Variables of Love

by M. K. Schiller

  “The suit suits you,” I commented, trying to make him laugh. It failed.

  “You’ve lost weight.”

  “Thank you,” I replied as we walked toward the exit.

  “It wasn’t a compliment. How much have you lost? Ten? Twelve pounds?”

  He was eerily close. I hadn’t been skipping meals on purpose. I just wasn’t hungry. He was doing a damn fine job of pissing me off.

  “You shouldn’t ask a woman about her weight, Ethan. It’s very rude. If you have to know, I’ve been on a diet, and it’s working.”

  He laughed cynically. “This isn’t a diet. This is you not taking care of yourself.”

  “Did you just invite me so you could pick a fight?”

  He stopped on the busy Manhattan street and stared at me for a minute. “I’m sorry. It’s good to see you, Meena. I’m glad you’re here.”

  I nodded and followed along, although I was less enthusiastic about the trip than before.

  “Let’s grab some dinner.”

  “It’s only three,” I said, glancing at my watch.

  “I eat early, you eat late. We’ll compromise, we can have two dinners.”

  Ethan didn’t eat this early—he wasn’t geriatric, for God’s sake—but I didn’t argue with him. We stopped at a café close by.

  He scanned the menu intently. “You can have the vegetable stir fry, the eggplant parmesan, or if you’re feeling adventurous, the grilled artichoke with kumquat salad.” This felt more familiar to me. This was what Ethan always did. It was such a small thing, I’d forgotten about it. He always looked for items I could eat before choosing his own meal. I never realized how sweet that was.

  We ordered, and he filled me in on the plans for the weekend. We were going to a Broadway play and visiting the Statue of Liberty, the Empire State Building, and the Guggenheim. He had planned our itinerary methodically so there was no free time. I had a feeling he did that on purpose.

  “Ethan, that’s so much stuff. We don’t have to do all that. We can just hang out.”

  “We will be hanging out,” he replied. This felt weird. We had never been this stiff with each other, even when we were fighting our growing attraction in Stanford.

  We ate. It made me nervous that Ethan watched me. He asked me several times if I wanted more food. Finally, I blurted out, “What’s wrong with us? This isn’t us.”

  He smiled softly at my outburst. “This is the new us. We’ll make it work. We’ll be okay.”

  I nodded, unsure if he was right. I ordered dessert, more to please him than myself. I scraped away at the decadent cake before me.

  “Do you still sketch?” he asked.

  I smiled at the first real thing he’d said to me. “Sometimes. Do you still scratch?”

  He laughed. “Sometimes. I’m on medication again. I’m having trouble concentrating.”

  “Really?”

  “Isn’t that ridiculous? A grown man on ADHD medication?”

  “Does it help you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then it’s not ridiculous.”

  I wanted to say more, but a svelte woman in a stylish black dress approached our table. I saw her before Ethan did. She had shiny blond hair and translucent skin that made men stare at her as she sauntered to our table. “Ethan, is that you?” she asked, placing a hand on his broad shoulder.

  He stood to greet her. “Ronnie. Hi,” he said, somewhat uncomfortably.

  “I thought you’d be out of town. You said you had plans for Thanksgiving.”

  So, Ethan did have an invite. Or course he did. I hid my hands under the table so the shaking wouldn’t be apparent.

  He adjusted his tie, although it was perfectly placed. “I have company. This is my old friend Meena,” he said, gesturing to me.

  “Nice to meet you.” Ronnie shook my trembling hand, barely grasping it. “I’m Ethan’s new friend Ronnie.” The warning in her voice was very clear.

  I nodded, unsure of what to say. It didn’t matter because she turned her attention right back to Ethan. “Are we still on for Saturday night?” It was the day I was leaving, and she wanted me to hear their plans.

  “Sure, sweetheart,” he replied. At least he didn’t call her sunshine. At least I have that.

  “Good. I can’t wait.” Then my heart dropped into my stomach when she kissed him. It wasn’t a casual kiss either, but something that should have been reserved for the bedroom. It was worse because Ethan let her. He didn’t encourage her, but he didn’t exactly push her away either.

  They exchanged a few more pleasantries, ignoring me. I sulked like a small child, willing the ground to open up and swallow me. It wasn’t that I didn’t want Ethan to move on and find happiness, but I really didn’t want him to move on in front of me. He sat back down and ordered us some more coffee. Maybe he wants to prolong my torture.

  “Just ask. I know you’re curious. I have nothing to hide.”

  “How long?”

  “We see each other once a week or so. She wants a commitment, but I’m very honest with her. I’ve told her I’m not ready for that.”

  “You kissed her in front of me. That was mean.”

  “I didn’t kiss her. She kissed me.”

  “You didn’t exactly stop her.”

  “Maybe I was pretending.” This conversation seemed vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it.

  “Pretending what?”

  “It’s not important. Look, I’ll just spell it out. Do you want to know what my life is like? All the stuff I don’t tell you? I work…long hours. They say I’m the most driven associate at the company and describe me as ambitious, and it’s true that I am those things, but mostly I welcome the distraction of it. I drink too much.”

  I started to open my mouth to comment on his revelation, but he stopped me.

  “Don’t worry, I never drive when I’m drunk, and I’m no alcoholic, but it numbs things. I like the numbness. I crave it. The majority of my meals come in cardboard boxes or containers that can be delivered to my apartment or office. I have sex with a few different women, including Ronnie. It helps too.”

  I fought back the tears that were threatening to spill.

  “It’s not all bad news, though. I have Thursday nights.”

  I twisted the white linen napkin in my hand. “This was a bad idea.”

  “I didn’t tell you all that to make you feel sorry for me. I just wanted you to know my truth. I’m going to be fine. It’s just taking longer than I thought. You’re going to be fine too. We just need to figure this out.”

  “What?”

  “Being friends again. It’s going to be hard, but I want to try.”

  “Why? It’s just torture for both of us.”

  He laughed cynically, finishing off his coffee. “A little bit of sunshine is better than none at all.”

  “I would tell you about my life and how I love Thursday nights too, but I suspect you already know. I will tell you that I know how to use the vibrator now. Thank you for your tutelage on that.”

  Ethan laughed. It was a more genuine laugh this time. “I’m glad I could be of assistance.”

  He opened the door of his Denali, and I climbed in. I kept thinking of the things he said. But that kiss was all I could see in my head. Ronnie was not just gorgeous—she was stunning. She could be a model…maybe she was. His text was almost a self-fulfilling prophecy—he was no longer attracted to me. He missed me, but he wouldn’t even touch me. He couldn’t even make eye contact with me.

  It was for the best. We could be friends. It would be easy to be platonic when he no longer had physical desires for me. I only wish I could turn off the way my heart quickened or my skin broke out into tiny goose bumps when he was near.

  His apartment was huge. It could fit the Palo Alto apartment inside of it several times. The floors were an exotic wood, the surfaces were polished marble, and the furniture was extremely high-end and modern.

  “Ethan, when you said you had a park behind yo
ur house, I had no idea you meant Central Park,” I said, staring at the view outside his balcony window. “This was your father’s apartment, right?”

  “Yes, it was part of my inheritance. I was going to sell it, but the market’s not so great right now. It’s really too big for just me. Do you like it?”

  “It’s amazing.”

  “There are two guest bedrooms. I gave you the bigger one, but the other one has a nicer view if you want to switch.”

  I expected the sleeping arrangement. In some ways, I insisted on it, but I was still disappointed. I didn’t care if he slept with other women, but I still couldn’t get over the lump that rested on my chest, heavy and unyielding, invoked by a jealousy like I’d never known, or the fact that I craved his body as if it was an antidote for my ills.

  “I’m going to take you there tomorrow,” Ethan said, coming behind me and pointing to the park.

  He didn’t wrap his arms around me like he used to. He didn’t cup my butt or kiss my neck. It was wrong of me to want those things, but I did anyway.

  We spent my birthday exploring the city. It was Thanksgiving, but Ethan had planned for that and made sure all the places we went to were open. We chatted amicably, and I thanked him profusely, not wanting him to think I was ungrateful.

  There was something missing, though. I was there, and Ethan was there…but we weren’t there. Not together. We were two strangers posing as friends trying to make something work that seemed impossible.

  We ate dinner at the Russian Tea Room. They brought out a cake that was far too big for the two of us. I made a wish. Ethan didn’t ask me what it was, and I didn’t divulge it this time.

  Friday was no different. We hit all the sights on his list like tourists, even though I had seen them all on previous trips to the city. He pointed out things like a tour guide, and I asked appropriate questions or made comments.

  We stopped to eat a lot. Ethan said he was hungry, and there was this great deli with huge sandwiches I had to try or this Italian eatery with the perfect pizza or this bakery with cannoli that was to die for. Ethan always had a big appetite, but the man couldn’t be this hungry unless he had tapeworms. He was trying to fatten me up like a Thanksgiving turkey.

  “I’m not anorexic. Stop treating me like this,” I said when he suggested an Irish restaurant that featured vegetable stew, explaining it would be a great snack for us. Who eats stew as a snack? I still had the take-out box from the last restaurant we ate at, for God’s sake.

  He swallowed hard. “I know that. I’m just not sure what else I can do.”

  “Do?”

  “Do for you. I don’t know what else I can do to be a friend. I thought I was in pain, but I saw you, and well…I can see I’m not the only one suffering. In fact, I don’t even think I’m the worst off of the two of us.”

  “I’m fine, Ethan. I’m an adult. I’m capable. And most importantly, I’m full. Now, I want to take my bony ass back to your place and go to bed if that’s okay with you.”

  He winced, adjusting the collar of his jacket. I just walked past him, wondering if I could catch a train back tonight. I heard his clipped steps behind me, but I walked faster, praying I was going the right way and fighting the tears that were burning my eyes.

  That’s when I saw her. We had seen many homeless people in the city, but she seemed different. She was sitting on an old blanket, wearing about ten layers of clothes, probably her whole closet. She smiled at me with kind gold eyes. I smiled back—something about her spoke to me without words.

  Ethan came up behind me. “I know what you’re thinking. You shouldn’t give her money. If you really want, there’s a shelter I donate to that helps people like her.”

  “I have no intention of giving her money,” I replied, walking toward her. I bent down so we were at eye level.

  “Hi, I’m Meena.” I held out my hand to her. She seemed surprised by the gesture as if she had no idea what the proper reply was. I took her hand and shook it. “Are you hungry?”

  She smiled softly and nodded. I figured she was in her sixties, but it was hard to tell since the streets probably aged her faster. Her face was lined, and her hair was long and white, but I imagined she was beautiful not so long ago. Hell, there was something beautiful about her right now.

  “Amelia,” she said in a raspy voice.

  “Amelia, what would you like to eat?”

  “I’ll take whatever’s in the box,” she said, pointing to my take-out box. I looked down at it, forgetting I still had it.

  I put my hand on her shoulders as gently as I could. “I know you’ll take it, but what do you want?”

  “I miss Thanksgiving,” she said. It was yesterday, but it wasn’t lost on me that she used the present tense, not the past. She probably hadn’t had a real Thanksgiving in a long time.

  “All right. I think I know.” I marched into the deli. Ethan followed me. I ordered the turkey, mashed potatoes, corn, and any other side dishes that made sense. I ordered a slice of pecan pie too.

  “Are you going to clue me in on what you’re doing?” Ethan asked.

  “You wanted to eat, so we’re going to.”

  “This isn’t exactly what I had in mind, but whatever.” He took out his wallet, but I held my hand up.

  “Let me. It was my idea. I want to.” I paid for the meal and walked back out to Amelia.

  She seemed surprised as if she thought I was going to disappear in the deli forever. I handed her the food and utensils.

  “Thank you, Meena,” she said gratefully.

  I bent down again and looked her in the eyes. “Would you like some company?”

  Her eyes got wide, but she gestured to a bare spot on her blanket. Ethan stood, looking uncomfortable. I knew on some level I was being rude to him as my host. More than that, he was the boy who didn’t want me to spend my birthday alone, but I couldn’t face him anymore. I wanted to be sitting next to Amelia right now and breaking bread with her. She ate. I opened my take-out box and picked at my food so she wouldn’t feel odd.

  “We always had big Thanksgivings. My father owned a turkey farm,” she said. Her voice sounded less raspy, like she was getting used to it again.

  “Where?”

  “Upstate. A long time ago. He always saved the biggest turkey for us. Do you like turkey?”

  “She’s a vegetarian,” Ethan said, sitting down next to me. I hadn’t expected him to do that.

  Amelia stared at me, smiling widely. “We all have our faults.”

  I didn’t know if it was Ethan or I that laughed harder. She told us stories about growing up on a turkey farm and the days of work to get ready for Thanksgiving. Ethan and I listened and asked questions. She was an interesting woman.

  “Do you need help?” I asked her when she was finishing her pie.

  “No, this is my choice,” she said simply. I left it at that. I knew Amelia had more tragic stories in her, but tonight was not the time for those. She didn’t want to tell those stories. I took the empty food containers to throw them away.

  “Thank you,” she said, clasping my arm.

  “It was nothing,” I commented. “It was really not much at all.”

  She shook her head. “Not for the food. For the company.”

  I nodded and hugged her. She was a very tiny woman under all those layers. Ethan and I started walking back toward his apartment, each in our own thoughts.

  “I’m sorry. That was probably very strange for you. Thanks for not freaking out.”

  “I can’t say I’ve ever done that before, but it didn’t feel weird.”

  “I’m weird,” I said, smiling at him.

  He hooked his pinky into mine. A gesture I’d missed terribly. “You are a very good girl, Meena Kapoor.”

  In some ways, Amelia did more for us than we ever did for her. I felt some of our lost connection again. Whatever had flickered between us turned off as soon as we reached his house, though. Ethan went to straight to his bedroom to work. I went to the gue
stroom, took a long hot soak in Ethan’s jetted tub, and went to bed.

  The recurring dream or vision woke me shortly after. It was more vivid tonight than in the past, and I was breathing heavily.

  I felt around on the nightstand for my watch and put it on, noticing it wasn’t that late. I went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. I saw the thin white line under his door. The sounds of Barenaked Ladies’ “The Old Apartment” softly floated through the closed door, calling me to him. I headed toward it, craving the comfort that only he could provide me. I knocked on his door tentatively, scared he would send me away, so I opened it before he could respond.

  He was lying in bed with his laptop, shirtless and in boxer briefs. My heart began to stammer, and my mouth went dry. I thought my memories of Ethan’s body were crystal clear, but now I knew I hadn’t done it justice. His chest was broad, and his arms held just enough bulk so the muscles were visible every time he moved them. His hair was messy and damp. He smelled deliciously clean, like soap and linen.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Can I come in?”

  He patted the side of the bed that was empty. I sat on the edge. “You’re wearing my shirt.”

  I’d forgotten, but it was the shirt I’d taken from him with Einstein’s formulas. The one I wore to bed all the time. “I have everything of yours still. I have the letter where you asked me to move in with you. Your last pro. I have Bog. I have this shirt. I even have the alphabet letters, although I’m still a little mad you didn’t write me a real one that night.”

  “I showed you instead,” he said, smiling.

  I ran my hands over his comforter. “Your bed’s comfortable,” I said, taking in his large bedroom. It was huge, with a wall of windows and a separate sitting area. Everything was in neutral colors with small splashes of color. A crystal chandelier was suspended over the bed. The only artwork was…my painting. It didn’t fit the fancy décor, but he had placed it where it would be the last thing he saw before he went to bed and the first thing he that greeted him in the morning.

  “You always found my bed comfortable, but you didn’t come in here to compliment my bed.”