by Kit Harlow
"What?" I asked, arms crossed over my chest, face in a carefully schooled mask of indifference.
He continued to shove things into his bag and slammed the zipper into the zipper stop. His hands rested on the nylon surface and I watched the vein pop out on his forehead.
"David! What?" I shouted. I was tired of his antics.
He sighed heavily and looked at me with utter disappointment. "I come home one weekend a month. You have all the dates I've made arrangements for. The LEAST you could do is not work for one weekend!" he shouted, hands still flat on the top of his bag.
"Says the man who bailed on Thanksgiving at the last minute and then decided not to stay home for Christmas, let alone New Year’s!" I reminded him, momentarily grateful that he'd canceled his flight in November. “You don’t come home once a month, even when you’ve already bought a plane ticket. This is the first time you’ve been home since early December!”
"That's different," he exclaimed. "I'm a professor! My duty is to my students!"
"And my duty is to my readers!" I groaned. "I'm a journalist, David! I'm at the mercy of deadlines! And I'm still building my reputation. I can't turn down a piece just because it comes at an inconvenient time!" It was a lie, but he didn’t know that. He rolled his eyes and picked the bag up, heading towards the doorway where I stood.
He barked out a laugh. "Talk about delusions of grandeur! You're not a journalist, Liz. You're a blogger. You write fluff reviews and content your boss assigns you. You can't even pitch your own topics. Your own site hasn't been updated in five months."
I stared at him, shocked and momentarily speechless. "Fuck you," I said evenly. It was a mark of how angry I was that I was so calm. Some people fly off the handle. I go quiet and seething.
"What happened to my wife?" he snarled, less than a foot away from me. "You remember her, right? The woman I married...who would drop everything to go to dinner together..."
“She was a struggling nobody with a job she hated.”
"At least she cared about more than herself." He glared at me, but I didn't move. "You're in my way."
I stepped aside and shook my head. "And what about my husband that drove home in a U-Haul when his flight was canceled due to weather just so I didn't have to spend Christmas alone? What happened to him?" He ignored my question, clenched his jaw, and stared at me. "You’ve come back twice since the start of term, barely spent one week during your month and a half Christmas break, left me alone for New Year's, didn't even call...Do you have someone on the side? Is that it?"
David's face shifted from angry to surprised and mortified at the suggestion. Still, he said nothing, making me wonder momentarily if my speculation might have a grain of truth left in it. He shouldered his duffle and rested his hand on the doorknob.
"This Liz, journalist Liz, is not my wife. I'll be in Chicago. Let me know when the woman I married gets back."
With that, he left the apartment, closing the door gently rather than slamming it, only infuriating me further.
I was out the door not five minutes after him, coat pulled tight across my many layers. I wanted to scream, but instead, I stomped all the way to the train station, hopped on the Green Line, and went to work, ready to forget my problems by throwing myself into productivity.
The office was buzzing with activity. Everyone had chosen today to work onsite, or so it seemed. I just wanted to hole up and hide. When I dropped my bag at my desk, there was a pile of notes to sort through. Stephanie wanted my help with drafting a letter, apologizing for her behavior around her latest girlfriend. I brushed that off. Digging further, I saw several new assignments tossed on my desk in James’ careless handwriting. Why the man hated email so much, I never understood.
Still, it gave me work to do, and work meant I didn't have to focus on my wreck of a morning. I settled into my routine, creating a task list, figuring out where my priorities needed to be for the afternoon, and began researching the playwright I was set to interview later. I dove into her blog, finding topics to ask her about, uncovered her educational background, and watched a few minutes of her most recent play posted on YouTube. By the time noon rolled around, I felt prepared. All I had to do was talk to Katie about grabbing a few shots for the article. Great.
With a sigh, I headed down the hall to her office, honestly dreading seeing her. My day had been full of nothing but arguments, and knowing Katie, my next conversation would be too. Some days are just shittier than others, I told myself.
Surprisingly, her door was open, though she wore her noise canceling headphones. Nathan must be in too. He always worked with the office door open, preferring the background noise of the busy office. Kate always preferred silence and had as long as I'd known her. You couldn't argue with the results either. Her work was always consistent and delivered quickly. I knocked on the doorframe, but she didn't respond. Biting my lip, bracing for the inevitable explosion of temper, I walked into the office, poked her shoulder, and stood to the side.
The headphones came off quickly, but she didn't look at me.
"James scheduled an interview for Friday at eleven. Can I get a ride?"
Kate visibly tensed up. "My car's in the shop again. I won't have it back by then and I have shit to do that morning. I'll meet you there." It was the most she'd said to me since New Year's Eve. "Now get out. I have work to do," she added shortly. The headphones went back on and I was clearly dismissed.
I pulled the headphones off her head.
"What the hell are you doing?" she hissed, eyes barely visible through the computer screen's reflection on her glasses. It only made her look more distant.
"Don't fucking dismiss me like I'm some idiot intern." I'd had enough bullshit to last me a month.
"So what am I supposed to? Bend over backwards and cater to your every whim? I'm not your girlfriend, Liz." She stood up and did her best to look intimidating. "As you've said before, I'm not even your friend. So I'll treat you the same way I treat everyone else who's screwed me over."
I snorted. "Here we go again. Shift the blame to me. It's always my fault. Everything that goes wrong or doesn't work out like you planned...what am I? Your personal scapegoat?" I realized I was taking my frustration out on her, but it didn't stop me.
"Well, nine times out of ten, it is your fault. You're selfish and greedy, Lizzie. You don't consider how your actions will affect others. You only look out for yourself." She locked eyes with me and I was the one to look away. "Now get out," she said through clenched teeth.
I spun on my heel, walked back to my desk and grabbed my coat. I needed to get out of there, even just for a few minutes, so I tossed myself out into the cold winter afternoon, ignoring the pelting flakes of snow as I walked aimlessly down the empty Boston sidewalk. I didn't go far—just to the park around the corner—but the distance still felt like it was enough. I took a seat at one of the abandoned grottoes, embracing the chill damp.
The metal bench was cold underneath my long coat, but I ignored it. I embraced the discomfort as I let the snow collect on my lap. The falling snow created a muffled barrier around the city, sending the park into a quiet bubble--traffic noise was just a low hum. I cleared my mind, hoping to forget all the things that had happened that day. David and I had been fighting more and more lately. Now it felt like a chore when he came home rather than a mini vacation. I'd said things I probably shouldn't. I didn't regret it, though I knew I should.
When I got to work, Katie was just as infuriatingly herself as ever. She didn't do anything in particular, just snapped at me like she had been for months now. And instead of brushing it off, instead of reestablishing our previous truce, I snapped back. I couldn't help but feel guilty about how I'd responded, because part of me worried she was right. Maybe I was being selfish. Maybe I was putting my career ahead of my marriage, just like Katie had when we were together. All the same, I was glad to be out of the office, even if the weather was horrible; I'd had my fill of arguing today.
A young coupl
e's laughter caught my attention. The two men were walking arm in arm, both utterly comfortable with each other, laughing at some shared joke. There was nothing but love in their eyes as they looked at each other. Nothing else in the world mattered to them. They walked past me, one of them nodding politely in greeting. I smiled back and let the smile fade immediately when they passed. I remembered being that happy, that in love. I wanted to feel that happiness again, but I wasn't sure how.
David and I couldn't seem to remember how to act around each other. With the brevity and infrequency of his visits, we'd both changed, become more independent; rather than his absence making me miss him more, it had made me more comfortable being alone. I'd grown used to sleeping alone in my bed and reveled in the independence I had. It wasn't how things were supposed to be, but it happened.
My marriage was falling apart, and I knew it. I knew it without a shadow of a doubt and part of me wanted to let it happen. Part of me wanted to go back to being the kid I was when David met me, though I knew I should fight for our relationship.
My phone buzzed, drawing me out of my thoughts. I pulled it out of my pocket, my hand suddenly chilled by the exposure. It was from Nathan.
"David came by and delivered flowers. Told him you were on assignment. Want to grab coffee and tell me what's going on?"
For a brief moment I felt the barest hint of guilt; David was trying to apologize and I wanted none of it. I was holding onto my anger with a vice-like grip. "Sure. Render Coffee in 20?"
A smiley face was all the response I got. I shoved myself off the bench and headed down the wet sidewalk back towards work. I still felt numb, but the numbness was a welcome relief to the agitation I'd been feeling since leaving my apartment this morning.
Nathan was sitting at a table, two steaming cups in front of him by the time I arrived. "Thanks," I said as he pushed a mug towards me. We sat in silence for a few minutes; he knew me well enough to know when to push and when to just let it happen. So, he waited.
"Flowers, huh?"
"Yep. A big bunch of roses. He looked upset and, quite frankly, sexy with that duffel over his shoulder. I halfway want to take him home." Nathan said jokingly. I cringed. "What?" He asked.
"I hate roses...they're so...."
"Cliche?" He volunteered. I nodded. "What happened?"
"We fought this morning," I explained. Nathan raised a brow. "I accused him of not being supportive and he accused me of being an insensitive asshole who values my work over celebrating our anniversary. So, we're in a good place." I was being sarcastic, but it fell flat to my ears.
"He doesn't understand that my career matters to me, but his is allowed to be all important. Talking to him is getting harder by the day. He's just...absent. Even when he's home, he's not there."
"Are you?" he asked, face carefully schooled into a blank mask. I said nothing, choosing to stare into my coffee. He was right, of course. I was making a life for myself and with David gone, I'd relearned how to be independent. Even when we were sharing the same bed, we were both living our separate lives.
Nathan sighed and licked his lips. "I love you, Lizzie, but I have to be honest. You haven't talked about David in months. Seems to me you're just as guilty as he is," he said, voice flat and devoid of sympathy. "Maybe more," he added warningly.
I glared. "What the hell does that mean?" I barked. I was ready to fight, ready to yell at anyone and Nate was giving me the proper motivation.
Nathan leaned forward on the table and glared at me. "You still have feelings for Kate." It wasn't a question; it was an accusation. And that accusation was like ice water dumped over my head.
"You go out of your way to argue with her, you always watch her when you're in the same room, and you always, and I mean always, look for any excuse to bump into her. I mean, for Christ's sake, you are as bad as a pair of teenagers!" He glanced at me. “Take this morning, for instance. Katie was gruff with you and you blew it way out of proportion.”
“You heard that?” I whispered, cheeks blazing.
He smiled gently. “Love, the whole office heard that. You push her buttons all the time.”
Out of habit I started to protest, but I paused. We fought all the time, yes. But rather than avoid the confrontation, we both actively sought it out. On a daily basis. Fighting with her, hating her, was better than not talking to her. He was right, as much as I hated to admit it. I lived for those moments when Katie and I could go at it; it was the most honest form of communication I had. I was able to take out all my aggression and frustrations on her and she was able to do the same. It never left a bad taste in my mouth...it was cathartic. Nathan saw the realization in my eyes and nodded.
"Liz," he said, gently resting his hand on mine. "Are you in love with her?"
I looked him in the eye and thought about it. Was it possible?
"I don't know," I whispered. It felt strange to even entertain the notion. What was even more bizarre was the fact that I was discussing this, in public, with Nathan. "What did I do? Why is this shit even happening, Nate?" I rubbed at my eyes. "We were so happy in Northampton. We were so happy here, at first. So, what happened?"
He smiled sadly. "I don't know, love. Sometimes there is no good explanation for why life happens the way it does."
"Jesus, you must think I'm a total ass," I said under my breath. Part of me ached. I felt horrible, felt like I should be crying. I couldn't.
Nathan shook his head and smiled. "No," he said firmly. "You're not an ass. You're just a complicated person."
No joke, I thought. That's me...complicated person with a fucked up past and a gradually deteriorating marriage. I downed the rest of my coffee quickly. Nathan followed suit and we headed out into the frigid afternoon.
Chapter 11
I walked back to the office with Nathan, neither of us saying a word about our conversation. It was an unspoken agreement; it would stay between us. I parted ways with him at the reception desk and headed to my cubicle to face whatever flower explosion David had sent my way. The scent of roses was cloying and I cringed, seeing the red pool of petals on my desk. I really hate roses. When I opened the card attached to them, I found David's handwriting.
"Leaving tonight. Sorry I'm an ass. See you in a month. Truce?" It read. His note was on par with the rest of our conversations as of late...short, blunt, and unromantic. He probably even had something or someone on the side wherever he was. I threw the bunch of roses in the trash can by my desk and stomped down towards the kitchen. I needed something mindless to do, so I would make coffee. Because that's just what normal people did.
I didn't need the caffeine, but I needed the ritual of it. I grabbed a mug, put it in the Keurig, and unexpectedly burst into tears. I stood against the counter, body shaking, biting my lip to keep from making noise, and wept for my past, my failing marriage, and my own pathetic self. They were full body wracking sobs and I prayed no one would come in.
The door opened and shut. I struggled to collect myself, immediately attempting to finish making the cup of coffee and ignoring the fact that my face was now bright red and puffy. I picked up the K-cup and promptly dropped it on the floor, my hands shook so badly. I huffed and bit my lip again, closing my eyes against the wave of tears threatening to spill out. When I opened them, Katie was putting the pod in the machine. She said nothing and kept her face completely still. Her hands were steady as she proceeded to make me coffee while I stood there, an emotional wreck. When the machine finished, I reached for the mug only to have my hand batted away.
"Sit," she said, holding the mug and motioning towards the table. I did, feeling the tears leaking out. I desperately wanted to be distant, unemotional, but I couldn't hold it in anymore. And after the conversation I'd had with Nathan, I was feeling more vulnerable in the current situation than I'd thought possible.
Katie put the mug in front of me and made herself a cup. I wrapped my hands around the warm ceramic and stared at the black liquid, willing myself to calm down. She sat across
from me, looking at my wrecked face sternly.
"He should have brought you sunflowers," she whispered.
"What?" I asked, finally looking at her.
"You hate roses," she said, smiling sadly, “but you always loved sunflowers. No matter what color they were.” I chuckled and gradually began to laugh. She smiled more genuinely. "What's so funny?" she asked.
I struggled to catch my breath, almost immediately feeling the lump in my throat returning. "He's never asked." I felt the tears return, slowly leaking down my cheeks. "He's never once asked what I like. Flowers, music, nothing! And I've gone along with it. I don't know who I am anymore, Katie," I said, searching her face for some sign to guide me. "I just know I'm not me," I whispered, voice cracking.
Katie stared at her mug, fingers lightly tapping against the side. "You're still you," she said firmly. I looked at her, confused. "I see it every day. You're the same old Lizzie Carter. Maybe a bit more reserved and a lot more pessimistic, but you're still the same woman I loved, underneath it all." She wouldn't look me in the eyes. I ached for her more in that moment than I had in the last five years.
"Can I be honest with you?" She asked, eyes still pinned to her mug.
"Yes," I replied. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. She was working up the courage to say something, but wasn't quite ready, so I sat there in silence. Patience had never been my strong suit, but I tried.
"These last few months have been really hard for me." She looked up and studied my face. I stayed silent. "Seeing you, working with you...it's tough. After all these years, I still miss you. I know you still blame me and you’re right to do that, but I miss you."
"Kat, I—” I started, unsure of what to say in response. She still wouldn't look at me. I reached and touched her wrist, watching her jaw tighten at the gesture.