33

She was asleep on the daybed when he came out the next morning. He badly needed coffee but didn’t want to wake her, so he tiptoed to the fridge to get a Diet Coke. On his way back to the bedroom, she called, “Hey.”

“Hey, ‘Morning.” He came back and put the Diet Coke away. “Want a tea?”

“Thanks, yeah.”

With something to do, he focused on that, as if casually, but monitored her for any sound or movement. She used the bathroom, then went back to the daybed. He hoped she would say something to clear everything up. How could she not? Maybe she would answer if he asked, perhaps that’s what she was waiting for.

He put her tea on the table next to her. “Thanks.” She propped up the pillows and looked out the window. There was a thin veil of cloud palling everything.

He sat in an armchair a few feet away with his coffee, giving her space. “Sleep all right?” he asked.

She reached for her tea. “It was okay.” Her voice was frail as ever. She turned back to the view. She seemed neither ready nor willing to talk. Neither was he, for that matter, only a sip of coffee had touched his lips. It was increasingly uncomfortable to sit there, he felt like he was hovering, so he got up and toasted pita bread and slathered honey on it. When he looked over, she was energetically writing in her notebook again. He was convinced she was not writing her play but rather processing her thoughts. When her tea was done, she had a shower. He showered right after her.

When he came out of the bedroom, dressed in shorts and a light buttoned summer shirt, she was sitting on the edge of the daybed eating scrambled eggs and slices of avocado. “There are eggs if you want,” she said.
“Oh! Thank you!” he said brightly, as if she had been extra thoughtful. He picked up the pan to take some. “Do you want more?” he offered.

“No, you can finish them.” He sat down in the armchair across from her. “We actually can’t stay another day,” she said. “Jasmine came by last night and said someone else is coming today.”

“Oh, ok”

“I need to do some clean up and say goodbye to Jasmine, so you can go when you want.”

“Okay. Well, that’s a shame,” he said meekly.

“Yeah. I should have checked with her first.”

“No worries.” He chewed slowly, just to have something to do that would extend his stay. “So I’m wondering about the Airbnb in August. I’m feeling like you’re not into it.” She looked out the window and took another sip of tea. “You can be transparent, even if you’re just not sure.”

“Yeah, I’ve avoided thinking about it. I’m sorry about that.”

“That’s fine, just be open, I’m cool with hearing anything.”

She looked at him directly. “Wow, that’s really…progressive of you.”
His jaw fell open and let out some air. Her words sounded odd, but he was eager to take a compliment. “What do you mean?”

“Not many people are so…emotionally advanced.”

He laughed timidly, not knowing what any of it meant. “I don’t want to guess at what’s going on. Just give it to me straight.” She looked at him, then away, then back, her chest slowly rising to take a big breath. He went on: “I find it challenging sometimes to know where you’re at, how you’re feeling, but I don’t want to pester you about it, but naturally I wonder if there are times we should talk more openly about certain things.”
“I know, I’m that way – I’m not honest with myself sometimes either.”

It was some relief to hear this. He hoped she would continue and tell him she had received difficult news of her illness and that perhaps she didn’t want to share it with him because she worried he would leave her. He wanted to assure her that he was committed no matter how bad it was.

A full minute passed. He asked: “So what’s happening?”

“I think it might be good…” She sipped her tea and then put it down on the side table. “It might be good if we had some space.”

Everything inside him went on red alert, but on the outside he remained perfectly calm. “Why?” She looked at the floor. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“I just feel that’s the best thing right now. That’s what should happen today.”

“Today?”

“Yeah, I need to be on my own now. There are things I’m processing and need to attend to.”

“Does this have to do with your illness?”

“Yeah, there are some things going on.”

“But why not tell me? I’m here for you. If you received some difficult news, I want to know, I want to be here for you. I’m not going to run away if there’s a problem, I’m here to help and support you.”

“No, everything was fine-”
“You just said there were things going on, why won’t you tell me? Eva. I want to hear what’s really happening, what did the tests show?”

“Nothing! It’s not that.” She itched her back.

“Then what? I see you writing like mad, you need space for that, of course.”

“It’s not that!”

“It is, Eva, you’re writing non-stop, hardly even looking at me. I know how important your play is for you-”

“It’s dead, I’m not doing it anymore.” She itched the back of her leg.

“What?”

“Fucking torture!” She took a laboured breath.

“But you’re almost done – I’ll leave you alone until you’re finished.”

She shook her head. “I need to get into the water. It’s nothing to do with the play.”

“What then? This is all so confusing.”

She rubbed her face with both hands, then ran them through her hair, stretching her forehead and pulling up her heavy eyelids. She stood, opened the terrace door and turned to him. “I find it hard to connect with you. There are times when I come home after being with you and it takes me time to recalibrate. I’m not always feeling energized after we’re together.”

He followed her onto the terrace. “You haven’t said anything.”

She started changing into her suit. “I know, yeah. I’ve been trying to figure it out. I had put aside things I wasn’t getting from you, feeling like I couldn’t have everything I wanted. But then more and more I realized those things are important to me.”

He followed, changing into his trunks. They were damp. “When did you start feeling this way? What things?” His suit was clammy and cold on his hips and crotch.

“Lately. In the last while.”
“Eva, yesterday you told me you loved me.”

“During sex! I was really happy that you came, that you surprised me. When you decided not to come, that hurt!”

“I’m sorry!” He threw his head back to pull the right words together. “So…there’s a lot I still don’t understand. When we were at the grocery store, was that when you received the test result?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“Everything is fine, nothing new.”

“What did the doctor say about you collapsing, the rashes, your pee – what’s going on?”

“None of that is new. It’s been like that for months, except for fainting, but they don’t know what that was, but probably when I was dancing, he said I must have pinched a nerve. It has nothing to do with the autoimmune.” She wrapped her towel around her and sat down. “You don’t have to come in, it’s better if you go now.”

“Eva, it’s just been a few months. Things are growing between us – we’re not on the same exact schedule, so what? Love relationships need nurturing, time, it’s what you put into it. Things are going well, we have a lot in common, we’ve been having fun.” There was something like gravel in his veins and it felt like his chest was being hollowed out with a garden trowel.

Her face had reddened and a tear rolled down her cheek. In her weakest voice she said. “I have to go with my gut.”

“Sure you do, but give it a chance, right?”

The veil of cloud had remained constant like glue. He wished it would storm violently, but there was just an insidious breeze off the lake not acknowleging the nonsensical chaos. His hips ached but as long as she was sitting, he dared not move.

She said: “I think it’s better if we leave things here.”

His flesh went leprous. “Why? Tell me! Why! I want to know, tell me the truth.”

“Because of your personality.”

A knife in his back. “What do you mean?”
“That’s it.”

A gasp escaped him, then his lips tightened, again he did everything he could to keep calm. He wanted to rage at her, call her a liar, a deceiver, a user, blind and unfeeling. “What about it? What’s wrong with my personality?”

“I said already, I can’t connect with you.”

He got his phone out from his pants laying on the deck chair. “I’d like to understand this better. Why did you send me these texts after we came back from Cultus Lake?” He held up the selfie of the two of them, her pulling the funny face. “You texted back: ‘Wow. She looks wacky. How’d she snag that great guy?’”

She shrugged. Her mouth hinted a smile but then hitched downward, repressing, she looked away. “Then an hour later you texted this picture of me on the dock.” She didn’t bother to look this time. “And you said: ‘Love this pic. Why? 1) you are in it 2) I can see your cute boxers 3) it’s nice memory of our beautiful sunset watching.’ That was two weeks ago, Eva.”

“I know, I know.” She wiped away the escaping tears and averted her look.

“Eleven days ago you sent me this text: ‘I came home to the pretty flowers you brought me yesterday. I appreciate how thoughtful and generous you are. It’s one of the many things I like about you.’”

She cupped her hand over her eyes.

“What were these many things you like about me?”

She pushed away more tears with the palm of her hand.

“Take all the time you want.”

“What are you trying to do?”

“I’d just like to know what’s going on.”

Her hands shook as she caught more tears.

“Just tell me,” he said.

“You don’t fit in with the kind of people I hang out with, my kind of friends – the job you do, what you’re into, it doesn’t align with the people I want to be around.”
“Oh, fuck you.” She got up and moved toward the dock, he followed. “You know damn fucking well why you sent me that text. It was the day of your blood test after you collapsed and you were worried sick something really bad was happening. You wanted my love and support to feel better, a guy who’ll do anything for you whenever you want him. And that’s how you were feeling yesterday when I arrived and why you said you loved me-”

“During sex!”

“-Because you were worried you were about to find out you were dying or something. If you’re dying, I’m this wonderful guy that you need! But if you’re not, you don’t fucking need me and that’s what’s really happening here. I’m just a guy with a big dick and shitty personality. You don’t need me, so fuck you, then.”

They had reached the end of the dock. She turned her head at the faint sound of her phone ringing. “I need to get that,” she listed away, then broke into a run with his heart attached to her, unspooling in a long, ragged strip. She answered the phone but he couldn’t hear her. Jasmine? June? Doctor? Oh, I have some unfortunate news, we missed something… Right, then what would she do? It was like a bad play, Oh, dearest, I don’t know what I was saying, I want you back, I need you back, I love you, I love you.

I love you too, Eva.

Down curtain.

She paced on the terrace whiled on the phone, agitated. His look grew heavy, drawn to his chest, and expected to see a hole. A dark coloured sedan edged down the driveway and pulled into the drive. A blue Infinity. Eva put down her phone and waited. Martin got out and came around to the terrace. He wore jeans, fun sneakers, and a button shirt. Was it silk? She looked naked in her swimsuit. Rosa, absent, felt separated. Does this play get any worse? Spencer turned to the lake, avoiding an awkward acknowledgment and put his phone down as if preparing to dive in. The jabbing, icy amorphous surface promised to clear the wreckage of her words. It felt as if Eva and Martin were pressing on his back, like a bulldozer rumbling down the dock to push him in. He wished he were somewhere else, or someone else, anyone. How did this happen with such good intentions? Somehow, the path had led to the lair of beast and he had poked it viciously. Why?

He looked back. Martin sat a few feet from her, comfortable in a deck chair. She leaned on the back of another chair with her long swimmer legs straight and sleek like tapering marble pillars, crossed at the ankles. Martin was certainly caressing them with memories. How could he not? He gestured gracefully as they spoke. There was a sudden painful thumping inside Spencer’s head. He turned away, tightly shutting his eyes. Dive! You look like a kid waiting for his mommy before he’s allowed to swim. He hung his toes over the end of the dock. The water gloated with open arms and the breeze cruelly goosed his skin. The cleaved hole in his chest burrowed and twisted deeper.

He bent his knees to launch, but they weakened with an ache, so he tipped like a falling tree into the icy wet, plunging him with a thousand knives of blissful relief. He was sorry for swearing at Eva, he would apologize. Swim! He chopped a fast, messy crawl, unlike her graceful strides. He turned his head to breathe as swimmers do, but took only water. His lungs convulsed, but he pounded on, trying to escape the ice monster straddling his back and hammering his skull. With nothing left, he swivelled clumsily to look back, hoping to see Eva crawling toward him and Martin gone, but she was frozen in place, facing Martin, her black curls lilting.

It didn’t feel so cold anymore. He would wait for her. He was fine. He would slowly tread back to the dock facing the sky. It felt better with his head submerged. Another gulp of ice slithered into him, he suppressed the cough. He didn’t want to alarm them. It was fine. He was feeling warmer now and could think about how to fix things with Eva. Martin gone, somehow, he would plead to stay for dinner, and things would naturally course-correct. They would both apologize. She’ll love the sweet garlic and smoky flavours of the barbecue, everyone always does. His face felt warmer under water, a relief, so he kept it there. And he would make the fries! She would love them! Love the surprise! They would need to go in the oven 30 minutes before dinner. The chicken would take about 30 minutes too, easy timing. And she could make the salad. They would have a drink or two and then make love. Everything would be fine, it always was. He was learning not to worry so much. The water felt good, that was expected, he was used to it now, it happens every time. You get used to whatever, that’s how it goes, that’s how we get along, live, and survive. It was important to put the chicken on first, then put the fries in the oven. Then everything would work out.

 

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