May 1983 – Fairfield, CT
Angela looked up hesitantly. She'd been hanging out with her girlfriends all day and hadn't gotten up the nerve to ask. The whole thing was embarrassing, but she couldn't wait forever.
"Hey, so I know this is kind of last minute, but would you go out with me for my anniversary tonight?" Angela asked them with a grimace. "Hit me," she added to Isabel.
Wendy and Isabel looked at each other and laughed. Isabel gave Angela another card.
Wendy lifted her eyebrows. "Well, if you're prying me away from the boneless, skinless chicken and green beans crap I made, you're not getting away with a salad. I'm feeling a little…" she wiggled her fingers in the air, "…calamari-ish." She looked at Isabel. "I'm staying."
"Done!" Angela grinned.
"I'm game!" Isabel chimed in. "And I'm taking another." She put another card down on the table for herself. "But we can skip right to the dessert, as far as I'm concerned. I may order a couple."
Angela smile got even wider, "Whatever you want. It's my treat! And thanks, ladies. Michael asked for Jonathan tonight, and I really don't want to be alone."
Wendy crinkled her nose a little, and asked quietly, "He didn't mention the date?"
Angela smiled sadly and shook her head.
Isabel said, "Well, then this train is already behind schedule. Meet back here in heels in an hour?"
All three of them nodded and stood.
Isabel flipped over her cards. "Blackjack, by the way."
Wendy, Isabel, and Angela were laughing as they walked into Ottavio's, arms in arms. The wind gushed even louder than they, until the door shut, and left them in the pleasant hum of the well-loved restaurant. A lutist playing Vincenzo Capirola, amidst the aroma of some sort of red sauce that seemed to have been simmering for hours, immediately brought the ladies to Old World Venice. Isabel had called and gotten them a table, and the host walked them back.
"How did you get us in so fast on a Saturday night?" Wendy whispered to Isabel, when the host had left.
Isabel grinned, "The owner's granddaughter dislocated her shoulder when I was at the same playground with my kids a couple years ago. I took care of her, and they've treated me like royalty ever since."
Wendy nodded her head, and put her cloth napkin in her lap. "I knew you'd come in handy someday."
They lifted their menus and looked at the options.
"Everything comes with four courses, here," Isabel said, excitedly. "And it's all delicious!"
Angela raised her water glass, "Just like us!"
With a clink of their glasses, they sealed their saucy pact.
Wendy drug a piece of calamari through her tiramisu, then watched it go into her own mouth.
"Want some ketchup?" Isabel asked her with a dry smile.
Wendy tipped her chin high, "Angela said I could have whatever I wanted." She turned to Angela. "I'd like less of that, please," she said, pointing to Isabel.
"Oh, don't deprive me of your bickering," Angela pleaded, smiling. "I could use the laughs."
Wendy squared up to Isabel with a whisper they could all hear. "Okay, we need to set aside our differences so we can start prying."
Isabel gave a sharp nod of agreement, and they both looked at Angela.
"Soooo… how's it going?" Wendy asked faux-nonchalantly.
Angela opened her mouth to give an answer, but nothing came out. She looked down at the table, hoping the answer would be there. Isabel and Wendy glanced at each other, before looking back at Angela. They waited patiently as she found her truth.
Finally, Angela closed her eyes softly. "I'm scared for Michael to touch me."
Wendy tilted her head, while Isabel squinted her eyes a little, both paying close attention.
Angela opened her eyes and continued slowly, "It's not that I don't want him to. I really do. But that's just it, I feel like as soon as he does, I completely lose my voice and it's my own fault. There's so much I don't think he understands, and I feel like when we get physical – and I really do want that – it's like I'm saying all those things don't matter. Even the stuff he's apologized for still hurts. I just keep seeing it. Hearing it. It's killing me."
Angela jumped up on the hamster wheel and started talking faster. "But he seems to have gotten over stuff I've done, and still wants to be with me. So, I feel like a jerk. He's gone for months and months, and now he's here and I can have him. But the whole dilemma just makes me want to throw up. And the clock keeps ticking. He doesn't leave 'till November, but he's working with the scientists this whole time preparing and he doesn't have a ton of free time."
Her voice got tiny, and she dropped her head before bringing it back up to their eyes. "He's not living with us… And it's been almost three weeks without so much as a high-five… what if he doesn't stick around?"
Wendy and Isabel looked at each other again, and Isabel waved Wendy to go first.
Wendy looked back at Angela. "Damn."
Angela closed her eyes and nodded. "I know! It's crazy. We can't hold out like this forev-"
Wendy scrunched her face, "No! I mean what a cursed line of thinking!" She flipped her palm up toward Angela, "You, considering crossing some boundary you have so he won't leave for good - you have it up for a reason. You're not settled."
Angela's brows furrowed, trying to understand.
Isabel nodded. "Exactly. If three weeks would cause him to leave you, then it wasn't those three weeks that did it."
Angela's eyes started to tear, and she turned her head. Shit. That really hurts. What if it's bigger than something I can blame away… "I wanted us to be okay," she cried. Her face felt hot. "I really, really did. But we are a huge mess." Angela sniffed and used her napkin to keep her mascara from running.
Isabel tilted her head in empathy, and Wendy's face lost its hesitancy.
Wendy leaned forward, "What happened when he came home, anyway? You picked up Jonathan that day looking like a greyhound at the gate."
Angela wiped her eyes and shook her head. "It's getting too embarrassing to relate."
Isabel looked at Wendy dryly, before responding, "I think we can handle it."
Angela sighed exasperatedly. "If it were just juicy, I'd tell you the tale." She looked down, then back up to their faces. "But what it really is just feels old - this bait and switch…me falling for it. I just want to hide."
Isabel waited until Angela returned her serious stare. "You're not stupid, Angela. We know what that feels like. He isn't offering you nothing. You have to be getting something out of it, and you don't have to be ashamed of that; it's human. He's obviously taking care of some hurting part of you, or you wouldn't be doing it. I just want you to look at the whole picture. See what you're giving up for it. Decide if it's worth it - to you. Don't worry about whether we think it's worth it. It isn't us. And we aren't close enough to experience either side like you can. Trust yourself."
"Not that it isn't hell to watch," Wendy said pointedly to Angela. Then she looked glanced between the two of them and spoke softer. "But we all know I do the same thing..."
Isabel rubbed Wendy's shoulder. "When you're ready, you'll know," Isabel said, looking at Wendy.
Angela's hollow face spoke quietly, "Or he will."
The scared look on Wendy's face was calmed by the steady look on Isabel's. Angela just breathed.
Just tell yourself the truth. The whole truth.
Michael carried a sleeping Jonathan facing him into the house Sunday night. Angela shut the front door quietly behind him, and followed Michael upstairs.
They crept into Jonathan's darkened room, and Angela pulled down the covers to his bed. Michael laid their son down, and carefully undid his sneakers. Angela covered him up, and Michael brushed some of his bangs off his forehead.
Angela stood up and looked into Michael's solemn face, certain she could feel the air thinning.
I hate this. I hate all of this. What used to be a sweet ritual was now poisoned by Michael's imminent departure. Everything felt tight. She didn't want him to go, and she couldn't have him stay.
Unable to hold his gaze, Angela broke eye contact, and turned toward the door. She waited on the other side until Michael came out.
He closed the door most of the way, and walked downstairs first. Angela followed him, glancing mournfully at her bedroom door on the way down.
Michael waited at the bottom of the stairs until Angela got there. He lowered his face and looked into her eyes, "Can we talk?"
She nodded, grateful for the momentary hit of his extended presence. "Do you want some coffee?" she asked a little nervously.
"Yeah, if it's decaf."
She nodded her head toward the kitchen, and they walked over, single file, without saying a word.
Angela got the bag of decaf from the cupboard, and measured out the grounds. She rarely used it, personally considering coffee to be a perk-up drink. But they'd had some on hand because he liked it late at night. She usually preferred tea before bed. But right now, all she wanted was Michael.
She added the water, and turned on the machine. Nothing left to occupy her, she turned around at the counter. Michael had gotten a couple mugs from the cabinet, and put them on the table. He stood a few feet back, watching her.
Angela looked into his eyes and became saturated with sadness. She'd wanted so much for them. And now she felt so burned, even the slightest interaction came with waves of multiple emotions. How many times had she been here? She loved his quiet restraint because it felt safe, but she hated what caused it. If he were really being himself, he'd be relaxed, coming up close to her, kissing her neck, making some self-deprecating joke about his susceptibility to her… and just the thought of that made her want to deck him. She was terrified of being lulled into yet another unprovoked jolt into his fury. But she couldn't say she didn't miss his strong and gentle touch. She couldn't say she didn't feel vacant and wanting without it. She couldn't even say she wasn't longing to weep into his shoulder for the loss of it. She could only stare at him in a full-on stall.
Michael was apparently willing to do the same, and they waited in silence, the coffee maker the only productive thing in the room. The little orange light turned on, and Angela picked up the carafe. She poured them both a cup, while Michael got out the cream and sugar. They doctored their drinks, and Angela motioned toward the living room.
She sat in one of the wingback chairs by the fireplace, and Michael sat in the other. They held their mugs in their hands and warmed their nerves.
After a minute or two, Michael asked quietly, "Do you mind if I make a fire?"
A genuine smile took over her features. "That sounds really nice," she said softly.
"I'll just be a minute."
Michael got some wood from outside, and built them a supply of comfort their own bodies refused to produce. Moving the screen back in front of the flames, he sat on the rug in between the chairs, his arms propping him up and his legs outstretched. You've got to be kidding me.
Finding it impossible to completely wrangle her smile, Angela leaned forward over her knees.
"May I please sit with you?" she whispered shyly, very near his face.
She was grateful his return smile wasn't obnoxious. In fact, it was with an expression that was both serious and kind that he held up his hand to her. "I was hoping you would."
Michael held Angela's hand as she lowered to the floor, both careful of the coffee in her other. Sitting between his legs, she relaxed back against his chest. Michael put one gentle hand across her stomach and placed his cheek next to her head.
Angela closed her eyes and two tears fell. I can't believe all we've lost. All we're missing. It's not fair!
She placed her mug next to his and covered his hand with both of her arms. Staring at the fire, she snuggled back into him as best as she could. Every so often, a shuddery breath would escape her, but Michael never commented. He just pressed his face in closer against her.
For many minutes, they did nothing but soak in the heat from the fire and the gentleness from each other. Then Michael spoke quietly, "Jonathan kept asking why I brought my things to a new place."
Angela squeezed her eyes shut. She didn't want to wake up. She hurt so badly. She wanted a few more minutes, at least.
It wasn't just the warmth of Michael's body seeping into hers, waking the sinew she'd put to sleep for its own protection. It wasn't just that she was powerless to stop loving him, an irrefutable fact, at this point. It was the hope. The promise of her lifetime. The steadiness of her family. Her future. Her son's future. Michael held it all.
Please don't take this away, she whimpered to herself.
Taking the hint, Michael didn't press the conversation. He just leaned into her, and held her tighter.
Angela zoned out and rode the high. The heat from the fire on her face, the weight of Michael's arm on her abdomen, the exclusive security of being guarded by his thighs, she took it all in. For weeks, her body had been flailing, lonely, and on edge, her mind uncomfortably alert. Now she sat in a haze of bliss she hadn't felt for nearly six months. Bliss. Wait…what did Isabel call it? A honeymoon phase? Angela started to get antsy. No. She scrunched her face, grasping to constrict any muscle that could help her keep her peace.
A tear fell, and she squirmed her face toward Michael's chest, desperate not to be found. Michael looked down and brought his draped hand up to her face.
Umm! …Oh, shit!
She couldn't kiss him back. She'd never stop.
She couldn't say no. He'd get mad and go away.
Either scenario would result in her eventually being abandoned after she'd been vulnerable. Frustration and panic demanded their own tears, and Michael tried to stop them.
"Don't cry, sweetie. I'm here." Michael gently pressed the side of her bottom lip between his, attempting to reach her.
Angela felt pulled closer. He was being so gentle, she turned her body toward him, holding herself on all fours. She responded with a little lick under his top lip, and cushioned both her lips to his. As expected, this hit was markedly stronger. She stayed latched for a couple seconds, reveling in the closeness, until she gasped and pulled back. Oh, no! She wanted to kiss him again. Immediately, she glanced away.
"I can't do this," she cried, and shook her head with her eyes squeezed shut.
"Baby, what is it?" Michael asked worriedly and kissed her forehead. He switched hands holding himself up, and ran his fingers down her hair.
Angela looked up, tears covering her eyes. She did kiss him again. Swiping the roof of his mouth with her tongue, she let out a sob and pressed her closed mouth against his. She pushed herself to standing and coughed out, "I'm so sorry!", before running up to her room.
"Angela!" Michael yelled, reaching out. He pushed himself up and ran after her.
With long, quick strides, Michael caught up with her at her bedroom door. Beside the thunder on the stairs, they were both quieter when they reached the top. "Honey," he gasped, circling her waist. She dropped her face and cried into her hands. Sighing, Michael let go, and gently peeled away her fingers.
"Angela, what is it?" he asked softly.
I can't do this to him. It's so wrong.
Angela took several breaths to collect herself. Eventually, she got the courage to look into his eyes. They were curious and concerned.
She couldn't stop all her tears, but she could grab his hand. She led him into her room, and shut the door.
Michael stayed close to her, and his untethered hand came up toward her face. She took it in her own free hand. He frowned a little, but waited for her.
Angela took a breath, and looked up at him. "Michael, I am very sorry I did that. I really, really want to be close to you." Michael's face relaxed into a little smile. "But I am scared to death. Do you know, this very same softness I'm feeling right now, I've felt hundreds of times before getting side-swiped by you?" She could see Michael's face start to tighten. And while she was afraid of what that meant, she also took comfort that she was starting to confirm her conspiracies.
She waited for him. If he could tolerate that truth, she could share more.
Michael looked away, and dropped his hands. With an exhale, and a return look to her face, he asked, "So how do we move past this?"
Angela tightened, knowing she needed to be strong, but already feeling him pull away. "I don't know that we can. I am really hurt. Remember, before, when I started overeating because I wouldn't admit how scared I was with us?"
His eyes narrowed a little, "Okay…"
"Well, I do not want that to happen again. I hope it is extremely clear how badly I miss you." He looked at her skeptically. "Michael, I mean it, if you didn't get to me, I would be a much more powerful individual. But you do. I want you badly. I want to be with you, and I don't want you to leave." Michael's face was softening ever so slightly. "Even though a few weeks ago was probably the worst it ever was, that was nowhere near the first time I've experienced that plummet with you. I know you apologized, and I get it. I'm not even mad about it anymore. But I am sad, and I don't see any reason I shouldn't still be scared."
Michael's face had iced over, and he nodded, backing up. Angela felt her loss increase, and pressed her lips together to steady her resolve.
"So, that's it? You've got us all figured out?"
"I didn't say that," she said, not dropping eye contact.
"If you want me so badly, you have a funny way of showing it. I guess this is news to you, Angela, but I've got reasons to be scared, too." He started in a half-mocking tone, "'Don't wanna push her too far, say the wrong thing - she might find somebody she 'wants' more!' - Do you realize that is a distinct possibility in my life? Do you know what that did to me?"
"I have a pretty good idea," Angela said stiffly, having a hard time not taking the bait.
Michael exhaled but kept staring at her for several seconds. "So, this is it?"
Fear rushed in full force, and Angela started to tear. "I don't want it to be. But I just can't do all the things I want to with you. At least not right now; I am way too afraid to fall."
He looked at her coolly, "And when do you think you'll be ready?"
"There is no way for me to know that," she cried. "I'm just scared - but you snapping at me doesn't help!"
"I don't know that I'm ever going to be rid of my fear, either." Michael's voice strained, "Every day now, I'm lifting for an hour after my run."
Angela dropped her head, and squeezed her eyes in shame, I can't believe I hurt him like that.
He exhaled, "I'm dealing with it the best way I can. It may be messed up, but at least I was willing to try." He looked at her derisively, "You just run off."
She looked up at him, frowning.
"Maybe it's time I did that, too," Michael said as he stepped passed her.
Angela turned after him, wanting to stop him as he opened the door. He walked out, and she opened her mouth.
But she had nothing to say. It was already said. And it didn't matter.
