“No, of course it won’t be an issue, because we won’t be having formal dinners will we? How often have you used this room since you moved into this house Elliott?” I don’t wait for his reply. I don’t need it because I already know the answer. I stalk off. But it’s the hurt that is whirring around my stomach, filling my eyes until they flood that I need to control. I have never felt less wanted in my life. For that feeling to be because of someone who I absolutely adore just adds to how deep the pain cuts into my soul.
I knew this was a mistake. That’s why I hesitated at first. I should have followed my instinct. This is not going to work.
Elliott
He walks away. I’m really not sure what I’ve done. He’s back in the kitchen with his head in a cupboard and I don’t know how to fix this.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, hesitant whether this is the right course of action. Does he need to be on his own? Should I even be opening this can of worms?
His face is red when he looks at me, and his lips are quivering. My gorgeous man is upset. My dismay melts into love and I walk up and wrap my arms around his torso, sitting on the floor behind him with my legs straddled, feet upright against the kitchen cupboard.
He still doesn’t speak. He carries on sorting out the storage arrangements.
“Kyle, tell me. I don’t know what I’ve done to hurt you.”
He stops, fiddles with the edge of some packing which surrounds a gaudy china plate.
I wait, hold my breath. His back heaves up and down. His heart beats a rapid rhythm into my hands which are locked around him. I place my cheek against his spine.
“Tell me.” My voice is soft, coaxing him. His clothes smell of the fabric softener that my cleaning lady uses and I love that. I love that we’re coming together to live in one home. Of course it’s not easy. We’re going to come up against some obstacles, but I hadn’t expected it to be this hard.
“You don’t want me. You say all the right things, but you don’t mean them. As soon as I encroach on your space, you back up. Change things. I’m here, trying to make a place that is all yours partly mine without your help. You want me around, but you don’t want my things. My possessions are my history, my collection of memories of the journey it has taken me to get where I am today. They are all I have. And you don’t want them because they don't fit in your perfect interior designed life. But life isn’t designed Elliott. It’s hard fought and I don’t want to forget that.”
I’m not really sure what he’s getting at. But I kind of see he's making a point. It’s probably safer not to say anything right now so instead I hug him tighter and pray that he feels my love.
“See, you’re not even denying it.” His pitch is growing screechy.
Shit. That didn’t work. I need to speak, to satiate his need for my love.
“I’ve never done this before. The only person I’ve ever been close to is Noah and look how that turned out. I guess I need to work this through. I’m maybe not as ready as I thought. Give me some time.” I kiss him through the rough fabric of his t-shirt.
“I’m not hanging about here until you work out what it is you want, Elliott. I’m not some play thing for you to mess with while you sort through your demons.” He stands, jabs his finger down at me. “I’m off. I’ll find somewhere else to stay while you work out whether you actually want me, or the idea of me.”
He snatches his keys off the side, collects his helmet from the boot room, and then the walls shake as the door slams behind him.
I’m still seated on the floor by the kitchen cupboard, stunned and numb, but certain I’ll soon regret whatever I could have done better today.
Kyle
They say your heart breaks. I’ve never understood that before, not even when my marriage to Madeline ended. Even when my dad died, I didn’t feel this ravage eating through to my core. But I feel it now. The collapse, little by little, of the strength I carry internally. The walls of my heart caving in, unable to pump blood around my body, leaving me listless.
I stare up from the single bed in my old room at my mom’s. The sky is dark through the window, haunted clouds drifting in the vault of heaven, searching for a suitable place to deposit their rain when the storm becomes too much to bear. My arm is growing stiff from its crooked pose supporting my head.
<
br /> A momentary pain shoots into my shoulder as I shift position and check the blank screen of my phone again. It’s been three days and despite hearing from Elliott, we’ve not made any progress.
“Go and sit down with him, speak to him properly without emotion,” my mom suggests. But although I can see the sense in her advice, I’m not ready yet to open myself up to being hurt any deeper.
I spend the days drifting like the clouds until that point when my barriers burst and another tear slips down my cheek.
Part of my issue is that I don’t know how to react. So much pain is wracking my body, emotional wounds transforming into the physical. I want nothing more than to retreat, to hide in this safe place where no hurt can filter through the brick of my childhood home. But at the same time, I want to escape and run at full speed toward Elliott, to charge so hard and so fast back into his arms. But if I do, he’ll never comprehend. He’ll never see where I’m at and our arguments will circle and we’ll never resolve them.
I’m hoping this space will give him the time to figure out what he wants as well as what I want and that then we’ll be able to find that sweet spot in the middle where both our needs are aligned.
I don’t want to split up, but as the space and time between us increases, so too, do the stakes.
The chill of a life without Elliott freezes my soul. The world is a cold place without his light and I crave him. There is not a second I am awake where I do not think of him and even when I sleep my dreams are filled with his smiling face, with our happy times, and of memories of intimacies I never want to share with another.
Sure, I can fill the space with someone else, but like a jigsaw, the piece will be forced. It won’t fit. I want Elliott, that is no doubt. But he needs to stop merely speaking the words and truly start to feel. He also needs to think this through and then decide that he needs me just as badly, and when he’s in that place he will come. At that point I will welcome him with my arms wide open, embracing him and all that our future can hold. But until he does that, we have no chance. Our paths have taken different directions and I must wait until they once again cross.
