Chapter 36
CHAPTER 36
A N HOUR LATER I AM SEATED UNCOMFORTABLY ON top of the DON ’ T GIVE UP billboard in West Hollywood. It’s directly in the sun, including the metal ladder on the back that scalded my hands as I climbed up. This feels like hijinks, something Janey Jakes might have thought up and something Dan would never, ever do. But Dan is a once-in- a- 1 ifetime person and I am having once- i n-a-lifetime feelings. I know how much I hurt him. I broke this beautiful thing, and I might not be able to fix it, but I want to try. Or at least explain. So I sit on a small platform on top of the billboard that is surprisingly not covered in hawk crap. I’ll stay here as long as I have to, even though it’s hot in the sun and soon I’ll have to pee.
I spent the drive over here debating whether this was the best or worst idea I’ve ever had. I cannot accept the fact that this is over. Every night I imagine myself back in the cave of that bunk bed with him. And then I imagine him in my house, walking around my kitchen. I want him to look up at me from my dishwasher and smile at the way I’m smiling at him. I want him to experience the contrast between my made bed and my candy-wrapper closet and love me anyway. I picture him standing in front of the bookshelves I painted robin’s-egg blue last summer, picking something out to read because we have all the time in the world. I miss a thing I never even had.
I watch his apartment building now from my perch, and I imagine what it’s like in there. I bet he hasn’t called the super about his oven. I’ve seen him load a dishwasher, and while I was processing a lot of other thoughts and feelings at the time, I did like the orderly way he did it. He’s a visual person, and I bet everything in his apartment is something he likes to look at. He’s a visual person, which is why I’m counting on him to look out the window and see me here, waiting. Don’t give up, Dan.
I watch the traffic roar by on Sunset Boulevard. The ridges of the platform press into my rear end. I shift a little to get comfortable. A teenager with a dog stops and looks at me for a second. He shakes his head and walks away.
I sit and breathe in the foolishness of what I’m doing, the complete absurdity of my plan. I don’t even know if Dan’s home. And if he is, he could sleep all day or leave the house without ever looking out his window. But I know that Dan likes to look out a window. He likes to see anything through the confines of a frame or the rectangle of his camera lens. And I also know that I don’t care about looking stupid anymore. I am lovesick. I am putting myself out there, for him. I know what it feels like to have something wonderful, and I want it back. I give a half-hearted wave to a couple who are looking at me curiously.
They stop, and the lady asks, “What are you doing up there?”
“I’m trying to get someone’s attention,” I say.
“Well, it worked,” the man says.
“No, I mean someone in particular. He lives across the street.” They turn and look at the pink building, and a few more people stop to see what they’re looking at.
“Someone in that building,” the lady says. “She’s trying to get his attention.”
I am so awkward as they watch for my next move. This is hard enough, stalking someone who’s blocked your number so you can profess your love. I know I am giving all the Dateline vibes here, but I need to sit with it. I am not going to make a joke. I’m not going to entertain these people. An older man gives me a thumbs-up and keeps walking. No one else makes any move to leave. I am ridiculous, but it’s worth it. Only Janey Jakes could have come up with this scheme.
“Do you love him?” one asks.
“Feels a little like stalking, but less threatening,” says another.
“I’m just trying to make a point,” I say.
“And you can’t call him?” asks the lady.
“He’s not replying.”
My phone buzzes, and my heart stops. It’s Dan: What are you doing?
Me: Trying to get in touch with you
Dan: For what?
Me: Can I come talk to you?
Dan starts to reply and then stops.
Me: It’s hot and I have to pee.
Dan: Fine. Pink building, apartment 5
My heart rate speeds up. I climb down the back of the billboard and cross Sunset Boulevard (at the crosswalk). His building has a little courtyard, and apartment five is on the second floor. I take the stairs too fast, and I’m out of breath when he opens the door.
“Crazy,” he says. He’s in sweatpants with a tear in the knee and a slightly too-small white T-shirt. His hair is a rat’s nest. He looks perfect. I want to rewind back to before I let my worst self break my best thing so I can jump into his arms. I have a million unrehearsed things to say.
But first, “I really have to pee.”
He steps to the side and lets me in. His apartment is entirely white, like a big canvas. White walls, beige jute rug. White slipcovered sofa. “Right there,” he says.
I go into his bathroom and take it in. This feels personal, sitting in someone’s bathroom after having arrived unannounced. His towels are white; his soap is Dove. He has shampoo that cannot be bought at a big-box store. I knew it! Over his toilet is a small ink drawing of his family, the boys all still smaller than their parents. Cormack has his arm around Reenie. Aidan is looking straight ahead. Dan is looking down at a dog.
I come out of the bathroom, and he’s standing in front of the couch. I smell a hint of darkroom chemicals in the air. There are two jars of water on the glass coffee table. His hands are in his pockets and his face is inscrutable.
“Who’s the dog?”
“The what?” he asks.
I walk over, and we both sit on the couch, a continent between us.
“In the drawing of your family.”
“Sparky, he died when I was ten.”
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“Is that why you’re stalking me? For pet stories?” There’s no humor in his voice. It’s hard and biting.
“No, but I am sorry.”
“About the dog?”
“Yes.” I’m looking at my hands. “No. About the rest of it. The way it was when I left.”
“What are you doing here, Jane?”
I turn toward him and pull my knees up to my chest. The words swim around my head, and I pick some. “I don’t want to give up. Like the hawk said.”
“I didn’t give up. You’re the one who lost her shit and left. Is that a thing you do? Because it’s not totally shocking that you haven’t had a long-term relationship.”
“That’s just it. It’s not a thing I do. I don’t do any of this. I smile nicely and wear exactly the right thing.” I scrunch up my face a little. “I talk about my work, but just a little so guys will feel comfortable if they want to pay for dinner. I’m five minutes late and the tiniest amount bored. I am kissable but not overtly sexy. That’s what I normally do. It’s a whole thing.”
Dan shakes his head. “I don’t even know that person. You don’t even bring a bathing suit to the beach.”
“Ha, see? Even my pajamas were wrong. And I talk about my work constantly, and I had sex with you almost immediately. I’m a disaster with you, Dan.”
“I think we’re on the same page then.” God, he’s infuriating.
I get up and walk to the window. I need to refocus, because I don’t know when I’m going to get another chance to explain myself. This would have been a great situation for a script. “When I auditioned for Pop Rocks, I got the part because I’m a lot like Janey Jakes. I’m loose and funny and my face shows exactly what my heart feels. That’s who I actually am. I stopped allowing myself to be that person a long time ago, but I feel kind of unleashed with you, you know? Like I don’t need to contain myself.”
He still says nothing, but he’s looking at me like he agrees that I am entirely unleashed. I have no place to hide, so I just keep going.
“And it’s funny that I’m such a mess with you and that you actually liked me. Because when I date, I have all these rules about how guys should look and act and how I should look and act. I basically lie to them so they’ll think I’m Reese Witherspoon. And I’m not Reese Witherspoon, Dan. That’s the thing I know now. And that’s the thing I think you were okay with.”
I stop and take a breath and sit back down on the couch, my legs crossed under me. Dan runs his fingers through his hair and crosses his arms over his chest.
“So,” I say, “I think I should have started with this. I’m really sorry that I blew up and shut you out. Jack said some things that made me feel that old sense of worthlessness. And I walked out of that limo so small and there you were so perfect. I thought I had to be the stupidest person in the world to think you might love me.”
He meets my eyes, and I should take back the love thing. It’s too strong of a word to use, but it’s the word I mean. I really did feel like he loved me.
“So rather than saying, hey, Dan, this feels scary, like a normal person who’s been to therapy, I blew the whole thing up.”
He nods. “You really hurt me.” I can see the hurt in his eyes and I marvel at it, that a person like me could hurt a person like him. “Is that it?” he asks.
My need to be close to him is like a hunger. I am starving for his arms around me, my head on his chest. And I feel terrified, an actual chill through my body, that he is going to ask me to go.
“I brought you something?” I say. I reach into my bag and hand him our watercolor.
He takes it with both hands. “You thought it was shitty,” he says. “So, thanks?”
This isn’t going the way I saw it going in my head. He’s not seeing the painting the way I do. He’s not accepting my apology and taking me in his arms.
I take a breath and look down at my hands. I am on the verge of begging for something from him, and that’s not how I want this to go. “Okay,” I say and get up. “Thanks for hearing me out.”
I pick up my bag more slowly than necessary. When I am on the other side of that door, I will actually have lost him and I’m going to fall apart for real. “Okay,” I say again.
Dan follows me to the door. He’s going to open it, I’m going to walk through it, and he’s going to close it. That’s how doors work.
I turn to him and his eyes don’t meet mine. “I forgot to say, the movie got canned.”
“I’m not surprised,” he says. He puts his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, signaling that he’s not going to hug me goodbye.
“I’m probably going to quit my job,” I say. “That’s a whole other thing, and I know you’re trying to get me out of here. But maybe we can talk about that later?”
He steps toward me, reaches for the doorknob, and opens the door. “Sure,” he says.
Tears prick the backs of my eyes. I am so sad to lose him, to have let my bottled-up pain wreck this beautiful thing. The pink courtyard of his building is inviting me out, and I just don’t want to go.
I’ve broken my own rules about overtalking and being overeager. I have done all the talking in this conversation. Still, I don’t want to stop. “The thing about the painting, Dan.” My voice catches and I know it’s starting. My throat burns and I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. “Is that it’s kind of a mess, you know? I loved making it and I love how you stepped in with your fancy flowers and spruced it up. And now that we’re back here and I don’t get to see you anymore, I see everything about us in it. The way I put too much water in the blue and you helped me fix it. The way I didn’t know what I was doing and you just made me try. It’s messy. You know what I mean? It’s not technically good. But it’s beautiful. That’s the whole point, and it makes me so mad that you don’t see it. Maybe I’m actually the worst. And maybe you’re a snob about movies and can’t fix a toilet. But being with you was the most beautiful thing that’s ever happened to me.”
His face softens, but he doesn’t move.
“And I love that you follow your heart around looking for beautiful things. I love that you’re quiet, because when you do say something, it’s perfect. I love that you want to make things that matter. I love that you know how much you matter.”
He takes a step toward me and I reach for his hand. I close my eyes for a second, just to feel his palm against mine, his fingers closing me in. When I open them, he’s watching me. “You know that thing you said about my smile?” I ask.
He nods imperceptibly.
“No one else has ever said a word about my smile. I think I only smile like that when I’m with you.”
“You’re not smiling now,” he says, his voice thick.
“Yeah, well.” His eyes are intense on mine. It gives me a quick hit of hope, because at least he cares. “I’m sorry. I wish I could unhurt you.”
His face opens a bit more, warmth returns to his eyes. “How would you do that?”
“I could write you an apology letter every day for a year?”
He smiles the smallest bit.
“I’d drop them off here, slide them under your door, to make sure,” I say. I risk a tiny step closer to him.
“What else?” He takes my other hand, and it’s heaven. I have shared my entire body with Dan, but there’s nothing that’s ever made me feel closer to a person than this offer of a second hand.
“I’ll buy you gifts,” I say. “Shampoo that’s never been tested on lemurs. Goatee cream.”
He smiles a real smile and pulls me into his arms. I rest my head on his heart and breathe him in. The laundry smell and the cedar, hints of photography chemicals. He runs his hand down the back of my hair, permanently curly now. Everything about me that I thought needed to be fixed is just right when I’m with Dan.
I look up at him and his eyes are wet. “I really missed you,” he says. “I’ve been kind of a mess.”
We’ve stepped into something. It’s the thing in True Story where they’re flawed and they screw up and they come back closer, broken hearts wide open to each other. I could do this a million times and then die in his arms. I’m not unhinged enough to say so, so I just say, “Same.”
Dan takes my face in his hands and looks at me like I’m the truest and most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He kisses me, a crashing desperate kiss, and the roaring ache in my heart quiets. I have been starved for this, and I have to keep myself from swallowing him whole. His hands are on my neck and then clutching my waist and then under the back of my shirt. I grip the top of his sweatpants, my knuckles against his stomach, such a familiar place. I would know Dan anywhere, at any time. I know him with my whole body.
My back is up against a side table, and something that may be house keys digs into my hip. A glass of water spills, and I feel the wet of it on my sandal.
“Bedroom,” he says, still kissing me.
“Yes,” I say. It’s my favorite word now, I think.
We fall into his bed, and it’s my personal heaven—crisp white sheets that smell like Dan. He undresses me, and I lie there more naked than I’ve ever been because I have said everything. It’s all out t here—how I feel, what I want, where I’m damaged. I understand now what it means to have everything to lose. He hovers over me, and I trace a finger along his shoulder. I never thought I’d get to touch him again this way. We make love without taking our eyes off of one another. We are a tangle of limbs and sheets, our hard selves dissolved for good. We are boundaryless; he’s gotten to every part of me. I have tears in my eyes afterward. I don’t know how to explain it to him, but he’s not asking me to. I’ve shared a lot with Dan about my broken parts, but actually apologizing to him has me more vulnerable than I’ve ever been. Here’s my heart, I’m saying. Do what you will with it. He wipes a tear from my cheek.
“Sorry,” I say. “I don’t know what my problem is.” We’re nose to nose on a pillow.
“I’ve been crying all week,” he says and pulls me closer.
I wrap myself around him and wipe an imaginary tear from his cheek. “I’m sorry that makes me feel so good.”
He smiles at me. “Happy to help.” He arranges my hair like he’s going to photograph me, each curl in the right direction.
“I’m probably going to quit my job,” I say. “I’m going to do it before I’ve even thought it through. I have a million ideas I want to talk to you about, like professionally.”
“Fine, but I refuse to get dressed,” he says and pulls me close.
“I refuse to let you.”
“I missed you,” he says. “Every minute.”
“Same,” I say again and nuzzle into his neck.
“I know there’s a way you think this stuff is supposed to go,” he says. “And I don’t even know what date we’re on. But you were right, what you said before. I am in love with you.”
I raise my head so I can see his face. I scan his eyes to see what’s there. He means it, and he’s not afraid of it at all.
“I knew it when we were together,” he says. “And it nearly killed me when we were apart. I just wanted you to know. Because I know how much you like being right.”
“Yes,” I say.
“Yes, what?”
“I don’t know. I keep saying that.” Dan is looking at me with absolutely no expectation. He knows what he knows. “I love you too,” I say, my hand on his heart.