*
*
There are things in this world that break. I broke a fingernail this week. Cece broke the safety latch that was on the cabinet under the kitchen sink. You can also break a contract or a record. I take a lunch break everyday and lately I’ve been taking a coffee break every hour! Chains can be broken. Glass, dishes, and cars. Things break all the time. Promises break. Heart breaks.
The bottle of wine is three quarters of the way full. The missing fourth is split between two wine glasses sitting in the kitchen sink. Untouched. Jim was right. We fought. We argued. We cried. I can recite all the stupid clichés about life: “it’s a bumpy ride,” “life isn’t fair,” and “all that glitters is not gold.” I had a teacher that hated when we used clichés, but I often thought clichés were right-on. For example, the “caught between a rock and a hard place,” saying. Nothing could more correctly describe where Jim and I are right now.
“Pam?”
Startled I turned around and see Jim. I came to the laundry room to give us both some room to breathe, figuring that the load of clothes spinning in the dryer could take my mind off of things. I quickly wipe my eyes on my sleeve and ask, “The kids?”
“They are both asleep.” He takes a step forward and leans against the washer. I can tell he is calculating his every move and his every word, which I know is providing a slim but vital margin between us having a conversation or an argument.
“You okay?” He asks, treading carefully.
No, I’m not okay. We are not okay. I don’t say those words, but we just finished fighting. I might be contradicting myself here, but I’m exhausted and don’t want to start another argument. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad Jim’s here. But here is another cliché my teacher would have scoffed at; don't throw fuel on the fire
“I’m fine,” I lie. “Did you, um, need me for something?”
He points to the shelf on top of the dryer. “I, um, came to get a blanket. I think I’ll crash on the couch tonight.”
“Oh,” I say, trying to mask the disappointment on my face.
“I just thought we need some space.” He takes another step to reach for the blankets.
How can I miss him more when he’s inches away from me than when he’s in Philly? “Jim? I’m glad you are here,” I tell him honestly.
He offers me a lop-sided grin and pulls a quilt and a pillow into his arms. “I didn’t want to fight with you tonight. But, I’m glad I’m here too.”
I smile, blinking back tears.
“Hey,” he says, and I feel his arms come around me, abandoning any restrain he was holding on to. His breath is warm on the crown of my hair. “I thought we said no more tears.”
I tilt my face up to his. There’s so much I want to tell him, but instead we stare at each other, telegraphing messages that neither one of us are brave enough to speak out. And then, slowly, so that we know what we are about to do, we kiss. I don’t remember the last time Jim and I kissed, not like this, not beyond a see-you-later-honey peck. This was deep and rough and consuming.
I am the first to break for air. “What are we doing?” I gasp.
He leans his forehead against mine and I can see him blushing, a deep, rootless red. “Sorry. I just—” He sighs. “I don’t want to fight anymore.”
“I don’t want to fight either,” I tell him. “But I don’t think avoiding each other will make our problems go away.”
I feel Jim gathering up all the energy he has to pull himself away from me, as if foreseeing where this conversation might lead. “I’m not avoiding the problem, but I just thought we could bench it for tonight.”
“We can’t bench problems,” I tell him.
“We also can’t keep doing this every time we are in the same room.” He shakes his head and adds, “I know I’m not entitled to be mad about things that happen when I am not here, but I can’t help it, Pam. I don’t like the fact that Brian was there for you and I wasn’t.” I see uneasiness beginning to writhe deep within him. “When I asked if you were okay two minutes ago you said you were fine. But see, I know you, Pam, and you are not fine. Hec, I’m not fine.”
“I just didn’t want to argue,” I whisper, knowing how hypocritical I sound.
“You know…I was the guy who you ran to when you were upset and suddenly I’m the guy who you’re running away from. And to know that is just—” Jim hangs his head and disappointment and shame crumbles and falls on the floor.
“I’m not running away from you—”
“So why are we further apart every time we see each other? We may pretend we are not, be we are...drifting.”
Big, fat tears unleash from the back of my eye because the truth in his words hurts.
“I think we should—” Jim begins to say, but before he can finish, we hear a cry coming from somewhere upstairs. It’s Phillip. “I’ll get him,” Jim says and leaves the room.
I sink into a nearby chair and cry. I feel tears streaking down my face. My head throbs and my throat feels like it was beaten from the inside out with fists.
People Break.
***
It’s been a while since Jim went upstairs to tend to Phil. Maybe he decided to sleep on our bed and I feel a hopeful, warm flush travel through my spine. After finishing folding the laundry, I shut all the lights downstairs and slowly ascend to the bedroom. But when I push the door open, Jim’s not there. I feel a tightening at the back of my throat as hope drains from every pore in my body.
I want to hold my sob until it suffocates me. I lay down on Jim’s side of the mattress, trying to find a spot where he used to sleep. I turn my face in to the pillow, which smells of his shampoo. Sleeping will be close to impossible tonight. I sum up the courage to go to Philip’s nursery, where I know Jim is. I quietly shuffle down the hall and slowly push the door open. I peer inside and see both boys asleep. I push the door open a bit more and the high pitch screech stirs Jim awake. His eyes flutter open and narrow at the small band of light coming from the hallway.
“Do you want me to put him in the crib?” I ask him.
He looks down at Phil and begins rocking the glider. “It’s okay. I can do it.”
There’s a beat of silence where we don’t speak. The silence which has been deafening between us lately is instead comforting. I walk towards Phil’s crib, which is across from the glider, and slowly melt to the floor.
Jim clears his throat and says, “Two years ago, to this day, we made him.”
I chuckle to myself. “We sure did.”
“That was a good Valentine’s day.”
Yes it was. It was over as quickly as it had started. It was irreverent and inelegant. I remember his hands slipping underneath my shirt; my back touching the cold metal shelves as he pushed against me. I remember hearing the clink of his belt buckle striking the floor, then realizing I had been the one to throw it aside. Wrapping myself around him, I became a vine, thriving, tangled.
A warm flush travels up my neck.
“I think you should come to bed,” I whisper.
“Really?” He asks.
Although I can barely see Jim’s facial expression, I imagine him scrunching his face in quizzically.
“Really.” I say simply.
I hear the shuffle of him getting up from the glider. I get up too. I stand in a doorway and watch his silhouette for a few moments, until he places Phillip back in his crib.
When he walks towards the doorway there’s a moment when Jim and I stand facing each other. I slowly turn around and head towards the bedroom. But then I feel his hand on the small of my back, guiding me.
Somewhere, in the deep creases of my mind, the folds where hopes gets caught, I believe that whatever is wrong with Jim and me is reparable. It has to be, because when you love someone, when you create a child with them, you don’t suddenly lose that bond. It’s like any other energy, it can’t be destroyed. But then again, I see my parents and Brian and Alyssa.
Relationships breaks.
Chapter End Notes:
Sorry this one is a little late in the game, but thanks for reading!
Dedeen is the author of 20 other stories.
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