December 23rd, 2008
JerryAnn
I stand in the fishbowl at work and watch the mad rush as customers shop. It's almost Christmas and I've managed to keep a boyfriend, but I’ve never been more lonely.
Porcelain Man walks in beside a woman who looks like him: dark hair, dark eyes, small stature, but the woman is not a bodybuilder. She has to be his sister. My mouth drops open a little because Porcelain Man is pushing a little girl in a wheelchair. She’s tiny, thin, wearing a pink oversized hat on her hairless head. Is she his niece? Porcelain Man pushes her gently toward the figurines and stops at a shelf that has been thoroughly picked over. I shut my mouth, barge out of my office and weave through the crowd until I’m standing in front of Porcelain Man. “Can I help you?”
His shoulders relax—as much as a bodybuilder’s shoulders can relax. He gestures to the little girl. “Do you have any other porcelain figurines? My niece likes to paint them.”
I put my finger on my chin and tap it, then face the woman—she is definitely his sister. She has bags under her eyes, and the smile on her face is forced. I can’t imagine what she’s going through, and I can't believe how wrong I was about Porcelain Man.
I peer at the little girl with paper-thin skin. She nods and smiles, but her mother speaks. “She’s loved everything Jace has bought for her.”
Porcelain Man’s name is Jace. I face him. “I think I can find something.” I’ve been calling him Porcelain Man and making fun of him with Gavin for months. “Wait here. I’ll see what I can find.” I know where to look in the stockroom. While jogging in the general direction, I shake my head at myself for misjudging Jace, thinking he was some weirdo who painted the figurines himself. My relationship with Gavin was initially based on our mutual distaste for Jace’s massive, disproportionate arms and his fetish for girly figurines.
I grab the biggest set I can find in the stockroom—a fairy village, complete with butterflies, fairies, unicorns, toadstools, and little houses. Jace usually spends less than $20 on his gifts, and this set is twice that.
On my way to Jace, I approach Gavin, who’s stocking wrapping paper, and ask him to follow me and open a new register. He gives me a puzzled expression but follows. We lead Jace, his sister, and his niece to a new register, which Gavin opens for me. People in line whisper their frustrations, but only a heartless jerk would complain about the kid in a wheelchair cutting in line two days before Christmas. While Jace and his family stand at the register, I hand Gavin a twenty-dollar bill on the sly. “Tell them it's on sale.”
I return to the office in time to witness Jace wheeling his niece out of the store, the fairy figurine set on her lap and a smile on her face. My gaze moves from Jace to Gavin, who enrages a line of customers when he shuts down his register then does a tight turn and levels a glare at me. I take a seat at my desk, fold my arms, and let out a breath as Gavin storms into the office and stands across from me.
His face is red, his palms up. “What was that?” He points out to the floor. “You made me open a register when I was supposed to be stocking wrapping paper, and then you spent twenty bucks on the same guy we’ve been laughing at for months. What is with you?” Gavin has never stood up to me, never argued with me, and even now, if you can call this an argument, he doesn’t look me in the eyes.
I unfold my arms and lean forward. “His name is Jace.”
Gavin looks up, eyes furrowed.
“Porcelain Man. His name is Jace.”
“Okay, and now you’re on a first-name basis with the meathead.”
I shrug. “I misjudged him.”
Gavin grunts, hands out in question.
“He bought those figurines for his niece.”
Gavin shakes his head. “So what? He’s still a meathead.”
And then Toby’s words soar across my thoughts in a perfect arc. “Guys who seem like jerks are jerks. They’re not confused, tortured, or misunderstood. They’re just jerks, and he’s a jerk.” I let out a little “Huh.” Did I misjudge Jace and Gavin? “You’re a jerk?” It comes out as a question.
“Excuse me?” He runs his hands through his hair and then faces the door, ready for a quick escape.
I stand and take a few quick steps until I’m between him and the door. “You never look me in the eyes.” He’s silent. “The whole time we’ve dated, you’ve never looked me in the eyes for longer than a few seconds, and you’re always trying to change me. Nothing I do is ever right.” My eyes bore into him, but he keeps turning away. I move in close, lift my hand to his face, and turn him to face me. “Why don’t you ever look me in the eyes?"
“Do you really wanna know?” His fists are clenched at his sides as I nod. He narrows his gaze. “I dated you to make Beth jealous.”
Beth? I scan the store. She’s standing in register six with a customer but still managing to watch Gavin and me. Suddenly lots of things make sense: why he only kisses me at work, why he’s distant one minute and clingy the next. Every gift he bought was probably from Beth’s register, and his shyness at Thanksgiving wasn’t shyness at all—it was him having dinner with me so he could tell Beth about it later.
When I turn to Gavin, his eyes are on my forehead. “And face it, Jerry, you’re intimidating and too freakin’ tall.”
My eyes get big. I didn’t see that coming. He’s taller than me—and I’m too tall for him? Laughter bubbles up inside me, but I cover my mouth.
Gavin clears his throat. “Look, JerryAnn, you’re a nice person but I…”
I drop my hand from my mouth and step closer to Gavin. All the humor is gone. I wag my finger near his face. “You are not breaking up with me. I’m breaking up with you,” I blurt.
The door to the office creaks open, and a woman with frizzy white hair slips inside. I move away from the door, and as she scoots farther in, Gavin escapes.
The woman’s eyes twinkle. “I’m here to pick up my custom frame order.” She shuffles across the floor. Sometimes I forget that my office is also the frame shop. She gives me her name, and I confirm she has already paid for her order. It’s a poster-sized framed photograph of her and her husband sitting in rocking chairs, holding hands, surrounded by their children and grandchildren.
The frame is too big for her to carry, so I help her out to her car. The woman is adorable, a word only grandmothers and Toby would use. As she drives away, my mind conjures an image of Toby and me in rocking chairs, him in a trench coat, me in a basketball jersey, surrounded by our children, grandchildren, Cate, Milo, Natalie, and Dad.
After returning to the office, I finish fleshing out the next week’s shifts and then stare out of the fishbowl and consider my feelings. Gavin and I broke up, and my heart isn’t broken. It’s not even a little bit cracked or bruised. I feel nothing, and that’s exactly what I wanted. I think.