You Love Me(You #3)(114)

“You were not coming on too strong. I loved all of it.”

“You don’t get to say that after what you did, Joe. Actions speak louder than words. And you sit here and you don’t even understand why I’m mad, do you?”

“You’re mad that I left. But, Mary Kay, I left you a note.”

“A note,” you say. “Yes, you left me a note. Mary Kay, I had to go to L.A. for a family emergency. I’ll call you when I land. I’m so sorry. Love, Joe.”

That is why you’re mad at me, that fucking note. But you memorized that note and I still have a chance. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t care if you’re sorry, Joe. I care that you didn’t wake me up to tell me what happened. I care that you were vague. When people are together they tell the truth. They don’t say bullshit like ‘family emergency.’ They grab your shoulders. They turn on the lights and they tell you exactly what happened and they ask you to come with them, Joe. That’s what adults do.”

“I’m sorry. Look, it wasn’t family, not exactly. But this girl I dated in L.A., her family is terrible…” It’s true. “And she got sick and—”

“Joe, it’s too late. You’re wasting your time.”

You say that but you don’t move and you’re right but you’re wrong. “Well, how about seeing it from my perspective, Mary Kay. You were married to someone, I know. And God bless him, may he rest in peace, but he dumped every single thing on you every single day. He didn’t hesitate to unload on you at 4:00 A.M. and did you ever think… maybe I was only trying to let you get a good night’s sleep? Did you ever think maybe I did that because I thought that was a good way for me to love you in that moment?”

“Maybe it’s not in your nature to love.”

Goosebumps sprout on my arms and fresh bullets zing my head, my heart. That’s the worst thing you ever said to me and we’re on our fucking love seat and you sigh. “I’m sorry. This is exactly what I didn’t want. I didn’t want a fight, and I do hope your ex is all better, but it’s over, Joe. And you need to accept that.”

I rub my head, just enough to remind you that I am wounded. “Well I don’t think it is.”

“I’m actually happy that you brought Phil into this…” I never should have brought that rat into this. “Because it really is about him. The one day he needed me to be there… I was with you. I’ll never forgive myself for that, Joe. And this whole disappearing act, the wounded warrior bit, you’re right. It does feel too familiar. I’m not gonna spend any more of my time taking care of a man who walks out on me and comes back wounded and needs me to fix it.” You take a deep, end-of-the-book kind of breath, as if you are ready for this damn novel to be over, and then you offer your hand as if you no longer believe in love.

You say that dirty word again. “Friends?”

Love didn’t murder me, but she got what she wanted in her psychotic depressive state. She murdered us. I shake your hand—Friends—and the power goes out all over my body and I walk to the parking lot. I am in no condition to walk, to drive. I find shade beneath a tree.

“So it lives.”

I look up and it’s the Meerkat. She aged while I was gone. Or maybe that’s just me and maybe I’m in denial because she also regressed again. She’s back on Columbine, squinting.

“Nomi,” I say. “Congratulations, graduate. How you doing?”

“Well I didn’t get stabbed in the head.”

“Shot,” I say. “But it’s no big deal.”

She wants to see the wound up close and I tell her to stay where she is because if you are watching us—and I hope you are watching—I want you to know that I’m not using my wound to get attention and I would tear this Band-Aid off my fucking head if I could. She nods. “Cool.”

“Look, I’m sorry about disappearing…”

“Oh, I’ve barely been here. I made some friends in Seattle, been at Don and Peggy’s a lot. Anyway, are we moving back to your house? Cuz the Marshall Suites is so gross and I hate sharing a room with my mom.”

You hate me so much that you moved into Oliver’s old hotel and damn you, RIP Love Quinn. “Well,” I say. “Your mom’s not too happy with me right now…”

She shrugs. “My mom’s never happy. Except when she’s with you.” And then she rocks back and forth on her sneakers that are too young for her, sneakers that light up. “Seriously, Joe, see you soon. I mean it’s fine. It is.”

She says that with such confidence and she knows you in ways that I don’t. She’s known you her whole life and she tells me that she’s right about you, Mary Kay. You are happy when you’re with me and that is the bottom line and I see you in the library. You see me and the Meerkat catching up. You know this is meant to be. The Meerkat takes off—Sorry you got shot in the head—and I look into the window, into your eyes.

You don’t wave but you don’t give me the finger. You turn your back on me right now and pretend to be busy with a Mothball—you’re not—but you’re not done with me. I just have to make things right.

The walk home is brutal and my head is throbbing and I should probably have taken a cab from the ferry to my house and I should probably have lain low on my first day back. I finally give in and pop a pain pill and I pick up your filthy doormat and throw it into the washing machine—I have to get our house ready for you to come home—and I watch the doormat go round around—it’s the drugs, I hate drugs—and I put my hands on the glass—see the boats go sailing—and I am drooling and sweating and my head is full of tainted cotton candy.