But in the harsh morning after, she wasn’t sure anymore. She’d seen Ryan’s fears manifested as rage for the first time last night. Over their decade together they’d had their fair share of fights, even some throw-down shouting matches, but never had she seen that seething, boiling cauldron of rage spilling over into the fire. Any question of “could they come back from this” would have to be asked alongside another.
In the Banksy graffiti of her mind, she saw the second question, written in chalk, below the first: “And if we could, do I still want to?”
Whatever she’d deserved, for whatever he felt she’d done, and whatever she’d deserved if she’d been negligent somehow, she hadn’t deserved the rage. Her phone buzzed again, the third time. A glance at the screen revealed a text from Paige. “Please let me know you’re okay.”
She stared at it. If only they’d called back, before the party. Maybe they could’ve sat down and figured out a way forward, the four of them. Bruce and Paige’s stubbornness on the issue hurt, too. With a scowl, Jennifer unlocked her phone, hit ok and sent it, then flipped it over on the counter.
Since the beginning of this crazy adventure, everybody had told her to be unafraid to explore what she wanted, to let it out. To be. The two times she’d really done that, let her feelings be known, done something unexpected and new, the truth had become clear: Be yourself, but not that much.
“Fuck that,” she said, this time aloud, under her breath. The family six seats down didn’t hear.
Her face hardened as shame and guilt gave way to her own anger.
She’d been betrayed, after all. By everybody guiding this thing. Like parents running behind a bike, saying they wouldn’t let go, they wouldn’t let go. But they had let go, and she’d ridden. Until the parents had stepped forward, grabbed the seat, and flung her to the ground.
Fuck.
A United plane came in low above the oasis, landing gear down, roaring toward the airport. She sighed, longing for the days there with her grandmother. To be only six, or seven, or eight. So many years ahead. So many mistakes yet to make. So many pleasures left to feel. The simplicity of childhood had an unexpected allure. God, even to go back to high school again. Before life had become rote.
Though high school me wouldn’t have gotten fucked the way I did last night, she thought with a burst of a laugh. No, siree.
She’d go back home eventually, sure, but for now she wanted to watch the planes. Maybe later she’d even respond with a more complete message to Paige and Bruce’s separate concerned texts. But not now, not yet.
She hoped that when she did get around to responding, or to going home, she’d know what to say. At the moment, she was at a loss. She felt like she ought to apologize to all involved, but that was the guilt talking wasn’t it? Even so, starting with an apology, even a vague one for “my part in everything,” never hurt. She damned sure felt like she deserved apologies, too, though. From all involved. For everything.
What does one say, when waiting for something they may not hear? When waiting for something specific that the other person might not even feel? Does one start the dialog, throw things on the table?
Or, if history was any indication here, and Jennifer Lambert had a feeling it might be, does one simply sit in polite silence and hope for spontaneous improvement?
There was always a chance of that, and silence brought less stinging pain.
The pain that accompanied silence was bearable.
44
The snow melted. The ground thawed. March gave way to April, which threatened to turn to May.
Jennifer and Ryan’s conversation had become, “Excuse me,” and vague polite questions about dishes, garbage, or who would to park in the garage that night in weeks. Little more. Not since the evening after that party, when they’d tried to talk about it.
“I think we should talk,” Jennifer had said, when she finally arrived home, around 9:00 that evening.
Ryan had been sitting in the living room in the dark. “Okay,” he’d said.
She’d stood for a moment longer, then sat on the couch opposite him, leaving the room dim, lit by the street lamp outside, and the hall light peeking in. “You drank too much.”
There it was. Drank too much. His fault he drank too much. His fault he drank too much and made a scene. He nodded, but realized she might not make it out in the dim light, said, “I did.”
“And you didn’t care what I had to say.”
He looked over, in the dark. He could see her silhouette, but not her face, save two pinpoints of light reflected in her eyes. He thought she was looking down. “You didn’t say anything.”
“When?”
He heard anger in her voice now.
“When would I have said something? When you charged into the room and started yelling?”
“Wait,” said Ryan.
“When you threw my dress at me and told me we were leaving?”
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
“When the fuck could I have said something, Ryan? Maybe on the way home while you alternately seethed and snored? Maybe then?”
She was right. There hadn’t been a time for her to say something because he hadn’t given her time.
“When I said that you didn’t care what I had to say, Ryan,” she took a deep breath and leveled the anger out of her voice, “I meant you didn’t bother to ask me what I had to say.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“So what was it, Ryan?”
The repetition of his name reinforced how upset she was with him. Even though she’d dialed her anger down to the appearance of calmness, he could feel it beneath the surface. Beneath the surface, Ryan.
Could he say what it was? Even here in the dark? “You shouldn’t have fucked Bruce.”
Silence from Jennifer, then, “Why not?”
He opened his mouth, and nothing came out.
“No, really,” she said. “Because I should’ve come ask you first? Like you’re in charge of the keys?”
He felt a weight was on his chest. “That’s not what—”
“Did you come ask me about Julianne?”
“I didn’t fuck—”
“Did you want to?”
He had. Well, maybe. “Yes.”
“So what was it?”
“I don’t know!” he shouted.
“You know, I spent all last night worrying about the horrible thing that I’d done wrong. That I fucked two people instead of one. Or that I fucked Bruce, and he was somehow off limits because… something.” Her voice dropped lower. “You told me you wanted me to do what made me most happy.”
“Yes.”
“Was that a lie?”
“No.” It hadn’t been a lie. He did truly want that. “I also asked you to check on me.”
“I did, you were making out with Julianne!”
Hell of a moment to check on him, hadn’t that been? “You caught the one and only kiss.”
“Is that my fault?”
He didn’t say anything for a long time. “I was lonely.”
“In a house full of people.”
It hadn’t mattered how many people were around. The loneliness had run through his veins. “No one was interested in me. They were all interested in you.”
“That’s absolutely not true.”
“That’s the way it felt.”
Jennifer stared into the darkness at Ryan, his vague figure slumped on the couch across from her. She shook her head and set her jaw. “I’m sorry you felt lonely.” She took a deep breath. “And I’m sorry that you felt that no one was interested in you, while they were all interested in me. But that’s just your perception of the evening. And part of that perception was thanks to the sheer volume of alcohol you had, and how poorly you held it.”