head down.“I miss you.”
I held up my hand for her to stop. I didn’t want her to be angry, but I didn’t want her to be sweet either. I wanted neutral. Unemotional was good. She glanced at the door and I didn’t say anything. If I let her in, I knew where it would lead. The last time she’d gotten all homesick for me, we’d ended up on the couch with her crying and my arms around her until one thing led to the next and we ended up in the bedroom.
“What?” she asked. “I miss you. Is that a crime?”
“No. No, it’s not.” I could hear the chickadees singsonging their three languid evening notes from the pine forest to my side, Cheeeeeese Burger . That’s what Ken said they were saying, but Mr. Fit was always thinking about food. “Why don’t you save us all some stress and tell your family that we’ve split up? I don’t want to come to your reunion and put on a fake show.”
“You don’t have to put on a show.” Lara leaned one hip into the side of her car and crossed her arms, a move I’d seen her do a thousand times throughout the course of our relationship—it was her stubbornness displayed in one familiar stance. “All you have to do is be yourself, Monty. All I’m asking is that we don’t ruin everyone’s good time by dropping this on them at the last minute, especially my parents when they’ve been planning and looking forward to this for a long time—a chance to have the entire family all together at once. It means so much to them.”
I narrowed my brow, studying her. Suddenly I felt very tired. I raked my fingers through my hair. “Look, Lara, I have a lot of work to do.”
Her crossed arms stiffened more and she shifted to the other hip, her mouth instantly pouty—another thing I’d seen many times over. “So that’s it? End of discussion just because you’re tired?”
“I don’t want to do this.”
“ Do this? What? Talk about our lives?”
“We’ve talked this to death already. You could have told your family months ago, and it wouldn’t have been last minute and it wouldn’t have been so disappointing to your parents. And as far as us, which, if you ask me, is the bigger, more important topic right now, well, there’s nothing more to say. You’ve had a decision to make, and eventually your indecision becomes your decision.”
Her mouth hung open in surprise. “Are you telling me that it’s over for you?”
“I didn’t say that. All I said is that I’m too tired to go over what we’ve already gone over a million times.” I could feel my pulse speed up. Why did I let her do this to me? Make me feel guilty, then do all I could to get back in her good graces. Why couldn’t I just say, Yeah, that’s right; it’s over. I’m tired of this drama ? But I wasn’t sure it was over for me. Even though we’d been apart for the better part of a year, I still missed her, and undeniably, we still had chemistry. A part of me considered her my lifeline to normalcy—an anchor to routine and stability, a pathway to a happy family. Lately though, I could feel that ache of being apart from her receding as the months dragged on. I could also feel my anger growing with time. On multiple levels, I felt betrayed.
She looked strained and glanced toward the woods, the fir trees creating shadows and breathing cool air. I could hear chipmunks, squirrels, and magpies scurrying around in the distance and the chickadees still sang, now even busier. I jangled my keys and looked toward my door again and her gaze followed. “Look, babe, I know you’re tired. Why don’t I come in and make you some dinner. I’ve got some groceries in my car.” She motioned to the back seat. “Pasta? You have olive oil, don’t you?”
I stared at her without saying a word and sighed. She turned, opened her door, and grabbed a bag of groceries.
• • •
We had it ready in twenty minutes. Fresh butternut ravioli with a little olive oil and Parmesan cheese. I made the salad. The
I held up my hand for her to stop. I didn’t want her to be angry, but I didn’t want her to be sweet either. I wanted neutral. Unemotional was good. She glanced at the door and I didn’t say anything. If I let her in, I knew where it would lead. The last time she’d gotten all homesick for me, we’d ended up on the couch with her crying and my arms around her until one thing led to the next and we ended up in the bedroom.
“What?” she asked. “I miss you. Is that a crime?”
“No. No, it’s not.” I could hear the chickadees singsonging their three languid evening notes from the pine forest to my side, Cheeeeeese Burger . That’s what Ken said they were saying, but Mr. Fit was always thinking about food. “Why don’t you save us all some stress and tell your family that we’ve split up? I don’t want to come to your reunion and put on a fake show.”
“You don’t have to put on a show.” Lara leaned one hip into the side of her car and crossed her arms, a move I’d seen her do a thousand times throughout the course of our relationship—it was her stubbornness displayed in one familiar stance. “All you have to do is be yourself, Monty. All I’m asking is that we don’t ruin everyone’s good time by dropping this on them at the last minute, especially my parents when they’ve been planning and looking forward to this for a long time—a chance to have the entire family all together at once. It means so much to them.”
I narrowed my brow, studying her. Suddenly I felt very tired. I raked my fingers through my hair. “Look, Lara, I have a lot of work to do.”
Her crossed arms stiffened more and she shifted to the other hip, her mouth instantly pouty—another thing I’d seen many times over. “So that’s it? End of discussion just because you’re tired?”
“I don’t want to do this.”
“ Do this? What? Talk about our lives?”
“We’ve talked this to death already. You could have told your family months ago, and it wouldn’t have been last minute and it wouldn’t have been so disappointing to your parents. And as far as us, which, if you ask me, is the bigger, more important topic right now, well, there’s nothing more to say. You’ve had a decision to make, and eventually your indecision becomes your decision.”
Her mouth hung open in surprise. “Are you telling me that it’s over for you?”
“I didn’t say that. All I said is that I’m too tired to go over what we’ve already gone over a million times.” I could feel my pulse speed up. Why did I let her do this to me? Make me feel guilty, then do all I could to get back in her good graces. Why couldn’t I just say, Yeah, that’s right; it’s over. I’m tired of this drama ? But I wasn’t sure it was over for me. Even though we’d been apart for the better part of a year, I still missed her, and undeniably, we still had chemistry. A part of me considered her my lifeline to normalcy—an anchor to routine and stability, a pathway to a happy family. Lately though, I could feel that ache of being apart from her receding as the months dragged on. I could also feel my anger growing with time. On multiple levels, I felt betrayed.
She looked strained and glanced toward the woods, the fir trees creating shadows and breathing cool air. I could hear chipmunks, squirrels, and magpies scurrying around in the distance and the chickadees still sang, now even busier. I jangled my keys and looked toward my door again and her gaze followed. “Look, babe, I know you’re tired. Why don’t I come in and make you some dinner. I’ve got some groceries in my car.” She motioned to the back seat. “Pasta? You have olive oil, don’t you?”
I stared at her without saying a word and sighed. She turned, opened her door, and grabbed a bag of groceries.
• • •
We had it ready in twenty minutes. Fresh butternut ravioli with a little olive oil and Parmesan cheese. I made the salad. The
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