This Close to Okay(10)

The olive oil pan was hot, waiting. He went to it, used the knife to slip the eggplant cubes and onions into it. They bubbled. Sizzled.

“Okay, now tomatoes,” she said, holding out her hand for the knife. He turned the handle so it was facing her, handed it over slowly. “I have a gun. And a security system,” she added.

“And these two ferocious attack cats,” he said, looking down at them winding their way between his legs. He was careful not to move too much, didn’t want to spook them. He leaned against the counter drinking his wine.

When his eyes met Tallie’s, he was thinking he could still be dead by morning if he wanted. Could she tell?

It’d be easy.

One.

Two.

Three.

“Exactly,” she said. She began chopping the tomatoes as he tended the stove. He turned up the burner on the water, added a lot more sea salt, covered it with the lid.

“It’s good for a woman to have a gun,” he said. “Now I have to ask. Do you have violent energy? Can you read your own? I don’t know how it works.”

“You’d have to check with my ex-husband about that one,” she said.

“Ah.”

“I’m afraid of some men, but I’m not afraid of you.”

“Because I’m a lilac kitten puff,” he said.

She pointed the knife at him.

“Emmett what. What’s your last name?”

“It’s just Emmett. Like Bono.”

“Okay.”

“You’ve been very kind to me. Not a lot of people would do what you’re doing. I realize that,” he said.

The vegetables hissed in the pan as the pasta water came to a rolling boil. He opened the box of rigatoni, rattled them in. Tallie finished chopping the tomatoes and stood there drinking her red wine, looking at him like she really could read his colors. His mind.



They ate their dinner with Parmesan and mozzarella cheese, drank their wine, and sat on the couch when they were finished. He sat on one side; she sat on the other. She tucked her feet underneath her and tuned the TV to the World Series. It was soothing how she never ran out of things to ask. Their talk didn’t feel so small anymore.

What’s your favorite movie? Where’s your favorite place you’ve ever been? Do you have a favorite book? What other kinds of music do you like? If you won’t tell me your last name, will you at least tell me your middle name?

Hers was Lee. Tallulah Lee Clark. TLC. He told her his middle name was Aaron and his favorite movies were Back to the Future and Badlands, but he didn’t tell her how much Sissy Spacek reminded him of his mom. His favorite place besides Kentucky was Paris. He loved too many books to pick a favorite. He liked other kinds of music besides Radiohead. Frank Ocean, Sturgill Simpson, Solange, John Prine, OutKast, Alabama Shakes, A Tribe Called Quest, the Roots, Free.

Emmett rarely listened to music anymore. Hadn’t read a book in a year. Couldn’t remember the last time he watched a movie.

“Your turn,” Emmett said. She’d lowered the volume on the TV, but he could still hear the murmurs. The wine in his bloodstream—an eraser that had lightened him, like he could balloon-float away. He could almost mistake it for happiness.

“I love a lot of movies and musicals. Every James Bond. Singin’ in the Rain and Funny Girl…those classics…I’ve seen them all a million times. When I was growing up, my mom and I would watch them together. That’s why California’s one of my favorite places…because I love old Hollywood so much,” she said. She kept talking, mentioning that she was an official member of the Jane Austen Society of North America and how Austen’s books were her favorite. She talked about the Outlander series and how she listened to a lot of folksy, quiet music and oldies.

“Also Sade, Patty Griffin, Aretha Franklin, Ella Fitzgerald, Etta James, Ben Harper, Florence and the Machine, One Direction—”

“One Direction? The what…British boy band?”

“Yes, and don’t try to tease me, because I have a Harry Styles mug I can legally use as a weapon. Absolutely One Direction, the British-Irish boy band that was,” she said, rolling her eyes at him. “I make no apologies for loving sunny, happy music! The world is dark enough. But I can tell I probably shouldn’t let on how much I love ABBA, though, at least not yet.”

Emmett raised his hands in surrender and laughed. An accident. It was the wine. The fake happiness held him under his arms, lifted him up and up. He couldn’t help but smile, betraying the darkness in his heart. He nodded, kept drinking. The goal was to get as drunk as possible without making himself sick or blacking out. Two more glasses should do it. The Yankees ace threw a wild pitch, allowing the Giants a run. Emmett went into the kitchen, ferried back the warm bottle of red to the living room after asking Tallie if it was okay. She’d hesitated before relenting.

They drank. It rained. They drank more. It rained harder.

“What color is all my energy now?” he asked. The all stumbled out because his blood was wine. The room was wine. He, Tallie, and the cats, along with the entire house, would dissolve into a puddle of wine, drip and slip off into the rainwater.

“Oh, it doesn’t change. Well, not usually. You’re still a lilac puff,” she said. He poured more wine into her glass, his own.

“You’ll tell me if it changes? Promise?” he asked.