Disclaimer: It's probably obvious, but I don't own any of the HSM characters or their related elements.
Written July 1, 2006
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Chapter 7 – The Space Between
Near the end of the day, one of the freelancers halfway down on Camille's list said yes to the assignment immediately. I almost yelped with joy, and forwarded on the details of the interview without delay. Finally, I dropped the phone in triumph, packed my bag and went straight home. In the stress of the day, I found I could care less about the drama with Troy. It was my apartment too, and damn it, I had every right to be there if I wanted to relax.
I got home and dropped my bag at the door, feeling a touch of pride at having gotten through all this okay on my own. Sure, I was exhausted, but I'd gritted my teeth, gotten to work and made it happen. I changed quickly in the bedroom, then on impulse, heaved myself onto the bed. I sprawled out, unable to stop smiling, and let myself revel in my success.
Then suddenly, I froze, hearing the lock turn loudly at the front door.
I sat up instantly. Troy came into the apartment, carrying a brown cardboard box the size of a cake. He put it down on the kitchen counter, then stood there for a moment and looked at it, his shoulders slumped as if carrying some unseen weight. Then he turned and leaned back against the counter, surveying the apartment absently. Suddenly, I saw his eyes lock on my bag on the floor. Then his head lifted to the bedroom, and his eyes clapped straight onto mine.
"Hi," he blurted out, hastily standing up straighter.
It felt strange to hear him talk. I had become slightly used to him as a silent cipher. And today, after all this, I didn't feel as eager to hear his voice. "Hi," I said conversationally, like nothing had ever happened.
He still seemed caught off-guard. "So... when did you get home?"
"About ten minutes ago."
"Oh," he said, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck. "Yeah. I got here before that, and you weren't here then. Just surprised, I guess."
I got up and went over to the kitchen. The counter was in an L-shape, a section jutting out to divide the kitchen from the living room. I leaned on this part of the counter, putting me diagonally across from him, and folded my arms. I could feel him watching me the entire time.
"What's in the box?" I said.
He glanced behind him as if he had forgotten what he had brought in. "Oh… I don't know. There was a package tag in the mailbox. I just picked it up at the post office."
Then suddenly, he looked back at me seriously. "But listen, Gabi... I'm glad you're here. There's… something I wanted to say."
He looked away, taking a deep breath. "This whole thing. The last couple days. It's been so dumb." He gripped the counter behind him tightly, a touch of nervousness in his eyes. "I miss you, Gabi. I can't stand not talking to you anymore."
I didn't know how to respond. Before, I might have melted, but now I felt indifferent about talking to him. In fact, it felt slightly troubling. The more we would talk, the more we would get back to the couple we had been... and I wasn't sure I wanted that yet. "Oh," I said finally, my voice noncommittal.
A trace of confusion flickered across his face. "Well... I'm finding it hard, anyway," he said quietly. "I'm really sorry we fought."
But his words struck me as wrong. "You're sorry for what you said, or you're just sorry that we fought altogether?"
"I don't know," he said, sounding a touch defensive. "Both. Either. I just don't want to do this anymore."
"You just want things to stop feeling awkward? Or do you actually want to talk about what that fight was all about?"
"Well… both. Or either, again." He looked confused again, and faintly annoyed. "Whatever I have to do to make us okay again."
I didn't say anything. He stared at me, frowning slightly. "Fine," he said slowly, as if trying to get past my comments. "I know I'm sorry for what I said at the end of… our fight. That was out of line."
I nodded, looking down at the floor. "Okay."
"And… I'm sorry for being so childish over the last few days." He shifted nervously. "It was really dumb, I know. We just… never fight. I didn't know what to say, how to do it. And I kind of wanted time to figure things out for myself too."
He looked at me, anticipating a response, but I just nodded again. There was a silence, and then he let out a breath.
"Gabi… it takes two of us to fix this, you know."
Suddenly I felt defensive. "I know that," I said.
"It's just…" He seemed ambivalent about what he was going to say next. "I can't be the only one who's doing all the making up here."
He was right, but I felt myself resisting the urge to do something he wanted. "I know," I said, and stubbornly stopped at that.
He had a half-dismayed look on his face, and seemed to be wrestling with his words again. "You just seem… I don't know," he finally said. "Kind of reluctant."
"No," I said, in a tone that immediately implied the opposite.
He gave me a strange look, then tried to work past it. "Well, Gabi, come on then," he said. "I want this to work. I want us to work again."
But suddenly, he looked over at me, his voice soft. "Do… you?"
I couldn't look at him. Instead, I uncrossed my arms and grabbed onto the counter behind me, looking away at the floor. I wanted to say, Not right now, but I knew that would devastate him, so I just said nothing. And then he spoke up again.
"Gabi… where's your ring?"
He squeezed the words out of his throat, a strange, palpable hurt in his voice. And my heart dropped as I stared down at my bare hand, feeling suddenly like I had torn him in two. I nodded numbly, not sure what I could say. The real explanation sounded so thin. "I just… took it off."
"You took it off," he repeated blankly. "You took it off."
His breathing had become shallow, and it seemed like he was about to cry. And then he tore his eyes away from me, turning around to hold onto the counter, as if to regain his composure. The box from earlier still sat there in front of him, and suddenly he grabbed at it, breaking the tape and tearing the flaps open. He looked inside, and suddenly, his shoulders seemed to cave in.
"Gabi," he said, not looking at me. "I think we need… some space. I need some time… to think." He let out a breath, his head dropping. "I think I'm going to stay at Zeke's for a couple of days."
I felt a sudden jolt. I hadn't been expecting that. "Troy…"
But he cut me off. "Don't," he said harshly. "Just… don't."
He turned away, walking to the bedroom to grab some clothes and stuff them into his bag. Then avoiding my eyes, he quickly went to the front door and walked out.
I stood there, shaking slightly. Something in me wanted to run after him—but I held myself back, unsure whether I would be doing the right thing for me, or for him. Instead, I walked over to the couch and sat down, feeling numb at what had just happened. I knew this was what I wanted, a longer break to find the strong and independent person I had been… but somehow, I just felt hollow, like something was missing deep inside me.
And in the end, I simply walked over to the box on the counter, and looked at what was inside. On a nest of pink and white confetti sat a book titled, "Beautiful Weddings: A Guide to Planning Your Perfect Celebration." The note inside was signed by my mother. It read: Just a little gift to get you started. And of course your celebration will already be perfect: you two are perfect for each other!
Closing the box, I felt a strange shudder vibrate through my body. And standing there alone in the empty apartment, I suddenly started to cry.
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Author's Note: Thanks again to all you lovely reviewers! We demolished our last record of 12 by getting to 15 reviews for the last chapter, so good show, everyone. And again, I must say how delighted I am by the long, intelligent reviews left by the vast majority of you. It's a wonder to have such smart readers out there enjoying my work.
Anyway, enough of this author-reader lovefest… this chapter's a doozy, so what did you think? (And don't worry, things are going to start looking up soon... I promise!)
