for letting him. After a while, he said, “Your outfit reminds me of something. Summer, maybe, or backwoods camping. It’s very endearing.”
He led me over to the striped couch and sat me down on the cushion with the squeaky spring. “I’ll get you something to drink. Alcohol probably isn’t a good idea.”
He brought me orange juice in a glass from a set I’d bought him that had been similar to his mother’s long lost ones. “Where did you find these?” he’d said that day, looking as pleased as a little boy.
“Try to calm down,” Rhinehart was saying, and I thought of Hallie back in our snug place, watching a movie on the papasan chair, assuming I was in my room sleeping. Or maybe she’d found me out. She was right. I shouldn’t have come.
I felt a rush of anger. I hated him and was on the verge of saying so, but the thought of it brought on another wave of tears. “You’re such an asshole.”
He let go of me, and I sat down on the couch, still huffing.
He said, “How did we get here, you and me? You never think a relationship will get to this place and then it does. Listen, forget Natasha—”
Even the mention of her name stung. “I can’t forget her. The scene keeps replaying itself in my head over and over.”
“Suspend the movie for minute.”
This gave me a glimmer of hope. “So you’re not seeing her?”
“No. I’m not. You’re the only person I’ve been with since I arrived here. And you are more than enough for one man.”
I squinted at him to see if he was lying.
“But the relationship between us isn’t healthy anymore. Tatie—” He grabbed my knees. “You must see that. You must see how miserable you are with me.”
But I was miserable apart from him, too. That was the problem. I started to say that if we got back together but were more careful, maybe seeing each other only a few times a week, not overdoing it like we usually did.
He was shaking his head. “It’s a trick to think we can change it. Every time it gets worse. It’s excruciating to keep trying. It’s pathological.”
“But I love you,” I said, choking it out. “I never loved anyone as much as I love you. I don’t want to be unhappy with you. Why are we?”
He didn’t say anything, although I knew he had theories. I had theories. He retreated into his work, abandoning me. He made me jealous. I cried all the time and felt inferior. We separated, ostensibly for my good, but he was the one who became more productive, while I skipped class to listen to sad music and write in my journal about him. I didn’t want to discuss these things again. He put his arms around me, and I leaned into his chest and breathed in his cologne, trying to pretend none of what had happened over the past two months had happened at all.
The rest of the evening I remember as a nauseating daze, lying like that for a while, then kissing, then him pulling back, another argument after he said that we’d done the right thing by splitting up and that we needed to move on.
“I just need to feel better,” I said, trying to crawl into his bed. The sheet was too tight, and I had to jerk it back. “I just want to go to sleep and wake up again and feel better.” I wanted him to join me, but he stayed on the other side of the room, arms crossed. Then he left. The light clicked off. I stayed behind, holding myself in his bed.
• • •
Hallie remembered this story. She also remembered how, after graduation, suddenly I was interested in moving to New York City with her when originally I’d wanted to go to Seattle. “And then you get here, and he can’t even make time to meet you for a cup of coffee.”
I felt the need to defend our relationship. Its significance. “It’s difficultwhen there’s so much emotion and intensity. We were incredibly close.”
“This is what I was afraid of!” she said. “The rewriting of history. You were together for less than a year—and most of the time, you didn’t even seem
He led me over to the striped couch and sat me down on the cushion with the squeaky spring. “I’ll get you something to drink. Alcohol probably isn’t a good idea.”
He brought me orange juice in a glass from a set I’d bought him that had been similar to his mother’s long lost ones. “Where did you find these?” he’d said that day, looking as pleased as a little boy.
“Try to calm down,” Rhinehart was saying, and I thought of Hallie back in our snug place, watching a movie on the papasan chair, assuming I was in my room sleeping. Or maybe she’d found me out. She was right. I shouldn’t have come.
I felt a rush of anger. I hated him and was on the verge of saying so, but the thought of it brought on another wave of tears. “You’re such an asshole.”
He let go of me, and I sat down on the couch, still huffing.
He said, “How did we get here, you and me? You never think a relationship will get to this place and then it does. Listen, forget Natasha—”
Even the mention of her name stung. “I can’t forget her. The scene keeps replaying itself in my head over and over.”
“Suspend the movie for minute.”
This gave me a glimmer of hope. “So you’re not seeing her?”
“No. I’m not. You’re the only person I’ve been with since I arrived here. And you are more than enough for one man.”
I squinted at him to see if he was lying.
“But the relationship between us isn’t healthy anymore. Tatie—” He grabbed my knees. “You must see that. You must see how miserable you are with me.”
But I was miserable apart from him, too. That was the problem. I started to say that if we got back together but were more careful, maybe seeing each other only a few times a week, not overdoing it like we usually did.
He was shaking his head. “It’s a trick to think we can change it. Every time it gets worse. It’s excruciating to keep trying. It’s pathological.”
“But I love you,” I said, choking it out. “I never loved anyone as much as I love you. I don’t want to be unhappy with you. Why are we?”
He didn’t say anything, although I knew he had theories. I had theories. He retreated into his work, abandoning me. He made me jealous. I cried all the time and felt inferior. We separated, ostensibly for my good, but he was the one who became more productive, while I skipped class to listen to sad music and write in my journal about him. I didn’t want to discuss these things again. He put his arms around me, and I leaned into his chest and breathed in his cologne, trying to pretend none of what had happened over the past two months had happened at all.
The rest of the evening I remember as a nauseating daze, lying like that for a while, then kissing, then him pulling back, another argument after he said that we’d done the right thing by splitting up and that we needed to move on.
“I just need to feel better,” I said, trying to crawl into his bed. The sheet was too tight, and I had to jerk it back. “I just want to go to sleep and wake up again and feel better.” I wanted him to join me, but he stayed on the other side of the room, arms crossed. Then he left. The light clicked off. I stayed behind, holding myself in his bed.
• • •
Hallie remembered this story. She also remembered how, after graduation, suddenly I was interested in moving to New York City with her when originally I’d wanted to go to Seattle. “And then you get here, and he can’t even make time to meet you for a cup of coffee.”
I felt the need to defend our relationship. Its significance. “It’s difficultwhen there’s so much emotion and intensity. We were incredibly close.”
“This is what I was afraid of!” she said. “The rewriting of history. You were together for less than a year—and most of the time, you didn’t even seem
Similar Books
