F*ck Love
Page 59
“Whoa,” I say.
“Yeah…”
I blink at the nothingness. An empty white room, with scratched wood floors, and a couple of blankets piled in the corner.
“What the hell?” I say. Greer is looking at the floor.
“I just haven’t gotten around to doing anything with it yet.”
“Okay, no. You don’t even have a bed.”
I look around, hoping to see something that can explain Greer’s lack of … anything.
“The furniture in your room,” she says, “belonged to Kit and me. I didn’t want to use it. I couldn’t. And then I just never got around to replacing it.”
“Okay,” I say. “But you’re sleeping on the floor.”
Her face screws up like she doesn’t know what to say.
“You want me to fight to be with him, but you aren’t over him,” I say.
“I am over him,” she says quickly. “It was just such a hard time, it all still affects me. It was a really messy break up, Helena.”
I nod. I don’t remember Kit telling me it was messy. He played it off like it wasn’t a big deal. He played off a lot of stuff like it wasn’t a big deal.
“Okay. I have to go,” I tell her. “But let’s order a bed tonight, okay?”
She nods. I can feel her watching me as I walk away. Also, I am sleeping in their former bed. I make a face. I’ll be ordering a new bed too.
Della has a wedding date. She knows I’m watching her Instagram. She wants me to see it. June sends me a screenshot after the first wedding countdown post.
J: Are you seeing this?
Yup.
J: She asked me to be a bridesmaid.
I’m not surprised. Della has like three girlfriends, two of them borrowed from me, and my attempt at being social in college. I wonder who Kit’s groomsmen will be—if I see them here around town?
J: You should come. Do something about this.
I’m surprised; it doesn’t feel like June to say something like that. I think about telling her that I plan on doing just that, but in the end, I put my phone away, try not to think about it. But, I do. I think about it plenty. I think about the way he looked with the collar of his coat pulled up around his neck, his shoulders dusted with raindrops as he waited for me with a bottle of wine. I think about the way he smiled when he saw me walking toward him, the corners of his lips tugging up into a smirk. I think about the way we lingered for a few minutes longer after saying goodbye to each other, neither of us wanting to leave. I think about the way his lips yielded against mine, the rhythm of our kissing. The way I would have to wrap my hand around the back of his head, and lean against him to keep from toppling over. I’m at work, and I have to go to the bathroom to splash water on my face.
He felt it too. He came back here, to Port Townsend, to feel it. Now it’s up to him, because I’m game.
A clock begins to tick, tick, tick. I have a plane ticket. Not a plan. Just words that I need to give him. And that’s all I can really do, isn’t it? I’ll be on my way after that, and the rest is up to Kit Isley. I can’t remind him of a dream he never had, but I can remind him of a feeling we shared.
I board the plane with a terrible head cold. I’m shivering and then burning up. I’ve started thinking about Annie. Wondering if there’s a way to see her. I’ve tried so hard not to think about her these past months, but I have the sound of her breathing memorized. It’s just not that simple. And that’s what stops me dead in my tracks. Annie. Annie’s mom and dad. What the fuck am I doing? I want to get off the plane, but it’s too late, and we’re taking off. It’s so convenient, Helena, that you just blocked out that part of situation, I tell myself. I take the pills Greer handed to me when we parted ways at the security line. Then I lower my head to my knees and cover my face. The lady in the seat next to me asks if I’m okay. I mumble something about motion sickness and squeeze my eyes closed. When I wake up, my neck is terribly stiff, and we are landing. NyQuil. Greer drugged me so I couldn’t panic. I am the last person off the plane.
June is waiting at baggage claim. She’s wearing a dark green cape over a neon pink sundress—sunglasses on even though she’s inside. Her strange awkwardness gives me comfort, and I run to embrace her.
“You’re so weird,” I tell her. “I love you so much.”
She pulls away from me and holds me by the shoulders while looking me up and down.
“You still wear beige.”
“I fucking like beige,” I tell her, smiling. “Long live the beige bitch.”
June nods. “You’re different,” she says. “I like it. Now let’s go stop this wedding.”
The wedding is in four days. I don’t want to stop it. I just want to say my piece and unload this burden from where it presses against my chest. I stay with June in her small cottage. She rents from an elderly couple who rescue parakeets. I’m not entirely sure from what these parakeets need rescuing, but I can hear their chirping coming all the way from the main house. It makes me jittery and anxious. June gives me pink earplugs, but all I do is squeeze them obsessively between my pointer finger and thumb, thinking about Kit and Annie.
“Those aren’t stress balls,” she tells me. She puts them in my ears, and the parakeets can’t reach me anymore.
She feeds me soup, and I take a nap because I’m still sort of sick. Actually, I’m very sick. When I wake up, June has left me a note to say that she’s gone to work. I try to take a walk, thinking the fresh air will be good for me, but don’t make it half a block before I have to go back. I’m shivering in eighty-degree weather, shamed underneath the palm trees and blue sky. I make it to June’s floral print sofa and pull a blanket over myself. Then I have one more fever-induced dream. One more dream to change my life.
The house is different. I walk around, looking for the navy Pottery Barn sofa. For the children. But there are no children, and nothing is blue. Everything is black. Black, black, black, black. I try a light switch, and the room I’m in floods with red light. I look at the skin on my arms, glowing soft pink under the raunchy red lights. They are covered in ink—swirls of greenish black. Pictures, and words, and patterns. I laugh out loud. What dream is this that I’ve tattooed my body? I walk through the rooms, searching. Kitchens, and bathrooms, and unfurnished bedrooms. I find him outside, French doors swung open—him framed between them.
“Yeah…”
I blink at the nothingness. An empty white room, with scratched wood floors, and a couple of blankets piled in the corner.
“What the hell?” I say. Greer is looking at the floor.
“I just haven’t gotten around to doing anything with it yet.”
“Okay, no. You don’t even have a bed.”
I look around, hoping to see something that can explain Greer’s lack of … anything.
“The furniture in your room,” she says, “belonged to Kit and me. I didn’t want to use it. I couldn’t. And then I just never got around to replacing it.”
“Okay,” I say. “But you’re sleeping on the floor.”
Her face screws up like she doesn’t know what to say.
“You want me to fight to be with him, but you aren’t over him,” I say.
“I am over him,” she says quickly. “It was just such a hard time, it all still affects me. It was a really messy break up, Helena.”
I nod. I don’t remember Kit telling me it was messy. He played it off like it wasn’t a big deal. He played off a lot of stuff like it wasn’t a big deal.
“Okay. I have to go,” I tell her. “But let’s order a bed tonight, okay?”
She nods. I can feel her watching me as I walk away. Also, I am sleeping in their former bed. I make a face. I’ll be ordering a new bed too.
Della has a wedding date. She knows I’m watching her Instagram. She wants me to see it. June sends me a screenshot after the first wedding countdown post.
J: Are you seeing this?
Yup.
J: She asked me to be a bridesmaid.
I’m not surprised. Della has like three girlfriends, two of them borrowed from me, and my attempt at being social in college. I wonder who Kit’s groomsmen will be—if I see them here around town?
J: You should come. Do something about this.
I’m surprised; it doesn’t feel like June to say something like that. I think about telling her that I plan on doing just that, but in the end, I put my phone away, try not to think about it. But, I do. I think about it plenty. I think about the way he looked with the collar of his coat pulled up around his neck, his shoulders dusted with raindrops as he waited for me with a bottle of wine. I think about the way he smiled when he saw me walking toward him, the corners of his lips tugging up into a smirk. I think about the way we lingered for a few minutes longer after saying goodbye to each other, neither of us wanting to leave. I think about the way his lips yielded against mine, the rhythm of our kissing. The way I would have to wrap my hand around the back of his head, and lean against him to keep from toppling over. I’m at work, and I have to go to the bathroom to splash water on my face.
He felt it too. He came back here, to Port Townsend, to feel it. Now it’s up to him, because I’m game.
A clock begins to tick, tick, tick. I have a plane ticket. Not a plan. Just words that I need to give him. And that’s all I can really do, isn’t it? I’ll be on my way after that, and the rest is up to Kit Isley. I can’t remind him of a dream he never had, but I can remind him of a feeling we shared.
I board the plane with a terrible head cold. I’m shivering and then burning up. I’ve started thinking about Annie. Wondering if there’s a way to see her. I’ve tried so hard not to think about her these past months, but I have the sound of her breathing memorized. It’s just not that simple. And that’s what stops me dead in my tracks. Annie. Annie’s mom and dad. What the fuck am I doing? I want to get off the plane, but it’s too late, and we’re taking off. It’s so convenient, Helena, that you just blocked out that part of situation, I tell myself. I take the pills Greer handed to me when we parted ways at the security line. Then I lower my head to my knees and cover my face. The lady in the seat next to me asks if I’m okay. I mumble something about motion sickness and squeeze my eyes closed. When I wake up, my neck is terribly stiff, and we are landing. NyQuil. Greer drugged me so I couldn’t panic. I am the last person off the plane.
June is waiting at baggage claim. She’s wearing a dark green cape over a neon pink sundress—sunglasses on even though she’s inside. Her strange awkwardness gives me comfort, and I run to embrace her.
“You’re so weird,” I tell her. “I love you so much.”
She pulls away from me and holds me by the shoulders while looking me up and down.
“You still wear beige.”
“I fucking like beige,” I tell her, smiling. “Long live the beige bitch.”
June nods. “You’re different,” she says. “I like it. Now let’s go stop this wedding.”
The wedding is in four days. I don’t want to stop it. I just want to say my piece and unload this burden from where it presses against my chest. I stay with June in her small cottage. She rents from an elderly couple who rescue parakeets. I’m not entirely sure from what these parakeets need rescuing, but I can hear their chirping coming all the way from the main house. It makes me jittery and anxious. June gives me pink earplugs, but all I do is squeeze them obsessively between my pointer finger and thumb, thinking about Kit and Annie.
“Those aren’t stress balls,” she tells me. She puts them in my ears, and the parakeets can’t reach me anymore.
She feeds me soup, and I take a nap because I’m still sort of sick. Actually, I’m very sick. When I wake up, June has left me a note to say that she’s gone to work. I try to take a walk, thinking the fresh air will be good for me, but don’t make it half a block before I have to go back. I’m shivering in eighty-degree weather, shamed underneath the palm trees and blue sky. I make it to June’s floral print sofa and pull a blanket over myself. Then I have one more fever-induced dream. One more dream to change my life.
The house is different. I walk around, looking for the navy Pottery Barn sofa. For the children. But there are no children, and nothing is blue. Everything is black. Black, black, black, black. I try a light switch, and the room I’m in floods with red light. I look at the skin on my arms, glowing soft pink under the raunchy red lights. They are covered in ink—swirls of greenish black. Pictures, and words, and patterns. I laugh out loud. What dream is this that I’ve tattooed my body? I walk through the rooms, searching. Kitchens, and bathrooms, and unfurnished bedrooms. I find him outside, French doors swung open—him framed between them.
