Relatively normal, p.14
Relatively Normal, page 14
“You’re the ultimate renaissance woman,” I tease.
I gloss over some of the other highlights from Thanksgiving in hell, so I can hurry up and get to the part where Natalie warned me away from marrying her son. Then I dive right into the news that she’s decided to leave her husband.
“You’re kidding? It sounds like talking to you inspired a change in attitude about her own marriage. I wonder if she’s going to look up her old college flame.”
I startle at the thought. “Do you think so? She told me all about him and used her experience with him as the model for why I shouldn’t marry Ethan. I never thought she’d start pining for what she passed up. She sounded like she was perfectly content with her choices.”
“What do you make of her warning?” Jazz asks. “Have you reconsidered your engagement?”
I look up sheepishly. “I haven’t made any final decisions yet, but she’s got me thinking.” Then I recount my discoveries of Ethan’s removal of my possessions from plain sight.
“Cat, you know I love you, right?” After I nod my head, she continues, “Because I love you so much, I’m about to lay some truth on you, even though you think that particular kind of thing is overrated.” I nod again, only slower.
“Neither Dylan nor I have ever been able to figure out what you’re doing with Ethan.” At my crestfallen expressions, she adds, “He’s just so different from you.” She’s says “different” in the same way you’d say “alien” or “in need of a mental help.”
“But Dylan and Ethan have been friends since they were little boys.” I insist, “Dylan has to like him!”
My friend takes my hand like she’s trying to keep me from freaking out. “Yeah, he likes him. He likes him because they have a history together. But he also thinks he’s OCD to the extreme and must be a real pain in the ass to live with.”
I’m speechless. I always thought my friends were thrilled Ethan and I were together. I had no idea they’d been questioning the sanity of my choice. It hurts my feelings. It also makes me want to yell at Jazz and ask why she didn’t say something sooner.
“So, you don’t think I should marry him?”
“Do you love him?” she asks.
“Of course, I love him. I’m living with him, aren’t I?”
Jazz looks deeply into my eyes. I expect her to say, you’re getting very sleepy. Instead she goes with, “But are you in love with him?”
I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe I am and we’re just wearing into the groove of being together. We’ve been a couple for two years. Even I know the fireworks don’t last that long.”
Her mouth hangs open in shock. “Cat, I’ve been with Dylan for four years and every time he kisses me, my knees go weak.”
Clearly, I’ve been reading the wrong magazines. “Really? After four years?”
She nods her head slowly. “Yeah. When did the fireworks start to fizzle between you and Ethan?”
I think it was around the third month, but I can’t possibly say that out loud and maintain even a shred of self-respect. I’d always assumed Sam and I had such a strong chemistry because we were teenagers with raging hormones. I never expected to find that kind of sizzle again. I thought it was biologically impossible.
My head is so full of questions, it feels like it’s about to explode. But the one thing I keep coming back to is, how can I break things off with Ethan now that he’s mourning the death of his parents’ marriage. Wouldn’t that be the ultimate cruelty?
The Masterton of the House
Jazz has made me realize I shouldn’t wait a full week before making changes. I need to take control of my life in way I haven’t done since moving in with Ethan. I have to see if he can live with me, the way I am. Because I’ve discovered I can’t put myself in the backseat of this relationship any longer. I’m starting to question everything about us.
Amazingly, we don’t have a big party tonight, so my partner and I hand off the two small cocktail receptions to our staff. When I get home, I pull my red afghan out of the closet, retrieve my blue vase and Russian dolls from the cabinet, and pull the dishtowel off my glass ornaments. I even switch the dishes and silverware back to what I consider their proper place, but I don’t stop there.
In the bathroom, I squeeze a glob of toothpaste on the counter, before running my hands under water and flinging them at the mirror. I don’t leave until I mess up the bath towels and drop my razor into the middle of the tub.
My phone rings and I look at the display and see it’s Jazz. I answer, “What do you want?”
“You’re mad at me, aren’t you?” She doesn’t let me answer, she just barrels ahead, “You hardly spoke a word to me all day after I told you what we thought about Ethan. Cat, if you stay with him, I promise I’ll never mention it again.”
When I don’t answer right away, she asks, “What are you doing?”
I growl, “I’m currently trashing my apartment to see what His Highness does when he gets home. What do you think of that?”
“I think it’s a great idea. I mean, let’s face it, your Buddha-nature isn’t to be anally retentive. I bet it feels good to mess the place up a bit.”
“It does,” I confess. Jazz knows my tendencies well, as we lived together for several years before she met Dylan.
“Make sure to throw some clothes around and short sheet the bed,” she suggests.
I take in my handiwork. “The place actually feels like it’s mine this way.”
“Feed his low-fat cheese to the garbage disposal while you’re at it. If he can survive all of that, then maybe there’s a chance for you, after all.”
I promise to give her a blow-by-blow in the morning. I tell her, “I have to go. I want to sit and contemplate my situation in quiet for a while.”
She signs off with, “I love you, Cat. Be strong.”
I sit on the couch in the near dark and stare at the boringness of the space around me. Except for the splashes of color I’ve introduced, everything looks bland like it was decorated by a robot.
Ethan doesn’t come home on time for the second night in a row. It’s eight seventeen before the front door opens. Once again, he slides the mail into the mail holder, hangs his keys, and positions his shoes in the front closet before he seems to realize where he is. Then, without even seeing me, he goes into hyperdrive and starts cleaning up the apartment. He puts the leftover Chinese food back into the refrigerator, but not before transferring it to a proper Tupperware, with a sealed lid. It’s a testament to how rattled he was that he didn’t do that last night.
When he starts to unload the dishwasher and notices the plates have been switched in the cupboard, he changes them back to the way he likes them. He doesn’t seem angry, just extremely focused. When he spies my decorating touches are back where they belong, he seems to vacillate between picking them up to hide again and leaving them where they are. I can see an old-fashioned scale in his head, each side moving up and down until he finds equilibrium.
When he finally notices me, he comes over and sits down. “How was your day?”
How was my day? I want to scream “freak!” at him and physically shake him. Has Ethan always been this nuts? How could I have missed that?
“It was pretty good,” I answer. “We booked three more parties the week of Christmas, and we promoted Jen to vice-president.” Then I ask, “How was your day?”
With a vacant look on his face, he responds, “Did you know there are a hundred and sixty-nine volcanos in the United States?”
Um, no, I did not know that. “Really? That seems like a high number.”
“None of them are in New York,” he assures me.
I nod my head. “Good to know.” Then he turns and really looks at me closely and announces, “I hate that afghan.”
“I’m starting to realize that. Why do you think that is?”
“The color for one. It’s so startling. I mean red? A blanket should be a soothing color, don’t you think?”
Clearly, I don’t agree as I’m the one who bought it. “What else?”
“Well, the tassels for another. They just hang everywhere. So, disorderly.”
“Ethan,” I ask, “Are you happy?”
He looks startled. “What do mean by that?”
“I mean what you think I mean. Are you happy? Do you like your job, your home, me? Do you wake up in the morning and think happy thoughts? Are you happy?”
“Catriona, that’s a ridiculous question. I’m comfortable with my life. I feel a sense of accomplishment in my job. Is that what you’re asking?”
I shake my head. “No. I’m asking if you ever feel joy.”
He looks at me like I’m the crazy one. “Yes, I enjoy things.”
“Gah, Ethan! I didn’t ask if you enjoyed things. I asked if you ever feel joy.” Then I switch topics. “Do you love me?”
“Of course, I love you. I asked you to marry me, didn’t I? What kind of question is that?” He continues, “We fit together nicely, don’t you think?”
“I don’t think we do. When I came home, everything of mine was hidden away like I don’t even live here. How does that say ‘fit’ to you?”
He looks at the afghan and then at me. “But you’ve put them back, so everything’s okay, right?”
“When’s the last time we made love?”
He looks as uncomfortable as he would have if I had just asked him to defecate on the coffee table. “Why does that matter?”
“Because that’s part of loving someone.”
“Look, Catriona, this is a very difficult time in my life, with my parents breaking up and everything. Why can’t we just go back to the way we were and stop trying to dissect every aspect of our lives together?”
“Because, Ethan, I do feel joy. I’d like to feel joy with you. I’d like to go away and not have you hide my things because they make you feel uncomfortable. I shouldn’t make you feel uncomfortable.”
He looks so completely lost, I can’t help but feel sorry for him. He finally looks me in the eye and says, “If you’re not happy with me or us anymore, I don’t think we should be getting married.”
“I agree.”
He stands up. “Okay, then, I guess you should start looking for somewhere else to live.”
I nod my head and my eyes fill with tears. This isn’t the way things were supposed to go. Ethan was supposed to fight for me. He was supposed to tell me that he loved me and would do whatever it took to make us work. He wasn’t supposed to wash his hands of me the minute I challenged him in any way.
Tears start to run down my face. Our relationship was nothing like I thought it was. Was my only value to Ethan to support his life? Didn’t he care about sharing mine? With my heart fracturing in two, I have no idea where I belong.
Mistress of the Couch
I sleep on the couch because Ethan goes into the bedroom and brings out my pillow. Wow. He really has washed his hands of me. Which, as you know, I’ve been thinking of doing with him. The difference is, I was willing to give us a fighting chance in deference to our history. He seems to have dropped the idea of “us” like a hot potato.
What in the hell just happened? How is it possible to break up with someone and show no emotion? One minute we’re engaged and talking, and the next I’m moving out? No tears, no negotiating, nothing.
It takes me ages to finally fall asleep. When I wake up, he’s already left for the day. There’s not even a note. He just walked out the door like nothing earth-shattering ever happened last night.
I stumble into the bathroom and see Ethan’s already filled a box with my toiletries. I look around in shock before catching a glimpse in the mirror. That haunted looking blonde woman in the mirror can’t be me. Yet, when I splash my face with water, she does the same.
In the closet I find two more boxes already assembled, waiting for my clothes. From the looks of it, he expects me gone by the time he gets home. Suddenly, I’m very happy to accommodate him.
I call Jazz and announce, “Ethan and I broke up last night.”
She sighs deeply before answering, “I know. He called Dylan and told him. How are you doing?”
“I’m not sure. I feel like I’ve just fallen from a ten-story building and had the wind knocked so far out of me, it might as well be in New Jersey. I don’t know what to do or where to go.”
“Don’t come into work. Just pack up and go to my place.” My best friend announces, “Dylan’s already put sheets on the couch for you and you know where everything else is. He’ll go home at noon to let you in.”
“Thanks, Jazz. I promise I won’t be there for long.”
“As long as you’re out by the time our first kid comes along, you’re okay. If you need anything, call me and I’ll come right home.”
I thank her and then spend a couple hours packing. I lovingly wrap my trinkets in tissue paper, the same ones Ethan can’t stand. I promise them when I unwrap them, I’ll put them in a place of honor, so they can boldly proclaim their existence, with no judgment.
I pack a suitcase with enough jeans and sweaters for the next few days and fill two more boxes with the rest of my clothes. I take my books off the shelves, which take another two boxes. Then I pull more out of the front closet that are already packed from when I moved in. They contain framed photos and other personal touches Ethan claimed we didn’t have room to display. I realize now, I should have pushed the issue.
By the time I’m done, all of my adult possessions stand before me in a meager stack. Eight boxes. I suddenly realize just how much of myself I’ve given up to be with Ethan. Eight boxes shouldn’t be enough for my shoes, let alone my whole life.
When I’m done, the apartment looks like the same old boring place I moved into a year ago. There are no traces of me anywhere. I put my engagement ring on the counter next to the mail holder, where it will be easily discovered, and call downstairs to ask the doorman to get me a car. Twenty minutes later I schlepp my belongings to the elevator. I don’t pass any other tenants. I do not pass go. I do not collect two hundred dollars. I just walk away from the last two years of my life like they never even happened.
Edgar helps me load my worldly possessions into the Uber. He can obviously see I’m moving out, but he doesn’t ask any questions. He just says, “It’s been a pleasure knowing you, ma’am.”
The doorman’s been part of my periphery for a year. I feel like I should thank him for all of the doors he’s opened for me, or at the very least offer to take him to coffee, but I don’t. I just reply, “Thank you, Edgar. It’s been a pleasure knowing you, as well.”
Habib, the driver, smiles at me with great big white Chiclet teeth, “Where to?”
“461 Central Park West. It’s on the north side of the street.”
I watch as the park streaks by. At 106th Street, we bang a U-turn. Jazz and Dylan don’t have a doorman, so I buzz up to let Dylan know I’m here. My best friend’s husband comes right down to help me with my things.
Moments later, he’s standing in front of me in his navy-blue lawyer suit looking like a GQ model. He takes the box out of my hands, puts it on the ground next to him, and pulls me in for a great big hug. He doesn’t ask how I’m doing, he just declares, “You’re better off without him.”
With my face pressed to his chest, I manage to ask, “Do you even like him?”
He shrugs his shoulders. “He’s like a distant relative who’s been in my family for so long, he’s just kind of there. I’ve seen more of him in the last two years, since you guys have been together, than I saw him in the ten years before that.”
I push out of his embrace and smile, “So, I was the draw, not Ethan?”
“Hell, yeah! You’re the vivacious, fun little sister who’s the life of the party. He’s the crazy old uncle you hide in the attic.”
How in the world did I ever wind up with the crazy old uncle? I need to think long and hard about the choices I’ve made in my life. What exactly brought me to a place where I would settle for that? Yet there were so many sweet times, like doing the New York Times crossword puzzle together, feeding the ducks on the boating pond, and strolling through Central Park. Ethan may not be quite normal, but there is an awful lot of good in him.
Once my things are safely re-homed in apartment 4E, I assure Dylan I’ll be fine and send him packing back to work. Then I sit down and start to rifle through my memories to see if I can figure out exactly where I went wrong.
Distinguished Guests, Families, and Friends . . .
My college graduation ceremony was the final hurdle for me to get out of Illinois. My parents and grandparents were there, but Travis wasn’t. If you can believe it, he was at an all-state track meet, competing in the high jump. Somewhere along the line, he quit jumping and just kept getting high.
As the valedictorian started her speech, “Distinguished guests, families, and friends . . .” I passed out. Not only was the day hotter than Hades and as humid as a Turkish bath, but I was wearing a lovely polyester graduation gown to seal in the enjoyment.
Yet, the heat wasn’t the reason I fainted. Heck, everyone else was in the same boat I was in, and I was the only one to go over like a house of cards in a wind storm. I was sitting there waiting for my name to be called when I flashed back to my high school graduation, the day, that up until that point, had been both the best and worst of my life.
It was mostly the best because it signified a huge accomplishment and the beginning of my adult life. Sam and I were going away to college together after the summer and everything would change for us. I couldn’t wait.
Then came that night. After our graduation party, we lay out under the stars on a Masterton plaid picnic blanket. “Time of Your Life” by Green Day came on the radio and we held hands and listened to it. I loved that song. It made me feel all kinds of things: pensive, hopeful, content.
When they sang the chorus, I thought, Not only have I had the time of my life, but it’s only going to get better. I was with my soulmate and our lives were about to take off. I couldn’t imagine a better outcome.
