bitch. But she’ll be worse if you don’t come to work. Get out of bed. I’ll have coffee for you at the studio. Tell Zed hi from me.
She’s right. I’ve missed a class or two, and Jonathan’s already giving me the side-eye for that. If Madison started in on me too, I would lose my temper. And if I don’t get out of bed, Sofia will probably come over here and drag me out of bed with Zed’s help.
Just as Zed walks back into the bedroom, I sit up, deliberately letting the sheets and blankets fall from my body. Zed pulls back a little, shaking his head at me and my nakedness. Experience has taught us if he reaches or touches me, neither of us get to work on time. The first class at the company isn’t mandatory for me, though I find it enormously beneficial. It’s his last week of theater camp. His classes are definitely mandatory.
“You’re trouble,” he tells me as I turn away, finding a shirt on the ground to pull over my head. I laugh a little bit, despite myself. It’s easier when I’m teasing him. The bed shifts as he sits down, his prosthetic foot sounding hollow when it bumps the floor. “You think I’m joking, but I’m not.”
“Trust me,” I say, heading to the bathroom. “I know I’m trouble. I’ll be ready in five.”
“So fifteen,” he deadpans, letting me pass him. “Don’t make me late.”
“Leave early if you want to,” I call through the door. “I know my way to the Metro.”
“If I leave early, you won’t leave the apartment!” he yells after me.
He’s probably wrong, but I don’t think he’d leave me anyway. I manage to get out the door before another wave of nausea hits but this one I swallow back, grimace and keep walking, my hand tucked into Zed’s pocket, our fingers laced together.
Then quietly, like he planned it for a train full of commuters, he whispers into my ear, “I know that the people in your life set a shitty example of marriage, just like mine set a shitty example of religion.”
We haven’t talked about the failed proposal and I had almost hoped we wouldn’t. We’re good at ignoring things we shouldn’t. And at least ignoring it means we wouldn’t be having this conversation here, of all places. I shoot him a glare, but he doesn’t seem to mind. I shake my head. I still don’t know why it’s so hard to say this to him when I said it easily to Ham. Zed’s seen my darker moments. He’d understand if I could make the words come out of my mouth.
But I can’t. I settle for saying, “I don’t want us to be trapped by something we don’t need.”
“Giving a relationship a name isn’t like putting shackles on us. We’re still us,” he says.
I don’t know what else to say so I don’t say anything at all. I don’t know if he’s right. Maybe he is. Maybe it’s not that there’s no more room in my head and I can’t handle any of this, can’t untangle the fears and anxieties in my head right now. Maybe it is that a lot of shitty versions of marriage around me have colored my view. Maybe I’m terrified. But I don’t think so. I think it’s that I’m too tired to sort through the web of emotions and lies and truths in my head.
He presses a kiss against my temple. “Think about it. I won’t ask you again until you say you’re ready. I promise you that. But we won’t lose ourselves, Aly. I know that.”
I don’t know what to say, so I lean against him and let him wrap an arm around me. We don’t say anything more for the rest of the commute, even as we transfer and wait for the next train’s arrival.
My stop comes first. I rise on my toes, feeling the tautness of my calves and already knowing that warming up will be a long process this morning. Zed’s arm holds me against him as I kiss him goodbye quickly as the train rattles into the stop, lights flashing by the windows.
“See you tonight?” Like there’s ever a night when I don’t see him. I need the reassurance right now.
“Tonight,” he says like a promise. He
She’s right. I’ve missed a class or two, and Jonathan’s already giving me the side-eye for that. If Madison started in on me too, I would lose my temper. And if I don’t get out of bed, Sofia will probably come over here and drag me out of bed with Zed’s help.
Just as Zed walks back into the bedroom, I sit up, deliberately letting the sheets and blankets fall from my body. Zed pulls back a little, shaking his head at me and my nakedness. Experience has taught us if he reaches or touches me, neither of us get to work on time. The first class at the company isn’t mandatory for me, though I find it enormously beneficial. It’s his last week of theater camp. His classes are definitely mandatory.
“You’re trouble,” he tells me as I turn away, finding a shirt on the ground to pull over my head. I laugh a little bit, despite myself. It’s easier when I’m teasing him. The bed shifts as he sits down, his prosthetic foot sounding hollow when it bumps the floor. “You think I’m joking, but I’m not.”
“Trust me,” I say, heading to the bathroom. “I know I’m trouble. I’ll be ready in five.”
“So fifteen,” he deadpans, letting me pass him. “Don’t make me late.”
“Leave early if you want to,” I call through the door. “I know my way to the Metro.”
“If I leave early, you won’t leave the apartment!” he yells after me.
He’s probably wrong, but I don’t think he’d leave me anyway. I manage to get out the door before another wave of nausea hits but this one I swallow back, grimace and keep walking, my hand tucked into Zed’s pocket, our fingers laced together.
Then quietly, like he planned it for a train full of commuters, he whispers into my ear, “I know that the people in your life set a shitty example of marriage, just like mine set a shitty example of religion.”
We haven’t talked about the failed proposal and I had almost hoped we wouldn’t. We’re good at ignoring things we shouldn’t. And at least ignoring it means we wouldn’t be having this conversation here, of all places. I shoot him a glare, but he doesn’t seem to mind. I shake my head. I still don’t know why it’s so hard to say this to him when I said it easily to Ham. Zed’s seen my darker moments. He’d understand if I could make the words come out of my mouth.
But I can’t. I settle for saying, “I don’t want us to be trapped by something we don’t need.”
“Giving a relationship a name isn’t like putting shackles on us. We’re still us,” he says.
I don’t know what else to say so I don’t say anything at all. I don’t know if he’s right. Maybe he is. Maybe it’s not that there’s no more room in my head and I can’t handle any of this, can’t untangle the fears and anxieties in my head right now. Maybe it is that a lot of shitty versions of marriage around me have colored my view. Maybe I’m terrified. But I don’t think so. I think it’s that I’m too tired to sort through the web of emotions and lies and truths in my head.
He presses a kiss against my temple. “Think about it. I won’t ask you again until you say you’re ready. I promise you that. But we won’t lose ourselves, Aly. I know that.”
I don’t know what to say, so I lean against him and let him wrap an arm around me. We don’t say anything more for the rest of the commute, even as we transfer and wait for the next train’s arrival.
My stop comes first. I rise on my toes, feeling the tautness of my calves and already knowing that warming up will be a long process this morning. Zed’s arm holds me against him as I kiss him goodbye quickly as the train rattles into the stop, lights flashing by the windows.
“See you tonight?” Like there’s ever a night when I don’t see him. I need the reassurance right now.
“Tonight,” he says like a promise. He
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