The Impossibility of Us Page 21

Ryan’s still flushed, but he’s flashing his patent grin. “You don’t think she’s upset about the gay thing?”

  “The gay thing? I think what riled her is the intimacy thing. And the fact that you kept such a big secret from her. Talk to her already. And no more fooling around on her sofa!”

  Ryan’s beaming and so is Xavier; they’re beaming at each other, and I see it in their shared gaze, love, sincere and stalwart.

  I’m happy for them, really and truly, but I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t envious, too.

  elise

  Days pass.

  I’ve become sluggish and sloppy, and the thought of food … ugh. I haven’t touched my Nikon; it sits on my desk, jeering, collecting dust. I can’t sleep to save my life, though dragging my body out of bed is a task too enormous to attempt.

  And then there’s the ache. The relentless, carnal ache living deep in my chest: my heart, trying—failing—to reassemble itself.

  I should have seen this coming. The day Mati told me he’d be returning to Afghanistan, I should have walked away. Because this brand of misery … It’s nothing new.

  I felt a version of it after Nick died. My mom did, too. We holed up in our San Francisco condo, the two of us, but we might as well have been alone. We barely spoke. Housekeeping was neglected and personal hygiene was optional. We never sat down to meals together. Her writing fell by the wayside, and so did my photography. Sometimes I’d find her in front of the muted TV, and I’d join her, though as far as she knew, I might as well have been an apparition. We’d stare at the screen, worlds apart. It wasn’t until Audrey and baby Janie moved into the shrine that was Nicky’s bedroom that we pulled out of our mutual depression.

  I haven’t spoken to Mati since the revelation about his engagement—haven’t heard his laugh or felt the calloused touch of his palm or smelled his clean, rosemary scent. He’s continued to call, once every evening. I’ve continued to ignore him, and not even because I’m mad—I lack the energy for anger.

  I can’t talk to him, because there’s nothing left to say.

  I understand.

  I will never understand.

  I forgive you.

  It’s impossible to forgive a lapse as enormous as his.

  I want to see you.

  God, what’s the point?

  I guess I could tell him how much I care—the truth. But even if I did understand, even if I could forgive, circumstance says reengaging will just make things worse.

  It pisses me off that I can’t shut my feelings down.

  The black walls of my bedroom are so grim, and the stars on the ceiling only remind me of thwarted wishes. It’s awful, being cooped up in here, where the bed’s rumpled and unmade, and a plethora of half-empty coffee mugs sit atop my desk. My vintage cameras stare blankly from their shelves, reminding me of my old life, the life I’ve forgotten how to lead.

  He’s leaving in two days.

  I’m summoning the energy for a shower when my mom comes bursting through my door, eyes wild. “Please tell me Bambi’s in here!”

  “No. I thought you let her into the yard?”

  She palms her forehead.

  “What?” I say, scrambling off my bed. “What happened?”

  “I just went out to check on her. The gate was ajar.”

  “Mom! She got out?!”

  “I called for her out front, but I didn’t see her anywhere.”

  I shove my feet into the closest pair of flip-flops and rush out of my room. “I’m going to look for her,” I shout over my shoulder.

  I dash through the front door and out the gate. I weave through blocks of cottages, hoping Bambi hasn’t strayed far. I call her name and clap my hands, keeping an eye out for her blond coat, all the while staving off tears.

  She’s nowhere.

  I head for the beach, thinking she might’ve made a dash for the surf. My mom’s already there. Her cardigan flaps in the wind, and she’s shaking a bag of dog treats. I see Iris and Ryan, too, combing the area, talking to strangers, probably asking if they’ve seen a happy-go-lucky goldendoodle running around. I walk the sand, using my arm to block my eyes from the glare, trying not to panic.

  I see dozens of dogs.

  I don’t see my dog.

  After an hour, I’ve lost hope. I turn in the opposite direction, toward where Iris and Ryan are still searching. I’m moving closer to the waves when I spot a familiar form about fifty yards down the beach. Mati, holding a bright yellow tennis ball. The sight of him here, ball in hand, is so normal, so expected, it takes me a moment to wonder what he’s doing. I pause, watching him scan the surf, then the shore. His eyes land on me, and he raises the tennis ball with a little shrug.

  He’s looking for Bambi.

  My mom appears at my side. “Ryan called him,” she says, nodding toward Mati.

  “Oh,” I say, detached, as if the sight of him—here for me—didn’t send a bolt of pain through my heart. “You probably wish he’d go away.”

  She shrugs. “The more searchers, the better.”

  That’s guilt talking. It’s her fault Bambi’s missing—benevolence as a way of making up for negligence. I start walking again, recommitted to the search.

  “You haven’t mentioned him in a while,” Mom says, hurrying to match my pace.

  I don’t know what she expects—it’s not like my past mentions of Mati have gone over well.

  She’s mostly overlooked me in favor of her manuscript the last few days, though she has brought mugs of steaming coffee to my room and given me consoling smiles on the rare occasions our eyes met. For the space of a second, I wonder if Audrey told her about Panra and the engagement—if what I took as an attempt at thoughtfulness is in fact pity—but then, I can’t imagine Aud betraying me that way. No matter how intensely she disapproves of Mati, she’d never run to my mom with gossip of my loss.

  “You told me to stay away from him, remember?”

  Mom takes my hand, pulling me to a stop. “Elise, I don’t like seeing you this way. I’m sorry,” she says, and for a moment, I think she’s talking about Mati, about the way she’s treated him. But then she continues: “Bambi’s gone because of me. I should have been more careful.”

  I yank my hand out of hers. “Shit happens,” I mutter, blowing past her.

  After another hour, Ryan, Iris, Mom, and I convene at the picnic tables. Ryan and Iris are all sad eyes and deep frowns. My mom’s full of false optimism. Mati’s nowhere to be seen. I’m a heartbeat short of hysterical.

  “We’ll find her,” Mom says. “She’s wearing her collar. Someone will call, we’ll pick her up, and it’ll be as if this afternoon never happened.”

  I shake my head and take off for town.

  elise

  Audrey and Janie are coming for dinner. Their impending visit forces me off the sidewalks and into the shower. I make my bed, clear my desk of dirty dishes, and run the vacuum across the rug, all in an effort to stop worrying about Bambi, lost and lonely on the streets of Cypress Beach.

  I’ll be back to looking for her in an hour, soon as dinner’s done.

  When the bell chimes, I swing the door open. Aud, laden with bags of Chinese takeout, looks me over and says, “She’s still missing, huh?”

  I nod, biting hard into my lip.

  “She’ll come home, Auntie,” Janie says. She wraps me in a hug, spidery-armed and warm.

  My mom emerges from her library to take the food from Aud. They disappear into the kitchen to assess the calendar and dish up dinner while Janie and I head for the living room. I get out a puzzle for her to work on because I’m not feeling all that attentive. As I sit beside her on the couch, staring unseeingly at the pieces scattered across the coffee table, I reach instinctually down to give Bambi a pat. I find empty air, and my stomach turns over.

  In the kitchen, I hear Mom and Audrey talking. Someone’s turned on the radio, a low-key country station. The smell of Chinese food drifts through the house. God, this night feels bizarrely, infuriatingly
normal.

  How can everyone just … carry on?

  I’m working to distract myself, helping Janie fit a corner piece into her puzzle, when I hear distant barking. I freeze, straining to listen, and then I hear it again. Janie hears it, too—she looks at me with eyes like discs.

  We leap up and run, holding hands, for the front door. I fling it open to the sight of my dog, stretching to get through the open front gate. Mati’s behind her, holding firmly to a length of rope looped through her collar. He lets her go and she gallops for me, jumping up to put her paws on my chest; she nearly knocks me down. I hold tight to her, blinking back joyful tears. Janie giggles as Bambi graces my face with dozens of slobbery kisses.

  My mom and Audrey come outside to the commotion. While they give Bambi greetings almost as enthusiastic as mine, I sneak a look at Mati, still standing at the gate, holding the makeshift leash loosely in his hands. He looks satisfied, and at the same time, profoundly sad.

  It takes a minute for my mom and Audrey to notice him.

  “Where did you find her?” Aud calls across the yard.

  Mati scuffs the sole of his shoe against the sidewalk. “She was waiting at our cottage when I returned from the beach.”

  She misses him, too. Oh, Bambi.

  I’m watching Aud because it’s too hard to hold Mati’s gaze, and her expression confuses me, hovering somewhere between remorse and gratitude. She gives him a tight smile. “Thank you for bringing her home.”

  “I was happy to,” he says.

  My mother turns her back and shuffles into the house. Audrey follows, tugging Janie along by the hand.

  I’m still stooped over Bambi, running my hand down her silky back, but I feel Mati’s attention settle on my shoulders like a physical thing, heavy with penitence. I glance up because it’s impossible not to and find him smiling at the sight of my dog and me, reunited.

  I mouth, Thank you.

  He nods once, pivots, and walks away.

  I take Bambi into the house, fill her water bowl, and feed her too many treats. My pulse is racing with the adrenaline of reclaiming my dog, combined with the heart-shredding experience of looking Mati in the eye.

  Eventually, we sit down to dinner. Mom talks about her manuscript (almost done), Audrey gripes about her job at Camembert (always busy), and Janie chatters about her latest preschool accomplishment (shoe-tying—yay). Aud asks about Ryan and, in an effort to connect—to at least try—I tell them about Xavier and Iris and the interrupted make-out session. Aud laughs. Mom cracks a smile.

  Nobody mentions Mati, or what just happened in the yard.

  After dinner, Janie passes out fortune cookies. Our tradition seems particularly frivolous tonight and my stomach’s somersaulting, but I play along for Janie’s sake. I put on a smile as she breaks her cookie open, then slides it across the table to Audrey. “What does it say, Mama?”

  Aud gives her throat a theatrical clear. “‘Your fortune is as sweet as a cookie.’”

  Janie grins. Through a mouthful of crumbs, she says, “What about yours?”

  Aud splits her cookie in half, skims her fortune, then laughs. “‘You are the controller of your destiny.’ Yeah, right,” she says to her bit of paper. “My destiny is so far out of my control it’s not even funny. I’m just riding the wave.”

  “You’re doing a good job keeping afloat,” my mom tells her.

  She smiles. “Read yours, Jocelyn.”

  I’m thinking about Aud’s fortune, about destiny and whether any of us are actually in control, as my mom reads: “‘If you have something worth fighting for, then fight for it.’” She laughs, too, waving her slip of paper like a white flag. “I’m fighting to finish my book, and I hope it’ll be worth it.”

  Cookies and destiny and fighting … They’re not my fortunes, but they’re burrowing under my skin. I think of Mati and the way he looked at me earlier, wistfully, entreatingly, regretfully.

  I wish … I wish I would have spoken to him, thanked him aloud, at the very least.

  My chest constricts, and I shift in my seat. Bambi, who’s lying under my chair, nudges my ankle with her muzzle, a show of doggy support.

  “Your turn, Auntie,” Janie prompts, pushing my cookie closer.

  I open the cellophane with reluctance, feeling too old, too jaded for this game. Fortunes are malleable; we make of them what we want—what we need.

  My cookie crumbles as I attempt to halve it, a bad omen. Apprehension skips across my skin. I read silently, the hairs on the back of my neck standing up. My eyes swim with tears as I skim the tiny words again.…

  Stop wishing. Start doing.

  MATI

  When the ringing begins,

  I am at the park,

  in our memory-steeped turret.

  The night is alight with stars.

  I pull my phone from my pocket,

  filled with nerves,

  with dread,

  with hope.

  I miss her like twilight misses the sun.

  For a moment,

  I can only watch her name

  as it blinks tirelessly

  against the illuminated screen.

  Why now?

  She is calling to tell me enough.

  Enough calls, enough messages.

  Enough wishes of goodwill sent on the breeze.

  She is calling to tell me to stay away.

  Now, we have a sense of how it will be

  when I leave America for Afghanistan.

  Something like drowning,

  or being buried alive.

  Sadness blacking out sensation.

  Despair drawing hope away.

  I am so scared.

  I consider letting her call fade,

  unanswered,

  into the night.

  But I am not that strong.

  elise

  The eager hum of his voice makes me feel like I’ve been shaken out of a deep sleep: anxious, alert, awake.

  It’s late. Audrey and Janie went home hours ago, and it’s long past my mom’s bedtime. Long past the time I should be asleep. Tonight … I couldn’t even lie down. I’m jumpy, full of worries, and questions, and doubts. I keep thinking about my fortune. It’s just a silly luck-of-the-draw prediction that means nothing, except …

  It means everything.

  He says my name, softly, almost like he’s sleeptalking. Sitting cross-legged at the foot of my bed, Bambi’s head resting in my lap, I try to guess his mood based on his tone alone. But it’s been too long since our last conversation, when he was frustrated and tense, speaking sharply and imploringly. That’s the voice that’s tolled in my head over the last few days. Desperate and despairing. Hopeless.

  Tonight he sounds … different.

  “I’m happy you called,” he says, though happy isn’t how I’d describe his timbre.

  I don’t know how to respond. I can’t even explain why I called—to feel close to him, I guess. I pet Bambi’s head, grasping for a calm that keeps slipping away.

  “Elise,” he says. “Are you there?”

  Cautious. Uncertain. Nervous. That’s how he sounds.

  “I’m here,” I whisper.

  “Are you at home?”

  “Where else would I be?”

  “On your way to the park? To see me?”

  “You’re at the park?”

  “In our turret.”

  I lift my hair away from my neck, my skin too warm. Bambi groans, protesting my movement. “Why?”

  “Because I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t know where else to go.”

  “I can’t sleep, either.”

  I expect him to ask me to join him, and I’m glad when he doesn’t. I’m not sure I have the willpower to turn him down. “Thank you again for bringing Bambi home.”

  “She was sitting in front of our cottage, wagging her tail. I was so glad to see her.”

  A stretch of silence passes. I wonder if he’s been going to the beach the last few days. If he’s waited, lookin
g for my dog and me. The image of him standing alone on the sand makes my breath shallow.

  “How’s your baba?”

  “Better. His last scan is tomorrow. Based on his recent progress, his doctors have high hopes.”

  “That means…?”

  “That our time in America is nearly done.”

  In two days, he’ll board a plane. He’ll fly halfway around the world. He’ll land in Afghanistan and reunite with his siblings. It’s so simple, and yet … I can’t wrap my head around the idea of him not here—not with me.

  “I bet you’re looking forward to getting home,” I say, cringing even as the words leave my mouth. This conversation is forced, falsely polite. If I’d known I wouldn’t have the guts to say what I want to say, I wouldn’t have bothered him with my call.

  “Elise.” His voice, his beautiful storm cloud voice, sounds pained, like he’s stretching for something infinitely valuable, yet just out of reach. “I’m happy you called,” he says again, as if he’s trying to cement the notion in his head, “but why did you call?”

  Stop wishing. Start doing.

  I take a deep breath. It doesn’t keep my hands from shaking, but it does make me feel less like I’m going to throw up. “I called because I miss you,” I say. It’s the truth, but only a fraction of it. “I called because the other day in your yard, things went unsaid. I was shocked, and hurt, and so, so mad, and I didn’t listen when you tried to explain. I’m sorry for that.”

  “You should not be the one apologizing.”

  “It’s okay. I needed to get that out.”

  “Do you feel better?”

  “No. I feel terrible.”

  “I’m sorry, too,” he says after a moment’s pause.

  “Because I found out?”

  “No. Because I didn’t tell you myself. My reasons for keeping Panra secret were wrong. What you said was true: I knew you’d think differently of me if I told you what waited at home. You, not a part of this summer … I couldn’t let it happen.”

  “You were selfish,” I say.

  He’s quiet, and I worry I’ve pulled the plug on his honesty. Then, softly, he says, “I was.”

  I fold over to rest my head against Bambi’s, comforted by her presence, by Mati’s voice. Since he’s being so forthcoming, I whisper one of my truths. “I wish I could hate you. Life would be so much easier. I keep wondering … Why do I still care?”