Authors: Selena Kitt
The woman shook her head,
waving him away. “Just… why don’t you have her go lie down or something?”
“Or something,” Rick
repeated with a grimace, yanking Laura’s arm nearly out of its socket as he
headed toward the exit. She stumbled behind him, glad that her hair was hiding
her face. She could feel the eyes on them as they made their way out of the
cafeteria.
Rick was silent on the
elevator, but she knew his angry silences well enough. She tucked herself into
the corner, spent, and watched the number lights counting up to their floor.
When the doors opened, he remembered to grab her arm, pulling her along the
corridor to their room.
He found the key card and
opened the door, yanking and shoving her in front of him into the room as he turned
on the light. He slammed the door and Laura sat on the edge of the bed, wincing
when he threw her purse into a corner.
“What in the fuck was
that?” he demanded. “I asked you, ‘Do you want spaghetti?’… ‘Do you want
salad?’… ‘Do you want a banana?’… Did ‘no’ suddenly become ‘yes’ in your
fucked-up version of reality?”
Laura sank to the floor,
tears coming now. She wanted to speak, but realized she couldn’t, at least in
terms of the practice.
“You tell me you want me
to take the lead,” he went on, watching her slide down the side of the bed.
“But ‘The Great Gazoo’ must have a fucking crystal ball, because he’s right—you
don’t trust me to do it for a minute.”
She felt her whole body
clenching again, and she pulled her knees up to her chest, hiding her feet
under her skirt.
“
You
decide we
should come here.” He was pacing now, his hands behind his back. “
You
decide that this relationship guru is the next magic thing.” She watched his
jaw clenching and unclenching. “
You
decide that we’re going to do this
stupid practice.”
“What’s next?” He stopped
pacing, breathing hard. “
You
decide you want to end our marriage? Is
that the next decision on your checklist?”
Laura shook her head,
sobbing and wiping tears away with her palms. This wasn’t how this was supposed
to go at all.
“When do
I
get to
decide?” His voice was trembling and quiet. “When are you ever going to trust
me
to make a decision?”
Laura screamed. It wasn’t
a planned thing—it just came out of her. She grabbed her shoe and threw it at
him. He dodged and it hit the wall behind him.
“I wanted you to make a
decision!” she screamed, her voice hoarse from strain. “You spent that whole
time asking me what I wanted—and all I wanted was for
you to decide!
”
“That’s great.” Rick
snorted, shaking his head. “Except I’m not the Great Fucking Gazoo, ya know?
I’m Fred Flintstone, babe. I ain’t got a damned clue what you want—
unless
you tell me!
”
He sat on the chair near
the desk with a sigh, leaning his forehead against his palm. “It’s like you
either want to make all the decisions, fuck me and what I want—or you want me
to make them all, but you don’t want to tell me how you feel about my choices.”
She swallowed hard and her
lip was trembling. She knew he was right but she didn’t understand it.
“Sometimes I think you
pull stuff like that little Helen Keller incident downstairs just to sabotage
me.” Rick rubbed his eyes with his thumbs. “What I really think is that you
just want to find a way to blame it all on me when it’s fucked up.”
“Oh, Rick…” Laura felt
something break open in her chest. It was like an iceberg dislodging from a
glacier. “Oh my god…”
“And we’re failing right
now.” He looked sad. “We were supposed to do this practice, and here I thought
it would bring us closer. I’d finally get to hear what you want… and what
happens?”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered
with a sniff.
“You know how often I’ve
heard you say that over the years?” he asked as he sat forward in the chair,
his hands laced together between his knees. “I think I can count the times on
one hand.”
She didn’t look up at him.
She couldn’t.
“I think I deserve that
apology,” he said. “In fact, I think the entire cafeteria deserves that
apology.”
“What?” she whispered, her
eyes wide.
“Come on.” He held out his
hand to her. She shook her head, but she let him help her up.
“My shoe,” she said,
limping along.
“Forget it,” he replied,
and she sighed, kicking off her other one and following him barefoot. “And you
can stop talking. We’re still doing this practice.”
She swallowed, watching as
he hit the elevator button a few times while they waited. The trip down seemed
to go much faster than the one up. Rick was leading her back to the cafeteria;
she could hear the low rumble of talking and the clinking of glasses and
silverware.
“I can’t do this,” she
whispered, imagining how humiliating it would be to face everyone who had seen
her childish tantrum.
“I said stop talking.”
Rick pushed her in front of him as they went through the double doors. “It’s
just two words, Laura. I think you can manage.”
She felt faint, and she
knew it wasn’t from hunger. The thought of making a public apology made her
dizzy with fear and shame. She hung back by the doors as Rick went over to “The
Great Gazoo’s” table. She saw them talking for a moment, and then Gazoo said
something to the blonde man next to him, who took off.
Pacing, she watched them
talking, Rick squatting down next to Gazoo’s chair now, listening to what the
facilitator had to say. He was doing a lot of nodding. She glanced back at the
doors, considering going back up to their room. Lost in the fantasy of escape,
she imagined packing her suitcase, checking out, taking a taxi to the airport,
changing the tickets.
Rick was striding back
toward her and he pulled her with him as he turned and led her toward the other
end of the cafeteria. She saw the tall, blonde man that Gazoo had spoken with
standing there, and with dawning horror, she recognized the thing he was
carrying: a cordless microphones.
“No,” she whispered.
Rick looked back at her.
“Not another word, Laura,” he said. “I swear to God.”
The blonde guy handed the
microphone to Rick and he took it. “Is it on?”
“This button,” he said,
showing him.
Rick turned it on and
there was a brief sound of feedback that seemed to get everyone’s attention. He
cleared his throat and put the mic to his mouth.
“Excuse me.” He pulled his
wife forward as she began to shrink behind him. “Most of you probably witnessed
what happened here earlier, when my wife threw her dinner tray.”
Laura was staring at the
tiles, biting the inside of her cheek so hard she could taste blood.
Rick was leaning toward
her with the mic as he spoke. “She’d like to say something to all of you.”
“Two words,” Rick
whispered, holding the microphone up to her mouth.
Laura didn’t look up. She
could feel everyone’s eyes on her. If she had anything in her stomach, she knew
she would have thrown it up. She almost wished that were the case—maybe it
would get her out of this humiliating scene.
Why don’t you just leave?
That voice in her head was nagging her.
You don’t have to put up with this!
When she met her husband’s
eyes, she saw that they weren’t angry, or spiteful, or even gloating. It was as
if he could see right into her in that moment, like he knew just what she was
thinking and feeling, and it didn’t matter—he loved her. He was making her do
this terrible, awful, horrible thing, but he loved her. There was something in
that. Her eyes fell on Gazoo in the corner, and she remembered his words:
“Trust him.”
With that thought in her
mind, she opened her mouth and choked out, “I—I’m… sorry.”
He gave a satisfied nod,
flipped off the microphone and handed it over to the blonde guy. Rick had her
by the hand and was heading back toward the exit. Laura stumbled when she heard
the first wave of clapping start, turning to look back at the crowd of workshop
participants. Some were even standing in their seats and applauding!
She looked up at her
husband and saw that he heard, too. She had a brief moment of flushed pride but
then she wondered—were they clapping because she had apologized, or because
Rick had made her? The applause died down and Rick stopped at the cafeteria
line.
“Can I get some fruit?”
Rick asked the woman behind the counter. She was a heavyset redhead, and she
was staring at Laura.
“There’s a bowl of it down
there,” the redhead directed, pointing, still staring. Laura shuffled after her
husband and he stood there for a moment, pondering the bowl of fruit.
“I’m going to ask you some
questions, and all you have to do is nod ‘yes’ or shake your head ‘no.’ Is that
clear?” He slipped an apple and two bananas into his jacket pockets.
Laura nodded a vigorous
“yes.” For some reason, her apology had given her a thrill. It hadn’t been as
awful as she had thought it would be—in fact, quite the opposite. Being humbled
was exhilarating. How could that be?
“Do you want an apple?” he
asked.
She shook her head no.
“Do you want a banana?”
She nodded, smiling at
him. He took another banana and put it into his pocket.
“An orange?”
She shook her head.
“A peach?”
She nodded, and he put it
into one of his now bulging pockets.
“Is there any other fruit
you want?”
A vigorous “no.”
Rick looked over the
counter at the redhead, who was still watching them. “How can I pay for these?”
“Just go ahead.” She waved
him away. The cashier was nowhere to be seen.
“Thanks.” He took Laura’s
hand and led her back out of the cafeteria. They made the same trip up the
elevator to their room, although this time, Laura noticed she felt much, much
lighter than she had the last time.
Rick emptied his pockets,
creating a fruit line-up across the dresser. Laura sat on the edge of the bed
watching him. Her stomach was rumbling again, reminding her how long it had
been since she had eaten, but the ache in her bladder was worse. She had been
temporarily distracted from those sensations for a while, but they were back
now, with a vengeance.
She reached over and
tugged at his suit jacket as he slipped it off. He looked at her, his face a
question. She made a small noise in her throat, pointing to the bathroom.
Unfortunately, the bathroom was also the same direction as the exit.
“What?” He shook his head.
“You want to go back out?”
Laura sighed, pointing
between her legs and then back to the bathroom. He shook his head again,
confused. She stood and crossed her legs, making little noises while doing what
she used to call “the pee-pee dance.”
“Oh!” Rick’s eyes widened.
“Right. Just pee?”
She raised her eyebrows,
but nodded.
“Ok, you can go.” He waved
her toward the bathroom.
She shut the door behind
her, sighing in relief as she emptied her bladder. She could hear him moving
around out there, and now that the physical complaint had eased, all she could
think about was the fruit on the dresser. She was starving! She washed her
hands in a hurry, barely drying them. She noticed a banana peel in the garbage,
and knew he must have eaten his.
“What are you doing?” Rick
asked from the bed as she picked up a banana and started to peel it.
Oh, hell.
She put it back down with a frown,
her hands actually shaking with hunger now. When she turned to him, she saw
that he was naked from the waist down, his white button-down shirt undone at
the collar, his tie tossed over his pants on the chair. The shock must have
shown on her face, because he chuckled.
“Come here,” he said. “And
bring that banana.”
She came to sit next to
him on the bed, handing over the yellow fruit with a wistful sigh. He took it
and laid it on the other side of him, leaning back on a pillow and looking at
her.
“One of the things that
I’ve always loved about you…” He stroked the hand that she was using to prop
herself up. “Is how proud you are. So proud of yourself—and proud of me.”
She smiled at him,
wrinkling her nose.
“But sometimes I think it
gets in the way…” He circled her wrist with his finger and thumb. She had small
wrists and delicate hands. “Don’t you?”
She sighed and nodded. Her
eyes skipped over him to the banana, her stomach growling loudly now. It was
loud enough that they could both hear it.
“I know you’re hungry,” he
said, acknowledging that he had heard the noise emanating from her middle. “And
I’m going to feed you, if you’re a good girl.”
Her eyes snapped up to
meet his, blazing at him.
“There it is. That’s what
I’m talking about.” He nodded, still smiling. “I think it’s time you swallowed
some of that pride.”