Anger, Defiance and Despair
Ben called Monday morning. That didn’t go well either. Apparently I’d agreed to send back the finished catalog by May 29th, but I could swear I remembered June 9th. He talked to me like I was a toddler who’d just dumped cocoa all over someone’s pristine white Persian rug. I could hear in his voice that he wanted nothing more than to tear into me, but he couldn’t quite let himself. The translation was still with me. Still, he made it very clear he was “hugely disappointed.” Fine. He said so. He wasn’t entirely wrong, but he could still go to hell. Why hadn’t he said something on Friday? If I’d worked through the night, he’d have had it by Saturday. What the hell was he waiting for until Monday? And on top of it, he came at me saying he was standing at the print shop with no idea what to tell them. Well, how about “Good morning, printers!” Christ.
So I didn’t sleep a wink from Monday into Tuesday. I finished that miserable, godawful catalog at seven in the morning. I swear I never want to do that shit again in my life. I don’t even want to look at it again. Next year, whatever it costs me, I’m not taking that job. Not even if it gets me fired.
After I sent it off, I couldn’t sleep properly. I felt like the morning after a wild party. Actually, worse than that. All my respect goes to people who work night shifts. I’d die.
That basically cost me two full days. Of course I was working on the telecom project the whole time too, and half of Wednesday morning went to fixing bugs. Which led to another all-nighter. And then another one after that. It felt like it would never end.
If it weren’t for Ryan, I don’t know how I’d have survived this week.
My sweetheart called early Monday morning to say he wanted to come over. My first thought was: God, no. I didn’t want my anger at Ben, the panic, and the self-pity to ruin the little time we had together. But a second later I changed my mind. What better remedy for a state like that than sex?
Well… I was wrong. It was indescribably good to finally see him, hold him, curl up against him — but when he walked out the door half an hour later, I nearly died. I wanted so badly for him to stay. But I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t show it.
He wanted to come by after work too, but I had to choose translating instead.
Wednesday evening we finally made up for the lost days. I got to hold him for a long time, wrap myself around him, stroke him. I needed his strong arms. His grip. I needed someone who, for once, wasn’t asking anything of me. I needed him to drown out Adele’s awful words and Ben’s “huge disappointment,” if only for a little while.
“Are you staying tonight?” slipped out of me.
“Why? Did you hit your daily quota?” he shot back, smiling.
He ran his fingers through my hair, then spread them wide and trailed slowly through it. Goosebumps ran down my whole body. I wanted him to stay. To stroke me, hold me, spoil me until morning. Instead of answering, I kissed him. He didn’t ask again. Gently, he rolled me onto my back and leaned over me.
Maybe it’s because he’s older than me. Maybe it’s because he has kids. Whatever the reason, Ryan can stay level-headed even when the temptation is real. He didn’t stay the night, because he knew I’d only sink further into work if he did. I hadn’t told him about last week’s telecom dressing-down or Ben’s Monday-morning outburst, but from the few half-sentences I’d let slip, he’d pieced together exactly how badly I was doing.
As for Adele, she knows perfectly well she crossed every line. She’s been lying low ever since. Haven’t heard a word from her. I know her. Her heart’s in the right place, but she can’t admit when she’s wrong. And apologizing is definitely not her thing. Whatever. Let her stew in it until she works up the nerve to come crawling back and apologize. You just don’t say something like that to anyone. Especially not to your best friend.
So I was surprised when Ben called Friday night, fairly late. I’d just walked Ryan out when my phone rang. The second I saw his name on the screen, my stomach dropped.
What the hell does he want now?
“What if we made up?” he asked, no preamble.
“I never fought with anyone,” I said flatly.
“Wow, your voice is so cold my ear just froze.”
I clapped a hand over my mouth to hold back a laugh threatening to escape. Oh no, not happening. I’m not some kid in preschool who forgives the second someone cracks a dumb joke. Even if I was the one at fault.
“Oh.”
I decided I wasn’t saying another word. Let him talk. He’s the adult here…
“Oh? That’s it? Oh?” he said, playing offended.
I sighed. “I’m sorry about the delay, like I already said in the email. But you know…” I swallowed hard. “If you’d told me on Friday, you wouldn’t have had to call me Monday standing at the printing press…”
Dead silence. My blood ran cold.
“I wasn’t standing at the printing press.”
I pulled the phone away from my ear and let out a silent breath. I waited a few seconds until I’d pulled myself together.
“I know.”
He breathed into the phone. Like he was holding back a laugh.
“It turned out perfect, by the way. I love it.”
“I’m glad.”
“So — truce, sealed with a sailing trip together? The exhibition is next weekend, you’re more than welcome to come, and the Saturday after that we set sail. What do you say?”
That was too much information to take in, process, and weigh all at once. So I didn’t even try.
“Sounds great,” I blurted.
Didn’t it, though?
Who cares about the work I lost? The bone-deep exhaustion? Let’s just make plans, sleep’s for the weak! Tough girls like me, doing the work of three people at once, don’t waste their time on something as trivial as rest. Instead we giggle with old men at some godforsaken exhibition, then go sailing…
God, I’m not right in the head.
I’ll figure out a way to wriggle out of it somehow.
Still, a huge weight lifted off my chest. I simply can’t stand it when people are mad at me. I couldn’t wait for the next day, to finally sleep with Ryan without holding anything back. I wanted to show him the wild passion in me hadn’t burned out. It had just been buried under the mountain of criticism I’d taken on the chin in a single week. Who wouldn’t be wrecked by that?
*
“How many serious relationships have you had?” Ryan asked, once his breathing and his heartbeat had slowly settled.
I was caught off guard. After a round that was… um… even more intense than usual, that wasn’t exactly the question I expected.
I pretended to think it over. I actually did think it over. First about why he wanted to know. Then about what the right answer would be. I didn’t want to lie. In the end I decided that the six-month relationship I’d had in high school, which felt like forever at the time, probably didn’t mean the same thing after a fifteen-year marriage.
“I never really wanted to commit to anyone,” I admitted after an awkward silence. “In college it was a lot easier to just keep things casual.”
God… why did I say that? It came out sounding like the only reason anyone hadn’t slept with me was that they hadn’t wanted to.
“I see,” he whispered, and kissed my forehead.
That was it.
Damn it.
I really am not right in the head.
Instead of simply saying one. Or two. He’d never check anyway. Where would he even look — some Great National Relationship Registry Catalog?
I didn’t ask him back. I just waited quietly for the subject to change. Unfortunately, Ryan had other plans.
“I’m more the clingy type. I like having a strong bond with my partner. Though I’ll admit, that has its upsides too,” he said, giving my shoulder a playful pat.
I swallowed. I wanted so badly to tell him that wasn’t true anymore, not even a little. That I wasn’t a college student, that I’d graduated three years ago, and that I’d grown up quite a bit since then. But the words wouldn’t come out.
Whatever. There’s no point slapping labels on relationships anyway. At least, not in my opinion.