Five Things I Can't Live Without (30 page)

No, he could just kick me out. I could soon be homeless. How would I get another apartment? I hadn’t been saving very much each month; my whole standard of living had been predicated on my cheap rent with Dan. I’d spent my Derek windfall. I didn’t have the first month’s rent, last month’s rent, and security deposit I’d need to get an apartment of my own. Even if I humiliated myself by borrowing the money from my mother (
oh, God, talking to my mother
), I wouldn’t be able to pay my own rent and bills each month on what I was currently making. I’d have to answer an ad for another Fara. I could have just sent myself back to my pre-Dan life: a roommate I hated, a cat that waddled, despair over ever finding someone as wonderful as Dan.

What had I been thinking, telling him that? Oh, God. I hadn’t been thinking. My meta-life had crapped out on me at the most inopportune time, when I had a secret to keep. The one thing my meta-life usually provided me with was a sense of caution. The more I thought about it, the more insane it seemed. I had just thrown away my relationship because Dan tried to make me laugh by acting like a monkey.

Why hadn’t I thought through the ramifications? Why had I acted so rashly? I mean, the first and most obvious ramification was that instead of changing our dynamic, Dan would never want to see me again. Once he got some time away from me, he might realize that I was more trouble than I was worth. Me and my meta-life. Me and my self-doubt. Why should he put up with a woman who couldn’t just be happy and secure in what she had?

I was too distressed to cry. I couldn’t seem to activate any sort of release valve. I just kept thinking:
you lost him, you lost him, you lost him,
on a continuous loop. Finally I couldn’t take it anymore. I took two sleeping pills, and when that didn’t work, I took a third. This was not a suicide attempt; it was a desperate measure to stop the barrage in my head. It worked. I slept.

The next day was one of the worst of my life. I woke up groggy and instinctively reached for Dan. It flooded back to me, what I had done and the possible consequences, and that’s when the tears started. I cried for hours, pummeling myself mercilessly.
You, with your juvenile need for excitement. You, with your ridiculous expectations. You and your fear of commitment. You and your inability to coast. Why couldn’t you just coast? You stupid, stupid bitch, why didn’t you just coast?

I wanted to call Dan every minute. I wanted him to call me every second. I carried the phone into the bathroom with me just in case he called while I was in there. He never called. Of course he never called.

I wondered what he was doing just then, if he could focus at work, if his calm had given way to rage, if he had just shut off his love for me like a faucet. I believed he could do that. He had that kind of emotional control. I, on the other hand, had none.

I can say that those first twenty-four hours afforded me a clarity of thought, feeling, and purpose I’d never experienced before. All I wanted was for Dan to come home. Every last fiber of me was in agreement. I ached for him, 100 percent. I missed him to the
nth
degree.

“I’m dying here,” I moaned to Kathy on Thursday night, exactly twenty-four hours since Dan had left. I had barely left the bed except to sniff Dan’s clothing and to microwave bowls of oatmeal that I couldn’t eat. I had my laptop next to me, and had been logged on to my e-mail all day. Just about every five minutes, I’d been clicking the “refresh” button to see if anything from Dan had appeared. It never did. I thought it never would, but I couldn’t stop. Recrimination, then “refresh;” more recriminations, then “refresh.” It was the most soothing self-flagellation.

“I know what you mean,” Kathy said. I knew that she, of all people, really did get it. I had not fully appreciated her suffering when it came to Stephen before this moment. “But it’s the uncertainty that’s killing you. You don’t know whether to hope or to grieve. But by Monday, you’ll know.”

“I can’t do it! I can’t make it until then!” I wailed.

“What option do you have?”

“To call him and tell him I can’t take it.”

“No. That is the one thing you can’t do. You can’t force his hand. Remember when you were a kid, and you’d nag your mother for an answer, and she’d say, ‘If you need an answer right now, your answer is no’? It’s the same principle here. You push for certainty, and you’ll get certainty, and you’ll be sorry.”

I sobbed openly then.

“Oh, Nora,” Kathy said softly.

“I want him to come back. Why won’t he just come back?” I gurgled through my tears. “I need him to come back …”

“I know you feel that way now, and I know that you love Dan. But you’ve nursed me through some dark hours, so know that I’m saying this because I truly love you. You made the choice to tell Dan. You were that desperate for something to change. You were that desperate to never hear Dan make another monkey noise. I know it hurts now, but you need to maintain some perspective.”

“No! I made a mistake! It was a mistake, and I need to call Dan and tell him that. I need to take back what I said.”

“Listen to me. You know I hate hearing you suffer, and I’d do anything I could to make this hurt less. But you have to suffer on your own. You can’t ask Dan to relieve you of it. I’m telling you, if you don’t respect his decision not to talk to you right now, you will lose him.”

I couldn’t answer; I was still crying too hard. But I knew she was right. Whatever strategies I came up with to make it until Monday, they couldn’t include calling Dan. “Could I e-mail him?” I whimpered.

“NO!” Kathy took a deep breath, then said in a deliberately hopeful voice, “He’s still willing to salsa dance with you. That must say something.”

“It says he honors his commitments. We told Roxy we’d be there. See the symbolism?
He
honors his commitments.”

“You honored your commitment. You had a guy who looked like Jude Law—Jude Law!—just waiting for you to plant one on him and you went home to Dan. You had a perfectly ordinary moment of weakness, and if Dan can’t forgive you for that, he doesn’t deserve you.”

“Thank you,” I choked out. “Though now that I think about it, he didn’t look that much like Jude Law.”

“So you’ve got about four days until you see Dan. During that time, there is nothing you can do to change the outcome, right? So you can spend it abusing yourself, or you can spend it doing something productive. Have you started writing your article?”

“What are you thinking, asking me that? I’m in pain here.”

“Some of the best writing comes out of pain,” Kathy said helpfully.

“I can’t think straight, let alone write.” I balled up a tissue and threw it across the room. It landed softly among its fellow wads.

“When you can’t think straight, that’s the perfect time to start writing. Do something you can lose yourself in.”

“Why are you suddenly on a mission to make me write?”

“Because your life is more than Dan. I just think you should recognize that.”

“I don’t think I have much to say about bridges right now.”

“Then write something else,” Kathy said. “Do
not
spend the next four days crying and moaning. I beg of you, do not do it. When Dan comes to pick you up, let him see that you’re a strong, worthwhile person, not a quivering mess.”

“And how are you?” I asked abruptly, in a feeble attempt to emerge from my self-absorption. “How’s Matt?”

“We’re fine. We’re good,” she said. “Now go write.”

I considered her advice. Then I clicked “refresh” and took sleeping pills. The next day, I woke to insistent knocking on the door. After a few groggy seconds, I bolted upright. Dan! I looked down at my nightgown and touched my tangled hair. I didn’t want him to see me like this, but I wanted nothing more than to see him. I practically ran to the door, and that’s when I heard the baby crying. My disappointment was so acute that there were tears in my eyes when I opened the door.

“Nora,” Sonya said. There were probably few more pathetic sights than me, and her eyes were filled with sympathy. I was so pathetic, in fact, that she didn’t even seem to be paying attention to Palance’s screams. Her maternal instinct had a greater target for the moment.

“Hi, Sonya,” I said. I was ashamed of my current state, and more ashamed to have brought it on myself.

“Could we come in?” she asked.

“Sure. Of course. Yeah.” I moved aside self-consciously and she walked in.

“This is nice,” she said, and I remembered she had never been here before. “Masculine, but nice.” She surveyed the living room. “That bar is—”

“Yeah, I know, it’s beautiful,” I cut her off.

Now she looked a little embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I guess you don’t want to hear me talk about the apartment.”

“No, it’s not that. I’m just—I’m going crazy here.” I gestured toward myself. I wanted her to know that I knew. I mean, I was starting to smell. I had a knot in my hair that I’d probably have to cut out with scissors someday. “As if you can’t tell, right?”

“Is it okay if I put Palance down and let him explore a little?” she asked.

“Sure. Yeah. You can do whatever you want.” I sank down on the couch, and she put Palance on the floor before sitting down beside him.

“I should have called first, I know. I just thought you might not answer the phone, and I was kind of worried about you. From what Larissa said—”

“I was kind of a basket case when I talked to Larissa.” I laughed in spite of myself. “As you can see, I’ve come a long way.”

Sonya laughed, too; then we looked at each other for a long minute. “I wanted to tell you I’m sorry for the bad advice.”

“What?” I asked, confused.

“For saying you should tell Dan. I feel kind of responsible for what happened here. I mean, obviously you really love Dan and want to be with him and that’s the important thing. I talked to Chris about it, and—”

“Sonya, you’ve got nothing to be sorry for. I made the decision on my own to tell Dan. A split-second decision that’s mine to regret, not yours. And I do regret it. I’ve been doing nothing but regretting it.” I was about to cry again. “I fuck everything up, Sonya. Why do I fuck everything up?”

She moved to the couch beside me and put her arm around me. I leaned into her gratefully and wept. It felt good to be touched; it seemed to suggest that I would be touched again someday, whatever my current situation was, however momentarily repugnant I was. After a few minutes, I stopped crying. That’s when I noticed that Palance was crawling toward us, his own eyes dry and bright. The boy was pure possibility.

“God, Sonya, he’s magical, isn’t he?” I said.

“Sometimes I really think so,” she said as we both watched his progress.

Chapter 20

W
hile I showered, Sonya went through the cupboards and refrigerator to find something for me to eat. It felt good to be clean and wearing a bra, but there was a certain disorientation to it, too; I imagine it was a little like the first day out of the sanitarium. I wasn’t sure I was fully out yet, but I had an afternoon pass.

Sonya offered to make grilled cheese, which she knew was comfort food for me, and I took her up on it while I sat holding Palance. Dan never left my thoughts, but he receded a bit.

Sonya stayed the whole afternoon. We watched bad television, and spoke whatever came to mind. Finally she said she should get back home, but she said it regretfully. We hugged tightly at the door.

“I’ve really missed you, you know?” she said.

I hadn’t known. I’d thought her life was full, with Palance and all those Mommy & Me friends. “I’ve really missed you, too.”

“You’re going to be okay. He’s coming back, or someone better is coming along. I swear, that’s how it works.”

I nodded, and we smiled at each other. I leaned in to nuzzle Palance. “Thank you so much for coming here.”

“We were glad to do it, weren’t we, Palance?” His hands were entwined in my hair, and she extricated them gently. She obviously expected him to protest, and when he didn’t, she jiggled him up and down happily. “Did you see that? He didn’t even cry.”

“Another milestone.”

I watched her walk down the hall, my smile fading. One day down, three more to go.

Alone again, I plunged back into fear and sadness. Despite Sonya’s optimistic theory that either it would be Dan or someone better, I was sure there was no one better, and that Dan’s very goodness was the reason he was likely to never be with me again. Dan would leave me, and I’d burn in the hell of my own making.

These sorts of thoughts dogged me into the next day. I knew I actually needed to do something, take some sort of action, and I had resigned myself to the fact that it would not involve contacting Dan. I had also resigned myself to the fact that he wouldn’t be contacting me before Monday, which meant I only checked my e-mail every half hour. I tried to follow Kathy’s advice and lose myself in writing, but it was no use. My mind was a minefield that I couldn’t escape. Then it came to me, on a whim, and it seemed so obviously, thoroughly right that I couldn’t believe it hadn’t come to me sooner. I’d find Sonora Watson, someone who knew the meaning of life.

The perfection of my plan was confirmed by how easy it was to locate her. Just a quick Internet search, and I had her phone number and address in Napa. I dialed with only the vaguest idea of how to introduce myself (“I’m a big fan!” might smack too much of Kathy Bates holding James Caan hostage), but I figured my very earnestness would speak volumes. Sonora had been a therapist and would probably want to help someone like me, and as a writer, she’d like knowing she had touched someone so deeply. Good for her soul, good for her ego. It seemed foolproof.