Page 72 of What It's Like in Words
“So, are you with him now?”
“I’m—”
“No, don’t answer that.”
He slumps and sweeps his hands through his hair, which bounces immediately back into place. When he emerges, his face is pink and his lips are pursed. “Why would you go back to someone who was shitty to you!”
“I didn’t say that I was back with him!”
“But hewasshitty to you, Ruth told me.”
Fuck’s sake, Ruth.
“Fine. But, Virinder, leveraging the shit I went through with my ex to benefit yourself is shitty too.”
Virinder breathes slowly and loudly, like he’s blowing up a balloon. I want to scream at him to say something. Finally, he speaks, but his sincerity makes me want to scream again.
“You know what I think?”
He waits for me to answer his rhetorical question.
“What do you think, Virinder?”
“I think I’m too nice for you and that’s not what you want.”
I want to laugh. It’s the idea that there are just two types of men available to women: the Bad Boy and the Nice Guy. If we don’t want the Nice Guy, it’s because he is too nice. It’s just a myth perpetuated by the opposite sex to soften the blow of being dumped. It’s the compliment attached to rejection:I was just too nice for her.It’s a clever weapon, really, because it’s such an innocuous word: “nice.” Nice guys deserve girlfriends. Nice guys are entitled to girlfriends. Nice guys earn girlfriends. Nice isn’t a personality trait or a characteristic; it’s an adjective for a tablecloth. It’s the bare minimum. It’s what womenhaveto be or they’ll be called a bitch.
She’s not worth it, mate, leave her. Bitch.
“Virinder. I’m sorry but I never asked you over with any intention of things happening.”
Virinder stands and moves to the bedroom door, folding his arms like punctuation. Mean doesn’t suit him. He is a child learning emotions from a nursery chart: this is what anger looks like, this is what sadness looks like. This is whatnicelooks like.
“Why did you invite me over, then, Enola? You clearly knew how I felt!”
I put my head in my hands. “I don’t know, okay? It was a mistake.”
“I don’t understand you. Why won’t you give this a real chance?”
I look back up. “But we did give it a chance! We were together for nine months!”
“But you never let me in! Not really. I don’t understand. Why don’t you want to be happy?”
I rememberhiswords to me:Because you’re happier being miserable.Why is it that not being happy with them must mean that you’re not capable of happiness? I’m not happier being miserable. No one is happy being miserable.
“I do want to be happy!”
“Fine, be treated well, then—why don’t you want to be treated well?”
“I do! But I don’tjustwant to be treated well. I’m a woman, not a dog! Other things are important.”
“Such as?”
“Oh, I don’t know—shared interests, chemistry, a common sense of humor?”
“We have the same sense of humor!”
“Do we?”
