Page 52 of What It's Like in Words
Yes! I’ve just had a busy week!
I told him that I appreciated him saying that he was happy for me, but something in my tone provoked him because he continued, livelier: Iamhappy, I’m thrilled that Amy thought of someone other than herself.
I told him that Amy had been nothing but supportive. And it’s not a competition. There’s room for everyone! He snorted and called me naïve.
The rain was coming down outside, and the wind rattled the windows. His rucksack was against the wardrobe, with his manuscript protruding from the top, marked with red scribbles. He was struggling. I had to be patient. I needed tounderstand.
I touched his chest and told him that as soon as he sent the book off, his life would change, but he pulled the duvet up and told me not to patronize him. I’m a “privileged straight white man,” as everyone is so keen to remind me. No one cares how good my book is when my voice is worthless.
I didn’t mean to laugh, but it seemed absurd. Come on, you can’tthink that your voice is worthless. Your voice is dominant! Look at the world right now. I mean, Donald Trump is running for president!
He said that I was deliberately missing the point. I asked what the point was, and he said that diversity shouldn’t be a genre. I said that it shouldn’t be a scapegoat either. He turned his body to me. A scapegoat for what?
My pulse increased.
My failure?
No! You’re not a failure! You’re notfailing. Your writing is brilliant.
His eyes flashed, and the fight that had been floating in the shallows surfaced. He was angry now, shirtless and broad with dark coarse hairs, and I was a child in a pensioner’s nightgown. You’re lucky, he said, sarcasm like an undercurrent. You don’t have to worry about being brilliant when you have Amy.
So that’s why he’s not happy for me.I dug my nail into my thumb. I asked him if that was why he didn’t want Patrick doing the illustrations. You don’t think the book is going to be good? He asked me how many weeks I had been hanging on tothatfor. I told him that he hadn’t even read it. He said that he didn’t recall my asking him to read it. I told him to stop doing that. Please justtalkto me.
What do you think I’m doing?
Trying to win an argument!
And you’re not trying to win the argument? Let’s recap. So far, you’ve attacked me for not throwing you a party about your news, which, considering the headspace I’m in, is pretty fucking selfish, and nowyou’relecturingmeabout privilege?
What do you mean by that?
I mean, Enola, that it’s easy to drift around working in a coffee shop when you had a flat bought for you in central London.
I put my palms over my eyes and stared into the red-black. When I had spoken to Ruth, my argument was logical, but now his argument sounded logical too. And yet he had been distant all week. I hadn’t made that up. But what if that distance was never aboutDiana? He didn’t have the time to see me, but he had seen Steph. He always had time for Steph. I dropped my hands and asked him what was happening.
We’re having an argument, Enola.
Yes, but why?
He smiled. Just say it.
I raised my eyebrow meaningfully. He punched the bed. I pinched my skin and held the pressure.
You see, this is what you do. We’re talking about one thing and you blow it into another. I will not argue about Steph. You are insane when it comes to her, Enola.
I hated that he thought that, like I was no better thanJessica.But I didn’t feel insane; I felt right. I told him that he texted Steph all the time, but I was lucky if I got a reply from him. He told me that I sounded like a child. I said that I was just asking a question. He asked what the question was, but I couldn’t remember. He told me that I was waiting for something to go wrong. Asking me if I’m okay. Looking at me with doe eyes. You want something to be wrong because you’re happier being miserable for some fucking reason.
That’s not fair, that’s—
He threw his head back. Fine, that’s notfair, whatever. But there is alwayssomething. I told you, Enola, I’m not your fucking therapist!
I told him that I didn’t want him to be my therapist; I wanted him to be my partner. He said that he was trying to be, but that it was fucking hard sometimes.Oh god.My throat felt like something was squeezed around it. I curled into myself to be alone. Whathadmy question been? When I felt the warmth of his hand on my back, I lifted back up.
Honey, you’ve never been in a long-term relationship before, have you? Have you considered that being in a relationship might not be for you? He lifted his hands like I had a gun pointed at him. Don’t take that the wrong way, relationships aren’t for everyone. Then he turned and fluffed his pillow.
Panic rose hot and dark. I hated him I hated him I hated him, but I couldn’t let him finish fixing the bedding. I asked him to listen. He said that he didn’t need this right now. He had a million things to do.That’s enough, Enola.He lay back and closed his eyes, but the silence was active. How could he turn off a fight like a light switch?
Can we please finish this? I said. You can’t let the sun go down on your anger.
