by Heidi Wicks
“Do you…,” he nods towards the front door, “want to go for a stroll down the road?” His lips look wet and pillowy on the tip of his beer bottle.
“Definitely I do.” She slips into her Birkenstocks in the front porch, feeling pleased about her outfit choice. High-wasted floral skort, mid-thigh length. Fitted black tank top, with a cognac-coloured leather-wrap bracelet to accessorize. She feels confident and strong and sexy. Every single day since her and Jess’s Signal Hill event, Cait has bolted up the Signal stairs until she’s nearly puked. As a result, her legs are thick and toned and you could punt a soccer ball against her thigh and it’d just ricochet right off. Score. She has been doing pushups: twenty-five every morning, first thing after getting out of bed. Her shoulders are ripped.
On the street it’s one of those perfect St. John’s nights. Humid, a windless night, complete calm. It smells of the height of summer—flowers, grass, humidity.
“So,” he sips his beer, “you’re second AD on this? You should be a script editor. Transcribing interviews, even, with your background.”
She hasn’t thought of that before but it makes complete sense. “Don’t they already have that role filled?”
“Yeah, but,” he leans in close, a performance whisper, close enough so that she feels a brush of his lip on her earlobe and shudders, “he sucks.”
Cait laughs and sips her sangria, making sure to get some on her lips so they’ll taste good. “What do you mean, he sucks?”
“He’s only in his twenties, and he’s a bit of a dodo.”
Cait gets a bit of sangria caught in her mouth and fights for it to not come through her nostrils. “Ok, I have not heard that word used since my father barked it at politicians on the TV in the ‘90s.”
“Well isn’t it a good descriptive word?”
“It is. I don’t disagree with you.”
“Seriously though. This guy has his strengths—he should be doing promo and social media once the thing comes out. Makes sense for him to be on set and absorb the process and tone of the film as it’s being made, and take shots so he can post authentically, and start to drum up interest when the time is right. But you are much more suited to script editor, to be involved in some of the interviews, even. I can chat with Melody if you like.”
“Hmmm.” Now she really wants to jump this guy’s bones. Climb him like a pole. She hasn’t felt this fired up about a career prospect (or a male prospect) in so, so long. “That would be incredibly amazing. I would have all kinds of pink tickled, should that occur.”
“Ooo. What kind of pink?” He links a few fingers with her. Looks down at her. He’s tall. Lean. More boyish than Jake.
“Well, it exists in different locations on my body.” She leans into him and their shoulders touch.
He leans back into her until they’ve stopped, facing each other, their arms wrapped around each other, still holding their beverages behind the other one’s back, and she stands on her tippy toes to reach him and he bends his necktowards her and their lips connect. The kiss is slow, like leaning into a soft cushion. It’s calm like the night air. Their tongues make their way to each other, gently massaging each other, and they stay like that, for a very long time, kissing softly. Relaxed. Not fervently, not like her and Jake. It’s stable, caring. Cozy. Comfy. Gentle. She doesn’t want to stop kissing him, not for a very long time. She feels him get hard. They finally pull away from each other. His eyes sparkle and there’s that one-sided smile. “That was amazing.”
Grinning back up at him, “I agree.”
“You know, I’ve admired your work for a long time. I’m inspired by you.” To be inspired by someone, to inspire them, is a huge turn-on for Cait. “I’m really stoked we get to work together,” he continues, “and it has nothing to do with how friggin’ hot you are.” He glances towards the sky, then adds, “Well, maybe a little bit because of how friggin’ hot you are.”
Laughing, her chest feels full, her insides vibrate, alive, musical. It’s amazing. How things can turn from shitty to great and great to shitty so instantly. Rogue waves. Waves you ride until they crash. And then you just wait until the storm ends, and the next wave is one that doesn’t drown you, but one you can ride with joy. “I feel the exact same way about you. Both professionally, and also sexily.” They link all of their fingers together and stroll further down the street. “Do you want to go to my place? I live by the lake.” She is so ready.
Surprised at his good fortune, “Yes. Yes I do.”
Who knows what will happen with this guy. He seems like a dream on this night, but he might be a ladies’ man, a voice inside tells her. Someone so sexy is bound to be trouble. But on this night, she doesn’t care. She’s just as sexy, and she’s just as much trouble. She can match him, and he might be able to match her, too. Time will tell. He likes connections, finding heart strings between new people—he has that reputation, and that reputation, that sense of unquenchable curiosity, can also equal drifting eyes. But finding connections between souls is magical, and she wonders, isn’t there also a possibility that their connection could be more longstanding? Again, she doesn’t care right now, she is in the moment, and she is absorbing this brand new optimism. She’ll make connections too, beyond him. Is this the Simone de Beauvoir chapter in the life of Caitlyn Critch? It has a saucy ring to it. Maybe the Scott connection will last for the duration of the shoot, and that’s it. A short chapter. Maybe the chapter will be longer. Two chapters, even. And that’s just fine, and this moment is just fine, and just what does there have to be beyond this particular moment?
a healing separation agreement of horseshittery
2016
The couch in the therapist’s home office is buttery yellow. Well-worn from the broken-hearted bums that have warmed the cushions. Surrounding them are tokens of comfort. A Zen sand garden on the end table. Smooth beach rocks to hold and stroke with idle and fidgety hands. Flowers. Bamboo. Soft spa music. Quotes in calligraphy fonts, with backgrounds like a sunset beach, a winding road, a meadow of marigolds, framed on the wall.
“Let there be spaces in your togetherness.
And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.
Love one another but make not a bond of love:
Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of
your souls. Fill each other’s cup but drink not from
one cup.” – Khalil Gibran, The Prophet
“Sometimes this broken heart gives birth to
anxiety, and panic, sometimes to anger, resentment
and blame. But under the hardness…there is a
tenderness of genuine sadness. This is our link with
all those we have loved.” – Pema Chodron
“Grief is not a disorder, a disease, or a sign of
weakness. It is an emotional, physical and spiritual
necessity, the price you pay for love. The only cure
for grief is to grieve.” – Earl Grollman
“No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.”
– C.S. Lewis
Jess read The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe just after she caught her father kissing Mellie through the closet door at the bottom of the stairs. In the book, the children walk through a wardrobe—and end up in a strange world. Doors. Tunnels. Rites of passage. The world on the other side, though twisted, though mesmerizing, is filled with learning that doesn’t really, truly come to fruition until adulthood.
Jess and Dan see the same therapist Cait and Jake saw. That morning, Jess had, again, vomited. Therapy—isn’t that the final nail in the imminent divorce coffin? A one-way ticket to the other side of the closet door?
They talk, they cry, they blow their noses and show the therapist pictures of the boys on their phones.
“You two are obviously very much in love. I don’t know if you can see that. Can you?”
“I’m…,” Jess folds her hands, her palms full of wet tissues. “I’m so afraid he looks at me like this whore now.�
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Dan remains silent.
“Dan?” The therapist softly turns her head, her voice also soft, “Do you think Jessica is a whore?”
Dan stifles laughter. The idea of Jessica being a whore is ridiculous.
“Have you developed new feelings and resentments towards Jessica because of her infidelity?” The therapist continues. Hearing someone say it out loud, that she is a cheater, is like being sliced through the guts. She and Matt didn’t sleep together, but it doesn’t matter.
“I have, I guess.” His head is down. “I’m ashamed to say it, but I do feel kind of differently towards her.”
Jess sobs. She has run out of tissues. The therapist hands her a fresh box from her Costco stack on the shelf.
“Dan,” the therapist places a hand on his knee, “I want you to look at me.” She pauses and waits for him to look up and Jess is almost sure that he’s stifling a grin again. “Do you realize the pain Jessica has been in since her mother passed away? The wretched, gut-wrenching pain?”
“Yeah, I mean of course I have. I guess…I’ve just been trying to stay happy, for the boys. I don’t want them to be sad. And stay happy for Jess.” He’s looking down again.
“Jessica?” The therapist lays her other hand on Jessica’s hand. It is so soft and warm and padded, and Jess’s is cold and clammy and skinny and shaking and the therapist must have felt the wet tissue she was holding. “Do you notice all of what Dan is doing?”
“Yes of course I do. He’s the most wonderful father. Our boys are so lucky and I’m so sorry I messed up. I will always feel shame for this and I will never, ever forgive myself. The guilt is extreme. I remember seeing my father kiss another woman when I was a kid, and I felt so much hatred towards him and I can’t believe I’ve done the same thing. I hate myself so much.”
“Dan,” her hand is still on his knee, and he shifts, a little uncomfortably, “do you think Jessica might also wish that you’d ask her a little bit more about her? Instead of focusing on the boys so much, could you, in addition, in the night times, after the boys are all tucked away, turn your attention to her?”
He moves enough so that she has to take her hand off of his knee. He is instantly more at ease. “I guess…my thing is being funny. So if I can keep things funny, I figure if I can make her laugh, that might help things.”
“And Jessica—”
“It does, Dan, you do make me laugh. You always do and I love you so much for that. It’s just that sometimes I don’t feel like laughing and I can’t laugh and then I feel bad because you feel bad that I’m not laughing like I normally would.”
“You two, you are—”
“Jess, I do love you so much, you know. I always will.”
“I love you, too.”
They turn to each other, crying, arms around each other. Wiping their noses in each other’s shirts. The therapist is also dabbing her eyes.
“May I suggest something?”
They ignore her, wrapped in the moment and each other. Finally, they break away and look at each other, their eyes teary and smiling. Jess looks to the therapist. “Sure.”
“A Healing Separation Agreement.”
“We don’t need that.” Dan is still looking at Jess.
“Well, it’s just kind of a guideline, a plan—”
“No, we don’t need that. Together, we rock.” Dan’s nerdiness engorges Jess’s heart. The framed poster above their bed. A hand, curled into the “rock on” formation, the words Together, We Rock above it. Dan had it designed and mounted and framed for their wedding, and it’s been there ever since. An homage to their love and coolness. Their sense of fun. A shrine and a reminder of the essence of their relationship.
“Jessica, do you want to book a follow-up appointment, for some grief counselling? It could be very use—”
“No, we don’t need that.” Dan is still looking at Jess, while pulling his Visa from his phone case. He hands it to the therapist.
Jess is sobbing to an embarrassing degree. Her emotions feel out of control, so out of control, but she is home. She is safe. With Dan.
bruised hearts, fresh starts
2016
Cait’s phone dings.
Jess: Hey.
Cait: Hey.
Jess: Are you pissed at me?
Cait: No, Jess.
Jess: Are you sure?
Cait: Well…
our last conversation wasn’t great.
Are you pissed at me?
Jess: I know. I just miss you.
Cait: Miss you too.
Jess: Up for a walk?
Cait: Sure. I just need to get dressed.
I can go in like 30?
Jess: Perf. Where should we go?
Cait: Wanna just sit on Ladies’ Lookout?
I can pick up lattes.
Jess: Make mine decaf? Thanks! See you soon. XOXO
Cait: Decaf it is.
I know you get all wiggy on the caffeine. ;)
See you soon. Love you. XOXOXO
It’s a hazy, mauzy peak right on top of Ladies’ Lookout. Highly humid, it’s something of an anomaly: no wind. When St. John’s is sticky, it’s comforting at first. A novelty. People love it. But after a few days, it becomes unsettling. “My god, it’s too warm now,” the older ladies would lift their shirts away from their breasts, fanning themselves under their armpits. “Too warm.” But the humidity will always lift.
September days are bittersweet. Still summery, but the coolness is creeping back. Bracing everyone for the winter ahead. Electric blankets back on the beds. Heat turned up again. Pumpkin spice lattes on every marquis in town.
But for now, for a few more days, it’s still summer. Cait is already perched on the hill when Jess arrives, in a tank and biking shorts.
“Hey.” Jess lays a hand on Cait’s shoulder.
Cait jumps. “Jesus! You scared the shit out of me.”
Jess sits next to her, their shoulders and sides pressed together, leaning on each other. “Man, your shoulders are ripped!” She pinches Cait’s shoulder. “You look fierce. Smokin’.” She suddenly feels like she did as a child, noticing Cait’s figure, the shape of her bum, wondering if she should be noticing something like that. The feeling faded over the years, but never entirely went away.
“Well, thanks.” Cait feigns smug. “I took inspiration from you, actually,” she swaps the smug act for sincerity. “I’ve been speed walking the hill, and then sprinting up the steps.”
“And working on those guns, obviously.”
“Yep. Good old-fashioned push-ups. I can even do three pull-ups now. Feels deadly, I’ll be honest.” She sips her coffee. “So…how are you?”
“Oh…much better since the last time we were up here.”
“I’ve been thinking about you a lot. Wondering what’s been happening. But I just…,” she takes another sip, “sometimes space between people who love each other is necessary, you know?”
“I know.” They lean their shoulders together, their heads together, and look out at the ocean for a moment, in silence. “I think we both needed to be without each other for a while. But I have a ton to fill you in on. Dan and I went to therapy. Same woman you and Jake went to, actually. I told Matt I could never see or talk to him again. You know.”
“Whaaaat? Holy shit, Jess. Whoa. That is a lot in a few months.”
“I know. Life’s like that, though, isn’t it? Anything can change at any time. So much can happen in a year. Then you look back and it’s gone, like it was nothing.”
“So…how did the Matt stuff happen? Did anything else happen with him?”
“That day, after we went on our hike, I stormed to the hospital to get my finger fixed. I went home, and I ate one of Mom’s weed cookies that was leftover in the freezer. I got all fucked up. I was so emotional, and in pain, and hazy. Dan wasn’t speaking to me, he was sleeping in his man’s den, or office thingy. I called Matt, and I asked him to meet me in Eastmeadows Park.”
“Holy shi
t.”
“Yeah.”
“Were you wrecked when you went to meet up with him?”
“No…well, kind of…I guess a lot of it had worn off by then, but not all of it.”
Cait snorts coffee out of her nose, imagining Jess fucked up, stumbling through the park, her finger bandaged up, her eyes puffy. It’s so sad, it’s funny.
“So anyways, Matt met me there, and we were on the swings, the same swings we all hung out by when we’d be out drinking in school.”
“Some times we had there. Remember the night I lost my shoe?”
“You lost your shoe more than once.”
“True.”
“Anyway—I just told him it was a mistake that we kissed, that we couldn’t do it again, that I couldn’t ever talk to him again.” “And what did he say?”
“Well,” Jess sips her coffee, and stares towards the horizon, “he flipped out. He kind of refused to let me go, said he was destroyed, all of that stuff.”
“Whoa. That really, really surprises me. Honestly, I thought he was just fucking around and seeing how much he could get away with. No offense. He always kind of struck me as smarmy.”
“Oh jeez, I never knew you felt that way,” Jess smirked. Then solemn, she nodded in agreement. “Yeah,” she says it with disappointment. “I thought there was more to him, but now I realize I’d just been romanticizing our relationship for all these years. Nostalgia can be a fucked up thing, you know. Not real. I do think he cared for me deeply. I think he did anyway. He was super upset when I ended it. He seemed broken, actually. But, he’s also freshly out of his marriage, and I don’t know. Just way too late, maybe.”
“I did the same thing with Jake after we split up. I thought we could be something different, and I forgot about all the horrible shit that happened when we were together.”
“Anyway, I threw up.”
“What do you mean?”
“When Matt and I met up. I barfed.”