Page 74 of Dirty Diana
I wonder if Oliver is looking for me in the crowd. But I don’t actually want to know. In my heart, I know he’s not.
I finally let myself out of the bathroom and spend another hour making small talk at the party. Then Oliver and I find each other and agree it’s time to head home.
—
We return to a quiet house. I fight my instinct to ask what he’s thinking. To reach out to him and spin what happened in his childhood bedroom as something positive. I want to believe it was a step forward, not back.
Oliver drives the sitter home, then lies down in bed beside me.
In the dark, I ask, “You know what you said to me—a few weeks ago?” I can’t help myself. I need to know where we stand. “About us being in quicksand. Do you still feel—”
“Diana.” He doesn’t let me finish. “Aren’t you tired? Let’s just lie here for a while.” He turns on his back. “I still haven’t figured out where we are.”
My heart is pounding in my chest. “But we need to.”
“Not tonight.” He gets up and grabs a blanket from the bed, which means he plans to sleep on the couch.
“Maybe we should take a break,” I say in a desperate bid for his attention. I regret the words as soon as they leave my lips.
“You want to take abreak?” He looks at me. “We’re not going steady, Diana. We’re married.”
It works. I have his attention. And now I don’t know what to do with it. I hold it briefly in my hands and immediately want to set it down, somewhere, anywhere. “Something needs to change. Maybe we need to shake it up. We could take a break for a few weeks to figure out how we feel?” Even as I speak, I’m thinking less about the words tumbling out of me and more about how I want Oliver to respond. He’ll snap out of his iciness and come to his senses. He’ll pull me close and wrap his arms around me. We’ll apologize to each other at the same time.
But he doesn’t do any of that. “Okay.”
“Okay?” I echo into the dark room.
“Yeah.” He gropes on the floor for his pants. “Let’s take a break. This is all too much.”
I turn on the bedside lamp and we both squint into the light. This has all gotten so out of hand. “What should I tell Emmy?”
“Is Emmy the only reason you’re even in this anymore? Emmy, and this.” Oliver waves his arms around, taking in the room, the house. “If the house disappeared tomorrow, if we hadn’t had Emmy, would you even still want to be with me?”
Oliver’s words hang in the air for a second too long. I reel at the thought of making a choice like that—of having that choice to make. “I’d never wish away our life.”
“That’s exactly my point. You would never wish away ourlife.You’d just wish awayme.”
“Oliver.” My head spins. “No. You’re twisting things—”
“Diana. You’re right. We need some space. Because I’m out of ideas.” He’s grown suddenly calmer, as if a task that’s been plaguing him has finally been crossed off his to-do list.
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know.” He finds his running shoes and laces them, sitting at the edge of the bed. “A hotel. I think it’s a good idea. Let’s take a few weeks, a month. See what happens.”
My mouth goes completely dry. I try again. “But Emmy…”
“I agree with you—I don’t think this version of us is healthy for her. I’ll still pick her up from school and bring her home.”
“And the weekends?” What are the right questions to be asking? What’s the question that will break the spell—the one that will make us both see this is silly—this isn’t us, we aren’t here, not yet.
“I don’t know, Diana. We’ll figure it out.”
“Wait…”
“What?” It isn’t coldness in his voice now, it’s sorrow.
“You’re just going to leave?”
