Second First Impressions(77)
Let the record reflect that I was really, really supportive as he took me upstairs to parade me around his new apartment. With his lovely warm give-take hands cupped on my shoulders, I was walked around and dutifully admired:
? The bathroom (“Wow, it’s brand-new— I love those tiles!”)
? The kitchen (“You could fit a turkey in this oven, Teddy!”)
? The living room (“Please don’t find a couch on the side of the road.”)
? The view (“I bet that tree is pretty when the leaves change.”)
The more I gave him, the happier and more excited he became. I couldn’t say anything about the bedroom, because I’ll never be in it. But it was lovely, too. I have a full-body shiver just thinking of how he walked me in and massaged my shoulders while detailing the apartment’s heating system to me. It’s superior, naturally.
“I think the spare room will be a good office space,” he enthuses now, reaching over to squeeze my leg before he turns down the air-conditioning and angles the vent away from me. “If I put my desk under the window, I’ll probably get distracted all the time. There’s room enough for two desks.”
“I guess there is. It’s a nice big space.” It will be filled with sunlight in the mornings. “Set yourself up two desks, one for your art.”
“Which wall would you put your desk on?”
I’m all out of opinions. “I don’t know. The back wall.” We’re almost back to Providence. I just need to maintain this pleased fa?ade a little longer, and then I can sink into the bath and feel sorry for myself. I’ve always known this was coming. My residents don’t move away and send me postcards. Now I have to begin to deal with the slow death of this special friendship.
He says, “I’ll put my desk under the window. Nice and sunny for some herbs in pots there, too.” Decision made, he’s humming and happy as he drives us up to the upper parking lot so the Parlonis have less distance to walk. They’re bleary-eyed and tired, and Aggie is so heavy in the brace of my arm I’m exhausted by the time we unlock their door.
The visit to Always and Forever (Fairchild location) was a success. Alistair was stunned that Teddy had turned up, let alone selected a new software to implement, but he hid it well. Their discussion became increasingly animated, from storage space to sanitation contractors. Alistair is now convinced of Teddy’s new professional approach and Teddy is muddy-piglet happy.
I am truly happy for him.
“I never saw the tattoo design,” I say to Renata as she settles into her armchair.
“I like a grand reveal. I’m having it done next Tuesday.” She looks over to the kitchen, opens her mouth to bellow, then realizes that Teddy is already microwaving something for them. “Good,” she grumbles. “What a shame I have to find a new boy when I’d just gotten this one the way I like him.”
“It is a shame, but we knew it would happen.” I put the TV remote within her reach and unbuckle her shoes for her. Aggie is already sound asleep. “I’m going to go now. Good night,” I call out in the general direction of the kitchen.
“Wait,” Teddy replies, just like I knew he would, but I can’t wait anymore.
The cold night air outside brings every frustration I’ve been packing down to the surface. He’s so oblivious. That’s what always gets me about Teddy; he’s so wrapped up in himself, always taking, not realizing how terrible it feels to be left behind. I pass by town house number 15 where I found Mrs. Higgins. She had framed photographs of her husband and children beside her bed. At this rate, I can’t say I’ll have the same when someone finds me someday.
I’m having a mix of emotions: premature sorrow for the loss for Teddy; a sinking sensation that my time at Providence will just be punctuated by people I care about leaving. I loved Teddy’s new apartment. My cottage is dark and cold in comparison and I know I’ll never have the courage to find a new place, box my belongings, and leave.
One day, Teddy’s going to find a girl who’s exactly his type, and she’s going to use that nice new oven and heavenly deep bathtub. “Goddamn it,” I yell up at the sky when I get to my front door. “Goddamn it.”
I’ve got the key in the door when I hear his jogging footsteps. I’ve got it closed by the time he skids into the courtyard.
“Open up,” he says. “What are you yelling about?”
“I’m tired. I’m having a bath. Good night.” I look at the little tortoise-angel on my arm. It’s going to fade as soon as I soak it. My frustration twists tighter. Can I have anything for myself, forever?
“I’ll just come in,” he says and uses the key I gave him. Now he’s in the doorway, backlit by the courtyard light and circling moths. He’s all I’m ever going to want. I have a date on Thursday, and it will be the first audition of my second choice. No one is ever going to measure up.
“What’s got you all riled up, Tidy Girl?” He reaches for me, maybe to smooth the hair back from my face, but my grenade pin is caught on his pinky.
“Don’t call me that.”
“But that’s what I call you,” he protests, sinking down about a foot shorter. He looks like I’ve smacked him with a rolled-up newspaper. “What’s happening? I’ll fix it. Tell me, tell me,” he says, crowding closer, sounding like he cares about me so much.