Patrick’s been getting dicked around for the supposed benefit of my relationship. I hug my robe closed as he climbs into his driver’s seat and slams his door. He rolls his window down and leans out on his elbow, eyes trained on my bare feet in the snow. “Go inside, Robin. Go back up to your man.”
His engine starts and his lights flick on, making the white numbers on my license plate flare before he swings his truck out onto the street. I watch him drive away then I watch the empty road, snowflakes passing under the streetlights. After a minute or two Jay comes out and leads me inside on my prickling feet.
I tie my robe closed and wander into the kitchen and clear the table. Jay stands in the threshold, quiet for a long time.
“Robin.”
I dole the leftover lasagna into a Tupperware, thinking Jay better finish it because there’s no way I’ll be able to.
“Robin?”
I look over my shoulder and I don’t recognize the man standing there, dressed in my boyfriend’s clothes. Whatever person Jay became tonight…well, I’m largely to blame for the change. But I hate him for letting it happen. He’s supposed to be the rational one.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
I turn on the tap and fill the casserole dish to soak. I want to grab the open bottle of wine by its neck and whip it against the tiles at Jay’s feet, but I recork it instead and set it beside the toaster, turning it neatly label-side-out.
“Robin—”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” I toss all the utensils into the casserole dish and dry my hands on a rag. I walk past Jay to head upstairs but he grabs my arm and turns me around.
“Let go of me.”
“I’m sorry.” He doesn’t let go, but he’s not hurting me.
I feel a big ball of something thick in my throat just before the tears come. When I cry Jay’s hand loosens and I yank my arm away and go upstairs to try to shower off the creepy awfulness I’m feeling. His pillow’s gone when I go to change into my pajamas and I know he’s exiled himself to the couch. I wish I’d beat him to it because I want him to be the one lying in the dark, surrounded by the memories of everything royally fucked that just happened in here. I lie awake so long I end up going to the bathroom and swallowing a nighttime cold medicine capsule. It gives me restless, disturbing dreams, but it sure as hell beats consciousness.
Chapter Six
A week isn’t remotely long enough to mourn someone you’ve been with for four years.
Actually, I think I’m mourning us both, collectively, Jay-and-Robin, and how we were up until last Thursday. We made sense before then. I miss making sense. And I miss Jay too, more than I’m pissed at him. Strange how he managed to be the one who took things too far.
He left on Friday while I was at the shop. He propped a note on the dining room table, right where the parmesan cheese had been sitting the evening before.
Robin, I’m going away for a couple weeks to give us both time to think about what we want. Let’s not call each other until next weekend unless there’s an emergency. Love, Jay.
“Away” means Michigan, I assume. Jay’s got plenty of old college friends there he could crash with. Someone must have given him a lift to the bus station or the airport, as there were fresh tire treads in the snowy driveway when I got home that night. I wonder what he told them. His stuff is still in the house, minus his laptop and some clothes. I guess you might say we’re having a separation. I smile grimly to myself, thinking about explaining that to my dad.
“Dad, I have some sad news. Jay and I are separating.”
“Separating? You’re not even married. You modern kids. You make everything into a goddamn hippie drum-banging therapy retreat.”
I miss my dad. Today’s Thursday. Maybe I’ll drive up to Maine and visit him this weekend and cook him a belated, mini-Thanksgiving dinner and pick his brain about how to know who you’re supposed to be with…though
His engine starts and his lights flick on, making the white numbers on my license plate flare before he swings his truck out onto the street. I watch him drive away then I watch the empty road, snowflakes passing under the streetlights. After a minute or two Jay comes out and leads me inside on my prickling feet.
I tie my robe closed and wander into the kitchen and clear the table. Jay stands in the threshold, quiet for a long time.
“Robin.”
I dole the leftover lasagna into a Tupperware, thinking Jay better finish it because there’s no way I’ll be able to.
“Robin?”
I look over my shoulder and I don’t recognize the man standing there, dressed in my boyfriend’s clothes. Whatever person Jay became tonight…well, I’m largely to blame for the change. But I hate him for letting it happen. He’s supposed to be the rational one.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
I turn on the tap and fill the casserole dish to soak. I want to grab the open bottle of wine by its neck and whip it against the tiles at Jay’s feet, but I recork it instead and set it beside the toaster, turning it neatly label-side-out.
“Robin—”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” I toss all the utensils into the casserole dish and dry my hands on a rag. I walk past Jay to head upstairs but he grabs my arm and turns me around.
“Let go of me.”
“I’m sorry.” He doesn’t let go, but he’s not hurting me.
I feel a big ball of something thick in my throat just before the tears come. When I cry Jay’s hand loosens and I yank my arm away and go upstairs to try to shower off the creepy awfulness I’m feeling. His pillow’s gone when I go to change into my pajamas and I know he’s exiled himself to the couch. I wish I’d beat him to it because I want him to be the one lying in the dark, surrounded by the memories of everything royally fucked that just happened in here. I lie awake so long I end up going to the bathroom and swallowing a nighttime cold medicine capsule. It gives me restless, disturbing dreams, but it sure as hell beats consciousness.
Chapter Six
A week isn’t remotely long enough to mourn someone you’ve been with for four years.
Actually, I think I’m mourning us both, collectively, Jay-and-Robin, and how we were up until last Thursday. We made sense before then. I miss making sense. And I miss Jay too, more than I’m pissed at him. Strange how he managed to be the one who took things too far.
He left on Friday while I was at the shop. He propped a note on the dining room table, right where the parmesan cheese had been sitting the evening before.
Robin, I’m going away for a couple weeks to give us both time to think about what we want. Let’s not call each other until next weekend unless there’s an emergency. Love, Jay.
“Away” means Michigan, I assume. Jay’s got plenty of old college friends there he could crash with. Someone must have given him a lift to the bus station or the airport, as there were fresh tire treads in the snowy driveway when I got home that night. I wonder what he told them. His stuff is still in the house, minus his laptop and some clothes. I guess you might say we’re having a separation. I smile grimly to myself, thinking about explaining that to my dad.
“Dad, I have some sad news. Jay and I are separating.”
“Separating? You’re not even married. You modern kids. You make everything into a goddamn hippie drum-banging therapy retreat.”
I miss my dad. Today’s Thursday. Maybe I’ll drive up to Maine and visit him this weekend and cook him a belated, mini-Thanksgiving dinner and pick his brain about how to know who you’re supposed to be with…though
Similar Books
