Center of Gravity

by Neve Wilder

I was the linchpin in a daisy chain of sadness, my mother and sister on either side of me on a mission to take me down until I broke into sobs and we all fell apart in some kind of hysterical fit that would horrify everyone. It was one of those inappropriate thoughts, the kind that struck in a church and would send you into fits of hilarity you struggled to recover from until the whole congregation was staring at you in shock. My mouth quivered, and because I couldn’t tell what was about to happen—laughter or tears—I started to panic. My eyes darted wildly through the gathering, seeking out Rob as my throat closed around my next breath.

  I found him next to one of my cousins and a lady I didn’t know, his eyes already on me. They were steady and warm, a place I could rest safely, so I did. I just kept looking at him, certain he could see the sheer desperation emanating from me. Then he gave me the briefest, gentlest flicker of a smile. The one I’d been trying to emulate. The one that said, I understand and thank you and you’re welcome and I sympathize all in a fractional, hair’s breadth curve. My chest expanded again as I held his gaze, air rushing into my lungs cool and crisp and fresh. The workers scurried around, arranging the coffin, fitting the crank in the handle to lower it into the ground. A sudden thump, nervous smiles. “Always had to have the last word,” someone said of the difficulty. Polite laughter. Relieved laughter. The crank started working. I took another breath, and the warmth in my eyes spilled onto my cheeks. My father’s coffin descended in monumentally slow inches. I glimpsed these things in thin slices of color and motion while in front of me, Rob’s dark eyes became the center of my vision, the seam that held my world together.

  There was too much food. It covered every surface in the kitchen, the dining room table, the coffee table. People milled around talking while loading their plates. There was occasional laughter. Mostly quiet conversation and eating. I described my senior project a hundred times and struggled with the burden of trying to say the right things. All the while, I itched to get out of my suit coat and really, the suit altogether. Mom had insisted. Dad wouldn’t have cared.

  I sensed a presence over my left shoulder and found Rob. His eyes roamed my face, and he tipped his head toward the back door. “You want fresh air?”

  “Yes. God.” I’d just dusted off the chill from being outside for the burial and now I wanted nothing more than to go back into it. It wasn’t the fresh air I wanted, though, it was silence. Less people. Less talking.

  We leaned against the wall under the carport. Rob’s hands went into his pockets. I cupped mine together and blew into them. I knew he was letting me lead, waiting for me to speak or not. For a long time, I didn’t. I just stared at the dark door across the way that led into the garage.

  “I don’t know what to say to people.” I sucked at the corner of my lip where I had a small cut. I didn’t know how I’d gotten it. Probably kissing Rob.

  “You don’t have to say anything. You can just say thank you. That works fine.”

  “It’s weird though, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  We both laughed and it felt good, like this tiny little glimmer of light piercing all the darkness that filled me.

  I thought of my senior project again when the edges of the garage door blurred in my vision.

  “I don’t know how the hell I can finish my project.”

  I glanced over as Rob slid his hands from his pockets. He thumbed at his jaw, and looked over to the door.

  “Maybe you will, maybe you won’t.” His shoulder hitched up in a shrug.

  That surprised me. I’d expected him to say something along the lines of “you should” or “it’d be good for you,” some kind of pat supporting reply to what was mostly a rhetorical statement. I rolled my shoulder into the wall and faced him.

  “But I think you will.”

  I nodded. “Maybe so.”

  He angled to face me, then. “You look pretty good in a suit.”

  I gave him a wan smile and couldn’t think of anything to say. All those weeks I spent angsting over whether or not he was invested in me, how to get him to be and now here he was, clearly invested and I was the walking dead. I thought about how he’d come to me when I’d asked, how he’d let me stay with him, the days he’d taken off from his new job—that he’d told me about in detail, excitement written all over his expression—to be here for me. And then I thought of something else. Something that needled at me and wouldn’t leave me alone until I drew a breath and asked, “When I called the other night and you were out…” I studied his face, and saw it dim. “Were you with someone? Like on a date?”

  He grimaced, one hand scraping over his forehead, smoothing his hair back. I could tell he was trying to think of what to say.

  At last, he nodded and pushed off the wall. “I’ve been seeing someone. It’s nothing serious. But, yes. I was with him.”

  “What’s his name?”

  He gave me a pained expression. “Does it matter?”

  I caught my lip between my teeth shook my head. I guessed it didn’t.

  He reached out, catching me by the lapels of my coat and reeling me in until my chest was pressed flush against his. My arms circled him as if on delay and I buried my nose in the scent of him. So solid beneath my hands, so warm. His mouth touched my temple, then brushed across my cheek.

  “I wish it had been me,” I said softly.

  “Me too.” We both laughed again. It was brief and awkward, little shards of sound that couldn’t pierce the chilly air. His fingers closed around the nape of my neck, thumb tipping my chin so I’d look at him. “But Alex, it can—”

  I shook my head roughly and peeled back, my throat starting to clog up as his features shifted from tenderness to concern. “Don’t. If you say what I think you’re going to say, I know what I’ll do. I’ll let myself collapse into you and I’ll let you try to make everything okay.”

  “Is there something wrong with that?” His eyes were the same steady haven washed with concern. I buckled under the gaze and glanced away.

  “No, I guess not, but…I’m afraid I’ll ruin it somehow. I don’t want to start right here. I don’t want this shitty day to be where we picked up just to make something—even just one thing—feel better for me so I can ignore everything else. Because that’s what I do. I’m doing it right now, while I’m standing here talking to you and it’s taking everything in me not to tell you to take me back to your house and demand you fuck me senseless.”

  His lips compressed into a thin line, then parted. And then he exhaled and nodded.

  “I told you I’d do whatever you wanted. I meant that. If this is what you want…” His eyes searched mine.

  “I don’t know if it’s what I want, but I think it’s what I need.”

  He wanted to say more, I could see it in his face. He reached for my shoulder, gave it a light squeeze, and I knew he understood.

  He stepped around me, opening the door and pausing against it to toss me a thin smile. “For the record, I struggle to see the problem with being fucked senseless.”

  I chuckled and followed him inside.

  Rob was one of the last to leave. He wrapped casseroles and scooped salads into Tupperware—nine different versions that I knew we’d never get around to eating. He cleaned out the coffeemaker and went around the house blowing out the scented candles. He talked with my mother, helped Lainey load the dishwasher. On the doorstep, he pulled me in again and kissed my forehead, rubbing his thumbs over my cheekbones, and I almost went back on everything I’d said. I could go home with him, bury myself in the covers, bury myself in him. But maybe one day I’d wake up a month or two from now and realize that I’d just been drowning my sadness in him instead of confronting it. And I’d be starting all over again. So I drew a deep breath, nodded when he asked me to stay in touch, then I stepped back and closed the door.

  I slept in the guestroom that night. The hospital bed had been returned, the double bed set up again. The sheets were clean and turned down as if my mom had known I’d want to
be there. I rolled onto my side and reached out to the table to pick up one of the last miniatures my dad had been painting. I thought it was Sherman, but I wasn’t certain. I held it and thought of my father’s hand swallowing the paintbrush as he painted in minute strokes, his glasses sliding off the end of his nose, the way he’d tuck his lower lip in concentration. I felt his absence like an infinite, gaping chasm inside me that stole the air from the room and left me choked with sobs I buried into the pillow. It seemed as if nothing could ever fill in that kind of emptiness. And maybe that was just the way it was going to be.

  29

  Rob

  Two months later.

  I had trouble finding a parking spot and ended up wedged between a massive Escalade and a few traffic cones marking off a large pothole outside the main entrance of Holly Brook College.

  The campus was quiet for a Friday night—at least the quad I was walking through was. The Arts building was sheltered off to the side of the main entrance by thick boughs of oak and Bald Cypress trees, with a cobblestone path leading up to the main doorway. Pulling the invitation from my coat pocket, I double checked that I was in the right place, as if the trickle of people through the door wasn’t enough of a clue. I was nervous, my mouth dry. I’d spoken to Alex intermittently since the funeral—a couple of brief, how-are-you-doing conversations that got longer over time, but always stuck within certain friendly parameters, or a few texts to check in. I was determined to let him lead, show him I still wanted to be connected without putting pressure on him. But, I’d only seen him once in those two months. I’d stayed the weekend on Nook Island a couple weeks back and was out for a jog with Winslow when I’d spotted the moving truck. As we’d gotten closer, Alex had come out of a house, his lanky frame weighed down with boxes that he stacked at the end of the truck, pausing to blow in his hands to warm them.

  Winslow had started yipping and yanked on the leash. Alex looked up then, his honeyed gaze landing on me, doing all sorts of terrible things to my heart and body. His smile was conflicted, at first seemed reluctant and then became warm and welcoming. By the time he’d leaned down to scratch Winslow into a ceasefire of barking, it was a full-on magnetic grin that made my heart feel as if I was still sprinting down the pavement. Our conversation hadn’t been particularly meaningful, but I could tell he was doing better, that the shroud of grief was lifting. When I’d finally tugged on Winslow’s leash so Alex could carry on with the move, he’d said he’d like to get a drink with me sometime. Instead, a week later I’d gotten an invitation to his senior show.

  Just inside the entrance of the gallery, I stepped off to the side to make room for the others coming in. Candles suffused the room with the scent of magnolias in bloom, and there were tables draped in cloth and festooned with hors d’oeuvres. Sculptures congregated in staggered groupings and covered the walls, and though I tried to feign interest in my surroundings, I really only cared about Alex’s work. I found it flanked by some geometric shapes that appeared to be carved from marble, and a series of abstract pieces made up of yarn. Or what looked like yarn. I was too out of my element to know otherwise.

  Alex leaned against one of the nearby walls, his shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows, a clear plastic cup of champagne in his hand with bubbles that tilted when he laughed at something the guy standing beside him was saying. Alex appeared at ease, gut-wrenchingly handsome, and when the guy next to him leaned in to brush a kiss over his cheek before drifting off, a jolt of jealousy ran through me.

  I touched the collar of my shirt, tugged at the sleeve of my coat, and started forward. Spotting me, Alex pushed off the wall, his expression brightening with a magnificent smile as he set his drink on a table in passing.

  “You came.”

  “You knew I would,” I countered.

  There was an awkward moment of shuffling and indecision between a handshake and hug that ended with a light embrace. Much lighter than I wanted it to be.

  “I brought a date,” I said, and was pleased when his expression dimmed.

  He recomposed himself and pasted his smile back in place. “That’s great. I look forward to meeting him.” The lack of enthusiasm in his voice made me smile.

  “Her,” I corrected. “My sister’s in town.”

  In a flash, his features warmed again and he grinned broadly. “The yang.”

  “The yang, yes. And the yang is always late. I left her at the house looking for an earring. She does always eventually show up, though,” I assured him, sketching a glance toward the doorway.

  “Do you want a drink and then I can show you around?”

  “Absolutely.” I wanted anything he offered to me, but mostly I wanted his presence.

  We stopped at one of the tables for champagne and then Alex led me through the different exhibits, his hand tucked inside the crook of my elbow, leaning close when he gave explanations about the pieces. I listened and tried to appear attentive to every place he pointed, but it was hard to drag my gaze away from his profile, the way his mouth moved when he spoke, the energy of his gestures.

  Along the way, we met up with his mom and Lainey.

  “Did you bring Winslow?” She gave me a hopeful smile.

  “I did, but he’s at home.”

  “Does he have any friends?”

  “Er…” I wasn’t sure where this was going. “Winslow’s not exactly a social butterfly.” Whenever I took him to the dog park, he ran around snarling and chasing other dogs from whatever arbitrary patch of grass he deemed his kingdom.

  Lainey wasn’t dissuaded, though. “Good, because Miley needs friends.”

  “And Miley is?” I glanced over at Alex.

  “My new puppy. She’s a boxer, so she’s going to be pretty big.”

  I laughed. I could see how a meeting between Winslow and Miley would go. “Well maybe she can knock Winslow down a few pegs. Next time I’m in town, I’ll let your mom know and I can bring him over, see how they get along?”

  She bounced excitedly and nodded.

  We found Summer once we’d made our way back to Alex’s exhibit. She was bending over the placard in front of the piece Alex had titled Sparrow. I made introductions and Summer promptly usurped Alex’s attention, chattering about the way he’d used certain elements in the piece. She was the more cultured of the two of us, but I loved watching Alex’s face light up, the satisfaction and pride I could detect as he answered her questions and talked about why he’d chosen a certain object or medium. I was content to linger on the periphery and watch them.

  Linda sidled up next to me. “I knew he’d finish.” She bent her chin close to me, keeping her voice low. “He told me at first he wasn’t going to, but I knew he would.”

  “Me too,” I said, and she smiled. I asked her how she was doing and could tell it was hard for her to know where to start.

  “Every day gets a little better which is somehow both good and bad. It’s as if I feel John slipping away still, and I know it’s okay to start letting him go, but I don’t know if I’m ready to yet. I think Alex feels the same.”

  She slid her hand into mine and I brought her knuckles up to my mouth for a light kiss.

  “I never thanked you for all that you did for us during it.”

  “That’s because you never needed to.” My eyes drifted over to Alex. One hand was twisting and arcing through the air, demonstrating God knew what to Summer, but it made me grin. “I love your family and—” I caught myself, but I was certain she knew because she squeezed my hand once before releasing it and picking up her glass of champagne again, giving me a secretive smile when she said, “He still talks about you.”

  Summer caught up with me when I went to refresh my champagne. “God, he’s fantastic. How are you such an idiot?”

  I handed her a glass of champagne and tugged on her earlobe. “You know you’re missing an earring, right?”

  She grabbed for her lobe and swore. “I forgot I was looking for it. Got distracted trying to decide on a pair of shoes.”
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  We both glanced down at the pair of moccasins on her feet at the same time and laughed. “Hey, they’re comfortable,” she defended her choice before thumping me on the arm. “You’re trying to deflect.”

  “I’m not. You stated a fact: I’m an idiot. What more is there to say?”

  She shook her head, wild curls bouncing across her flushed cheeks. “You’re frustrating.”

  “Sum, this is not a fucking fairy tale. Shitty timing happens and I wasn’t about to try to press the issue of how much I wanted to be with him or how good I thought we could be together on the same day he buried his father. He needed time. He told me he needed time, so I gave it. Am giving it. Trying to.”

  Did I wish that Alex had looked me in the eye at his father’s funeral and said he still wanted to be with me? Would I have dropped everything for that chance? Absolutely. But I also understood where he was coming from and I respected him enough, respected whatever chance there might be for us enough, to know that he was telling me the truth. And I loved him enough to let him close the door on me if that was what he thought he needed to do.

  An hour later, Alex and I were finally on our own. It happened rather organically after we tossed the remnants of fruit plates into the trash and he tipped his head toward the door and asked me if I wanted some air. I jumped at the chance because I was about to overheat and I’d already shucked my coat and rolled up my sleeves. They had the heat blasting inside. It was also just Alex, being around him again.

  We walked across the quad, and took a path that wound through the campus, Alex pointing out different buildings as we went.

  “Are you listening?” His shoulder nudged mine.

  “I am. I’m trying hard to.” I inhaled a deep breath, using my elbow to point since my hands were in my pockets. “You said that’s the building where you busted your ass on the steps one time after class and five hundred million people saw and it was horribly embarrassing especially because your shoe flew off.”