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CHAPTER 6
The Saturday afternoon spent gaming with his friends did not provide Sheldon with as much distraction as he had hoped. His anger with Howard and Raj has faded, but the memory of what they said won't stop pounding through his brain.
Sheldon pokes his fork into his plate of pasta and twirls it around the tines. Leonard has been kind enough to make some spaghetti for the two of them to share, but it just isn't the same. Amy makes it so much better. After a few more bites, he pushes his barely touched plate away and settles his weight back into his spot. Even the perfect origin point of his universe doesn't offer much comfort these days.
"I think that I was right way back in the beginning," he says into the quiet of the room.
Leonard continues to shovel a forkful of pasta into his mouth before he mumbles, "Oh?"
"Relationships. Women. Love. Sex. I was right to build my life around work instead."
Leonard's throat bobs as he gulps down his mouthful of food. He then dabs his mouth on his shirt sleeve, forcing Sheldon to look away in distaste. "Well to be fair, I don't remember you ever giving any of those other things much of a chance."
Sheldon snorts. "And I was right not to. To think, I've dated a woman for five years, but right now she's out playing at being some overgrown Dora the Explorer instead of working things out with me. It just goes to show what a childish waste of time relationships are." He shakes his head and continues, "She's been flooding my brain with serotonin, dopamine, oxytocin, and other neurological slop for years now. It's no wonder I feel like I'm drowning."
"Yeah, that sounds like love, buddy."
He's not sure if it's comforting or troubling that his emotions are relatable to the likes of the average man. While he ponders that issue, his roommate smirks and adds, "Maybe you might have some issues with your mesolimbic dopamine pathway."
"You take that back! My neural pathways are pristine."
"Probably too pristine," Leonard mumbles, but Sheldon can still hear him.
Deciding that such a nonsensical statement isn't worthy of a response, he returns his attention to his meal. Picking up his plate so that he can jab at the remnants of his dinner some more, he stabs at it while he finishes his rant, "Adios, Dr. Fowler."
After a few more bites eaten in silence, Leonard clears his throat and says, "Penny should be back soon."
It would be so much easier not to care, but of course that's not possible. Sheldon doesn't really want to tell Amy goodbye, not ever. He hopes that Penny will have something useful to tell him. He sets his plate down again and settles for fiddling with his napkin to keep his idle hands busy.
He watches Leonard continue to stuff forkfuls of spaghetti into his mouth and tries to think of a way to bring up a difficult topic. Emotions of any kind are not Sheldon's favorite thing to talk about, and though he would never do so with the likes of Howard and Raj, Leonard is different.
Howard's intrusive statements have left him floundering for answers. Amy would be the optimal person to ask, but since she is unavailable, his roommate is the next best choice. As Leonard scrapes his plate to form one final mouthful, Sheldon realizes that he has run out of time to stall.
"Do you think that what Howard said earlier is true?" he blurts.
Leonard chews his final bite slowly before moving to set his plate down onto the coffee table. "Um, not exactly. Well, it wasn't untrue, but I believe he may have overemphasized that facet of your relationship."
Sheldon stares at the crumpled napkin in his hands and begins to spread it out flat against his thigh. He tries to smooth out the wrinkles with the palm of his hand, taking comfort in bringing some small measure of order to his world.
"So you don't believe that this breakup nonsense is all about coitus?"
It doesn't take Leonard long to come up with a reply. "No, not at all. If that was all Amy wanted, she could've sought it out elsewhere a long time ago."
That has been Sheldon's thought too, but he is happy to hear it voiced by someone else. He absentmindedly starts refolding his napkin. "What… what do you think it is about?"
Leonard scratches his head. "You know, I can't sit here and claim to be an authority of what's going on in her mind. You're going to need to ask her. The one thing I am certain about, however, is that she loves you."
Sheldon smiles for the first time all week. "She does love me, doesn't she? I'm a lovable guy."
For some reason, his statement causes Leonard to roll his eyes. "She does, and it's nice to see that you're fully confident of that, but…"
His brief respite of happiness begins to falter. "But what?"
"Over the past five years, Amy has made her feelings for you abundantly clear. Do you think you can say the same?"
Sheldon makes a few more folds, pressing his napkin into a smaller and smaller strip. He pauses in his work as he processes Leonard's question and tries to figure out what his little Yoda is trying to teach him.
"Absolutely. I've told her outright that I love her. That's not something that I ever anticipated, nor is the continued evolution of our relationship. She knows me well enough to know how difficult change is for me, and nothing has ever changed my life more than having her in it."
Leonard nods. "You have definitely grown with her in ways that I wouldn't have expected given how you were years ago. Still, there are times when your… difficulties might appear to be rejection from Amy's point of view."
Seeing as how Sheldon has gotten closer to Amy than any other person in his adult life, that explanation doesn't make much sense to him. "I don't see how that's possible."
With a raised eyebrow, Leonard responds, "Seriously? Okay, well, as an outside observer, let me tell you what I've witnessed. And keep in mind that what I know is only a small part of what Amy has experienced with you, but it's still enough to bring to light a few noteworthy trends."
Always fascinated by himself, Sheldon listens with great curiosity. He continues fidgeting with his napkin while he stares up at his friend.
"From the very beginning, I always saw plenty of enthusiasm from Amy when it came to you. Holding hands, date nights, ridiculous Relationship Agreement—she was happy about all of it. She has even been foolish enough to think she wants to live with you."
"Who wouldn't?"
Leonard clears his throat and gives him a funny look that he can't decipher. Eventually, he resumes his explanation, "Um, yeah. Anyway, for each step that you guys took, I saw her wanting you more and more. At the same time, you tended to push back, oftentimes in ways that would've certainly hurt her feelings."
That seems unlikely to Sheldon, but something must feel amiss to Amy. Unsure of where his roommate is going with this, he says, "I admit to being more of a turtle than a hare, but when something or someone is important to me, I consider it wise to be conservative with changes to the status quo."
"There's nothing wrong with moving at your own pace. I'm just suggesting you consider what that sometimes looks like to Amy. For example, I remember overhearing some of your negotiations about handholding and at a later time kissing. She wanted to do those things freely and at-will, while you argued for a lengthy list of restrictions."
Sheldon perks up at that, pleased to have a chance to defend himself. "I'm well aware of that, but many of those restrictions have been cast aside over time. We hold hands and kiss frequently, and I reach for her hand just as often as she does for mine. And really, I wouldn't engage in all of this dating and romance drivel if I didn't want to. She shouldn't doubt me now."
"Look, you're right that you've come a long way with that. But try to imagine if Amy asked to restrict or remove those elements of your relationship now that you've come to want them too. What if you wanted to kiss her or hold her hand, and she insisted that she didn't want to?"
Amy wanting less physical affection seems like an unfathomable premise. Then again, she has submitted the termination notice for their Relationship Agreement, and he supposes that this is one of the many consequences of such an action. Thinking about it makes his chest hurt, and he balls up his napkin to fill his lonely hand.
Leonard watches his reaction and says, "I can see that you get what I'm saying. That kind of physical rejection is something that Amy has felt a lot from you. Your reasons for moving at a slow pace are valid, but it is likely that doing so has caused her to feel what you're feeling right now quite often."
He hadn't considered that. Thinking about it now makes Sheldon long to hold Amy's hand.
"As I told you before, your physical relationship isn't everything. With Amy gone on this vacation, I'm sure I don't have to tell you what it was like for her when you went on your train trip. Just remember that you took off right when she had been giddily talking about living with you someday. That's a different sort of rejection, but I'm sure you know what I mean."
In an effort not to get too emotional in front of his buddy, Sheldon re-doubles his efforts at napkin origami. He presses it flat again and begins making more careful folds. The flimsy, weakened paper doesn't hold the creases very well.
"I also remember you trying to break up with her when I brought a dining room table in here. And there was an incident regarding Mars, where you didn't see why it would be a problem to live on a different planet from her. Sheldon, these are merely the things I can think of off the top of my head, but the ongoing theme is rejection."
"Most of those things happened a long time ago, and everything seemed okay. In fact, things had only been getting better and better until our anniversary. So why would she choose to end things at this moment in time?"
Leonard scratches his head and says, "I don't know. You two were having an anniversary date right before she broke things off. Did you hurt her feelings somehow or reject her in any way?"
He thinks back to the moment when things first went wrong on their date. They had been kissing—making out—quite enthusiastically. It had been Amy to pull away first, not him, so that can't be it. Then he had started to bring up commitment. He doesn't see how that topic could in any way be misconstrued as rejection. If anything, it's quite the opposite. That was the moment when she first started to get mad, though. Women can be so irrational.
Holding one end of his completed napkin project, Sheldon allows the rest to fluff out into a floppy looking fan. He tries to direct air towards his warm face with it, but it quickly loses whatever defined shape it had.
After contemplating Leonard's theory, he begins, "Empathy is not my strongest quality, and I may not be perfect—"
His words are cut short by the sound of Leonard choking on his beverage. He coughs and sputters, causing yucky little droplets to rain down on the coffee table. Fortunately, he recovers his breath in short order, and then he swipes the ill-fated napkin fan and begins to dab at his mess. While he does so, he waves at Sheldon to continue speaking.
"You should use Lysol to disinfect that."
His roommate frowns at the suggestion, but he goes and gets the spray bottle from under the kitchen sink nonetheless.
Relieved to see a proper cleanup commencing, Sheldon resumes his earlier train of thought. "As I was saying, I appreciate your attempts at insight. I thought she was as happy as I was. If what you're saying is correct, if she has truly been feeling that way all along, doubting me, I wish she would've told me directly. Amy makes more sense to me than any other person I've ever known, but she's still a mystery in a lot of ways."
On his knees, Leonard looks up from his scrubbing. "Amy probably finds you mysterious too. You know what goes on in that crazy brain of yours, but she can't read your mind. If you want your relationship with her back, then you're going to need to make your interest very clear to her."
"I'm not crazy, my mother had me tested," Sheldon mumbles, his thoughts still tuned to Amy. He detests stating the obvious, but he does it anyway. "Of course I want my relationship with her."
Done with the cleanup, Leonard stands to his full height, such as it is. He smiles and pats Sheldon's shoulder. "Like I said, she loves you. And she's got a bit of a crazy brain too. I think the two of you can work things out, assuming you can make yourselves have a few honest conversations."
Sheldon looks over at his diminutive roommate. With his olive green shirt, his helpful tutelage, and his ever-increasing ear hair, Leonard really does remind Sheldon of Yoda sometimes.
—-
Sunday morning dawns, and the sun's first rays peek through the gaps in Amy's small tent. She squints against the growing brightness before greeting the morning with a loud groan. Spending time out in nature is a glorious experience, but the hard ground underneath her back reminds her that nature's mattress is a rocky bitch.
Amy rubs her eyes and sits up. She takes a much needed drink of water and longs for the indulgence of a shower. The arid climate of southern California makes the ground not only hard, but also dusty. The dirt seems to find a way to creep into her hiking boots and to generally coat her entire body in a light film of filth.
It takes some contortion within the confines of her temporary abode, but Amy manages to wiggle herself out of yesterday's dirty clothing. She stretches an arm out of the flap of her tent and snags some wet wipes from out of her pack. It will be another day or two until she reaches a town that might have facilities for taking a shower, so this will have to do for now. Sheldon would no doubt be horrified by the lack of ideal hygiene. She smiles at the thought of the facial expressions he would make, and she can almost hear the rant that he would give her about the unsanitary conditions.
When Amy emerges from her tent, she takes some time to admire the sight of the sun rising over the horizon. From pink to orange to yellow, the changing colors of the light make for a compelling view. The distant hills and mountains form a dark, contrasting silhouette. To the south, even the polluted haze over Los Angeles takes on a pretty orange hue.
After brushing her teeth, dressing herself, and packing up her gear, Amy consults her map while eating a hasty breakfast. She plans to turn around sometime during the midday. Her map shows a particular lookout point that should be about a mile or two from her current location. She glances up and squints into the distance, and sure enough, there is some high ground that should make an excellent vantage point to see into the canyons below.
Hiking a few miles feels like nothing at this point. Amy has become accustomed to ignoring the various muscle aches and pains that come with each step, and the blisters that had formed in her first few days have largely healed. With those irritations cleared up, it frees her mind to wander back to her predicament with Sheldon. Whether that's a good thing or a bad thing, Amy isn't sure.
If there's a proper way to handle this situation, she has yet to think of it. Her foray into the wilderness is providing some time and space, but it isn't solving any of her problems, not that she expected it to. It has been an exercise in procrastination more than anything else.
Sheldon should have gotten her second letter last night. It explains the situation pretty well, but it is missing one important detail. When it came down to it, she had been unable to work up the courage to write about her probable infertility. She had chickened out so hard that she could practically still hear herself clucking.
It's fine. She has plenty of time to write one final letter. In all honesty, though, she isn't sure why informing him of this issue bothers her so much. After everything she spelled out in her previous communication, it's a matter that seems somewhat irrelevant to the big picture. Even if she were able to pop out kids like clowns out of a clown car, it would change nothing. In fact, if Sheldon hopes to have children someday, then perhaps learning of her diagnosis will end up making their breakup easier for him.
Truthfully, it probably won't. He dislikes any kind of change to his routine or his life, and the end of their relationship marks a big one for him to adjust to. She can't imagine a single thing that would make it easier on herself either.
It is just after noon when Amy reaches the high ground of her final destination. She shades her eyes with her hand and takes in the spectacular view. Despite the drought that has been plaguing southern California, there are still a number of trees sparsely dotting the land, having taken root during more favorable conditions. Here and there are tufts of stubborn grasses, weeds, and bushes. It pleases her to see the life out here, struggling and persisting in the face of the temporary difficulties of circumstance.
Sharp rocks, rounded boulders, and smooth expanses of stone dominate her surroundings. Standing at this high lookout point, she gets a good sense of not only how far she has come, but also of how much remains uncharted for her. There are deep valleys and tall hills running expansively all around. Farthest away, she can make out the sight of distant mountains. She won't ever set foot on any of these lands, but she doesn't want to let what she will never experience detract her from the enjoyment of the moment.
This seems like the best possible spot to take a break, so Amy shucks off her pack and sits on a nearby boulder. She guzzles some water and wipes the sweat from her face on her sleeve.
In spite of the pleasant scenery, there is something unsettling about reaching this point. She casts a glance down the trail that she took to get here. She'll be retracing those same steps within the hour, and the thought dampens her previous good spirits. There's a bleak, senseless feeling that comes from arriving at this wonderful spot only to turn around and go straight back from whence she came. It makes the entire journey seem pointless.
She sighs and looks back towards the distant hills and valleys. Maybe everything really is a futile waste of time. But even if it is, she doesn't regret one bit of it. It's still beautiful.
—
Penny lugs the heavy grocery bags up the final flight of stairs and is forced to set them down in order to open the door to 4A. Behind her, she can see the tops of Leonard's eyes as he peeks up above his own brown paper bags.
When they enter the apartment, she notes that Sheldon is in the same spot where they left him, staring blankly at his equally blank computer screen. He does not acknowledge their entrance.
Penny isn't sure what the worst part of this day will be just yet. Wading through the Sunday morning grocery crowd had been an unpleasant start. Trying not to elbow the whining little kids or step on the heels of the old geezers, she did at least manage to complete their shopping with minimal cursing.
Dealing with a broken-hearted Sheldon is going to be an entirely different form of suffering. Between his stubbornness and his sadness, Penny isn't sure whether he'll allow anyone at all to help him. She never thought she would miss his arrogant confidence and relentless bluster, but it hurts to see him like this.
He sits in silence, continuing to ignore them both, and she exchanges a few glances with Leonard while they start putting away the groceries. There are worse things than getting the silent treatment from Sheldon, for sure, but his gloominess is contagious.
Leonard breaks the awkward tension. "You okay, buddy?"
A grunt is Sheldon's only reply. Penny gave him Amy's letter when she returned last night, but he didn't say anything to either her or Leonard. He took it from her outstretched hand and then proceeded to shut himself inside his room without a word. This morning he has emerged from his solitude, but he has done nothing but sit and stare off into space since then.
Leonard continues, "That bad, huh?"
This time he looks up. "It was not entirely unexpected. What you told me yesterday… you were right."
It isn't often that Sheldon tells someone that they're right. Penny can see the surprise on Leonard's face. Sheldon, on the other hand, looks lost. She wants to offer him a consoling hug, but knowing him as she does, she suspects that he would find the contact more disconcerting than comforting.
Leonard strolls over and puts his hand on Sheldon's shoulder. "I hope you understand that there isn't anything that we talked about yesterday that you can't set right. I mean, assuming that it's what you want."
Sheldon tilts his head, and Penny wonders what kind of thoughts go through that man's unusual brain. As she watches, his bleak facial expression begins to shift into one of intensity and purpose. He is so deep in thought that Penny half expects to see smoke start coming out of his ears.
Suddenly, he turns and nods once at Leonard. He stands from his laptop vigil, and she can hear a few pops of his joints as he does so. Without giving them a second glance, he strides over to his bookshelf and runs his finger over the spines of the books.
"Amy has stated her case," Sheldon says, though it sounds like he is mostly talking to himself. "But she's got it all wrong. What I need to do is construct an appropriate rebuttal."
He ends up pulling several books off the shelf. Marching back to his desk, he snaps his laptop closed and stacks the books on top of it. Penny can't quite make out the titles, but the top one looks to be some kind of medical textbook. Scooping up his pile, Sheldon makes his way back to his room and shuts the door behind him.
Puzzled, she turns to Leonard and asks, "Do you have any idea what the hell he's planning?"
His eyebrows are scrunched up, making her husband look as confused as she feels. He shakes his head and says, "No. And I'm not so sure I even want to know."
—