Page 80 of What It's Like in Words
You’re quiet this morning, honey.
I told him not to call me that. He laughed, an airy monosyllable. Sorry, baby girl.
I clenched my jaw.
Will you be here when I get back? he asked.
Not tonight.
I said that I had promised to help Ruth prepare for an interview. He joked that Ruth had a job interview every week. I told him that wasn’t funny, and he apologized. He explained that he had a case that wasn’t his area and he felt out of his depth. I was hoping to see you tonight. But if you need to be with Ruth, I totally understand, he said, looking at his shoes. I was about to protest, but he noticed a mark on the maroon leather, and I watched as he went to the kitchen, retrieved a shoe polish kit, cleaned the invisible stain, returned the kit, and then stood back by the door. He looked twice more at the shoe before looking to me.
Fine, I said. I’ll cancel with Ruth.
He went to kiss me, but I warned him that he would be late. He hesitated at the door. You know, Enola, you can talk to me.
What do you mean?
Just, if anything isn’t okay?
Virinder was looking at me with concern, but there was a smile in his eyes as if he wanted me to be upset so that he could comfort me. It was the opposite to howhewas; he recoiled at emotion. I wasn’t sure anymore which was worse.
I told Virinder that everything was fine, and he asked if I was sure. I wished that he would stop asking. How was I supposed toknow? Was I supposed to tell him my doubts before I understood them myself? And it wasn’t just the pressure to feel what he wanted me to feel; it was also his behavior. We always ended up doing what he wanted. But because the things that he wanted to do were nice, I couldn’t complain.
Yes, I’m sure. Go, you’re going to be late.
Okay, bye,Enola. He wanted me to laugh because he wasn’t calling me honey. But it wasn’t funny. I love you, he said.
See you later, I replied.
Virinder told me he loved me after two months, and I still hadn’t returned the words. I knew it was awful. I knew that I was doing to him what had been done to me. I could feel myself chilling and growing scales, my eyes turning black. I was looking at Virinder the way that I used to be looked at. And still, it was Virinder that I blamed. I wanted to take his love and beat it out of him.
He chuckled like my lack of love was a challenge. It’s okay. You’re still not ready. But I’m quietly confident…
The door shut, and a persistent hum settled beneath my skin. I looked at the canvasses of convertibles and strangers in coffee shops. I picked up the Italian colognes and caffeine shampoos. Time moved around me like hoovering around furniture; I didn’t even boil the kettle. Something was wrong, and it wasn’t just my doubts about the relationship. My period? A full moon? Perhaps it was the threat of change. It was the end of October. I was nearly thirty. America nearly had a new president. Then I received an email and understood.
Hi Enola,
Sorry that the first bit of news isn’t good, but we’ve had the first no. See below, but they said they didn’t connect with the voice. Don’t be disheartened. They are just one publisher. Onward!
Diana x
CHAPTER 28
November arrived before I was ready for it, and this morning I was thirty. Mum left a voicemail saying that she had posted something, but it hadn’t arrived. Louise had sent an e-card with the same design as last year. I rolled over and imagined that he was next to me.
Happy birthday, honey.
I kissed my hand and pretended it was his mouth.
Did you get everything you wanted?
What did I want?
Dad is living on the beach. Ruth and I have a joint birthday on the grassy bank where the seaweed curls to black, bulbous mounds.
Was it strange that Ruth hadn’t pushed me for birthday plans? Itwasmy thirtieth. But she had been busy. She had a second interview. She had just started seeing someone. Besides, I had told her that I didn’t want to do anything. I had no money, three more rejections, and I didn’t want to celebrate with Virinder. I had made a plan to see him on Sunday, which gave me two days to decide what I wanted.
I got out of bed and went to the kitchen. The sky was white like it might snow. I turned on the radio, filled the kettle and waited for it to boil. I looked at my face, pale and warped, in the kettle. Every year it would get worse. My jaw would drip to my neck until my face became a skull like the ones that we saw in museums on school trips. I stood wondering if other people found it this hard to understand themselves, and then made a cup of tea.
