Who IS this guy? Where the hell did she meet him? What’s this all about?
“Not hungry?” Juliette asks me, ‘cause I’ve stopped eating.
“Hunh? Yeah, I’m hungry.” I shovel a forkful of pasta into my mouth. It would taste good if I could taste it.
“Excuse me, but, may I ask a question?” Shi says.
“Sure,” I say. Ask me anything. Ask me ANYTHING.
“I just want to be clear on this. You’re going to be gone for about a month?”
“Off and on,” I say. Please, please, please, ask me to stay. Ask me and I’ll cancel every single one of these plans. Okay, ALMOST every one of them. I gotta do the charity things. HAVE TO. I don’t bail on sick kids. But the rest of it can go to hell.
“Do you want me to close up the house, then?”
Hunh? And I must have ‘hunh?’ written all over me, she’s lookin’ at me like I’m a friggin’ idiot.
“You won’t be in it,” she goes on. “I suppose I can finish with some of the changes, if you like, but I can’t see having cleaning people coming in when there’s nothing to clean. And I’ll just come up to check on things and use the laundry room and...”
“No. You can use the house,” my mouth says.
“I won’t need to, Alex. I have a kitchen. Why...”
“I’m not comfortable with it looking like there’s no one living here.” Holy hell, I have no idea where that came from, but it sounds good. Reasonable.
“Oh. All right.”
“And I’ll be back and forth,” I say. Damn straight I will. My mind is crossing out dates. “I don’t wanna come in and have the place...”
“Alex, I’d have it ready for you when you came home,” she says. And she says it in a way that makes me feel ashamed of myself.
“I know you would,” I tell her. Then I look away because she looks upset that I would even think that she would have me walkin’ into my own home as if it was a ghost town. I put more food in my mouth and I’m surprised that there’s room in there, what with my foot bein’ in there, too.
“I just thought that it would be a waste for the cleaning people to come and clean nothing. What about just once a week? Just for the month of May? I can handle the rest of it.”
“No, have them come twice a week. No sense knockin’ yourself out. And if you’re gonna be finishing up some more rooms and everything, I’d like you to concentrate on that, ‘cause, ‘cause you’ve done such a good job.” I look at her again. Blue green eyes. Who’s David? “I’m lookin’ forward to more surprises.”
Only not surprises like this. Not phone calls from anonymous guys and makin’ dates. Just be here. I just want her to be here with me. So she can learn to like me. Be my friend, Shi. Be my friend. Then...
“Alex, you’re in space again,” Juliette says.
“I’m just thinkin’ that May is gonna be a bitch of a month.”
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Sometimes I just know things. I know that my phone call from David has bothered Alex. My mistake, giving out the house number. Nyle’s passed it on. I’m going to have to tell her not to use it or give it out. It’s an imposition on Alex that I don’t want to make. Alex is too generous already and I don’t want him to think that I’m taking advantage of him. Not in any way.
Which is exactly why I offered to close up the house.
I’m not going to use it; I know that for a fact. It would be the ultimate intrusion to make myself at home here. I’ll clean this house, I’ll decorate it, but I’m not moving into it as if it were mine. It’s not. It’s his.
And Alex doesn’t seem to see that sometimes. It’s that streak of generosity in him, that part of him that I DO know. He has no boundaries. It’s engaging in its way, and I think if I were in a position to have a personal relationship with him I’d like it very much. Not that our relationship is impersonal. He won’t allow it, although it would be fine with me. But it’s not personal beyond something that looks and feels as if it might be a friendship. Maybe. It’s too soon to tell. It’s too soon for that. And I’m not at all sure that it would be a good idea in the long run to cultivate a true friendship with Alex, if at all.
There’s something volatile about him. I sense rage. And not just from some of the arguments I’ve overheard. They were bad enough, but I feel that there’s even more anger in him and it’s of epic proportions. I don’t want that anger and rage turned on me. I think if it was, I would have to leave.
I don’t want responsibility for him, either. And that’s crossed my mind, too. I’m sure a lot of what I’m reading these days is coloring my picture of Alex. I look at him now and see that he’s agitated and upset. I don’t know if it’s something I’ve done or neglected to do. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve taken a personal phone call or if I’ve made the spaghetti sauce not to his liking. I don’t know if it’s just the prospect of a month packed with traveling and events looming in the distance that’s put him in the mood he’s in. Whatever it is, I don’t to be the cause of it, and I don’t want to be the person who jollies him out of it.
Not tonight.
I’m a little undone from the phone call myself. I didn’t think of David when Alex told me that ‘some guy’ had called. I thought it might have been the upholsterer or one of the gentlemen I’ve been doing business with down on the highway. There are so many antique dealers, so many artisans and artists, that I haven’t even attempted to keep track of them all. So when it was David on the phone I can only explain my reaction as being taken aback.
I suppose David’s a bit interested in me. I’m flattered. I’m also feeling that I’m out of my league. That’s adding to whatever stresses Alex is putting out tonight.
I would like, very much, for my day to be over, to be snug in my own space and alone with my thoughts. That’s not to be, though, at least not right away. I have dishes to clear, pots to scrub; I have a lovely dessert, too, a blueberry cobbler that’s warming in the oven and filling the room with its fragrance. Ice cream to go on top, too. There’ll have to be coffee with that, and then the cleaning of those plates, cups, even down to the coffee pot.
And while I’m going through the motions of my job Alex will be sitting there at the table with weighty things on his mind, that scowl on his face, and I’ll be wondering if he’s going to blow up or implode.
I’d love to know how Juliette can just sit there and basically ignore Alex. How she can continue to chat with him, or more to the point AT him, and not acknowledge that he’s being moody and quiet and just plain odd. What’s her trick? I would love to know so I can do it, too, so I can put those sad, miserable brown eyes on ignore instead of feeling like I’ve done something to cause them to be so sad and miserable.
At this minute, I know why Alex is alone. Who would want to be with someone for any length of time who does this? As soon as I have the thought, I feel terrible for having it. Who am I to think that? Do I not have my own bad days and good days? And what do I know of this person sitting across the table from me? What do I REALLY know?
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I have to let this go. I’m like a frickin’ pit bull when I’m like this, when I’m worryin’ something to death. And that’s what I’m doin’. I’m makin’ something out of what is probably nothin’. A phone call; I’m letting a fucking phone call ruin my dinner, my day, my night. I’m SUCH an asshole.
So Shi is gonna meet with someone. So? I can’t do anything about it. Not a damn thing. She’s her own person. Has been since she walked in the door. It’s one of the many, many things I like about her. So I’m not about to say anything to her. She DOES have her own life, even if I don’t want to, you know, really KNOW that . I like to think of her always bein’ here at the poolhouse. Hell, she’s only just gotten here, it’s not like she’s been a piece of the place forever.
Just feels that way.
Or maybe that’s just the way I want it to feel, so that I can be okay with likin’ her a little too much for my own good. For her own good, too. I’m still too fucked up to be worth a damn to anyone. And I know that. I know that, I just don’t like to think about it. So I’m not gonna think about it now. It would only make me feel worse than I already do. It’d make me spoil things. I’m sorta on the edge of spoilin’ things now anyway. I can tell ‘cause Juli is talkin’ away and not sayin’ a damn thing.
“Have you had enough?” Shi asks me.
I didn’t even see her get up. Never felt her standin’ next to me. But there she is, holdin’ her own plate with her empty hand out for mine. I’ve been sittin’ here staring at the food she made, food she made for me, and not eatin’ it, not appreciating it, not doing anything but staring and wondering who some random guy is that may or may not be in the life of this women.
And I look at her and it takes everything in me to not throw my arms around her and hug her to me; to rest my head right there on her stomach and have her hold me back. I want to do that so much I can feel the muscles in my arms twitching. I can see myself doin’ it. I can.
Who knows. Maybe if Juliette wasn’t here I would do it. I’ve been impulsive like that. I could make it like a joke, even, and probably get away with it. Maybe Shi would even laugh, instead of lookin’ at me the way she’s lookin’ at me. She’s got blind eyes. She’s not lookin’ at me at all, she’s lookin’ through me. And I’m not answering her question, I’m tryin’ to stare at her so she’ll see me.
“Yeah, I’m done,” I say, when her eyes don’t respond. But I don’t let her take the plate. I get up and take it myself, take it to the sink and scrape what’s on it into the garbage disposal.
This is not her fault. I keep tellin’ that to myself. This is NOT her fault. How I feel, it’s only how I feel. She has nothin’ to do with it, ‘cause she’s not doin’ anything to make me feel like this. She’s just bein’ herself and she hasn’t got a clue about anything. Well, other than the fact that I’m bein’ a ragin’ asshole.
“I’m sorry,” I say to Shi. My voice is a whisper; I don’t want Juliette to hear me.
“What?”
Shit, she didn’t hear me. I look at her, expecting those eyes of hers to still be blank. But they’re not. Maybe they never were, maybe that’s just what I thought I saw. Her eyes are the usual green-blue wonders they are.
“I’m sorry,” I say, and my voice is even softer, but I know that she’s hearin’ me now by the way those eyes go wide. “I’m bein’ a bigger asshole than usual tonight, and, well, I’m sorry. It’s just me.”
“You’re not an, an asshole, Alex.”
Why can’t I keep my lips from twitching into a smile? Why does she have to sound so adorable when she curses? Why do I have to feel the way I do?
Her lips twitch, too, and the tension between us seems to just disappear.
“Are you sure you’ve had enough?” she asks me again, and she holds the huge bowl of pasta our meal came from up to me like an offering.
Have I had enough?
Not nearly.
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© 2003 Chandrah, Inc.
© 2003 (*> Baby Bird Productions, Inc.
