30 She’s screwing everything up
30
She’s screwing everything up
Tristan
It’s ten thirty, and it has already been pitch-black for hours. Nights in Madrid, in the winter, are long and orange. The cold is so dry it’s easy to get lulled into a false sense of security.
I got home around eight thirty. I walked unhurriedly, bundled up warm, listening to music, absorbed in work things that won’t leave my head until I throw them out. When I go in, the apartment is warm and dark like a uterus but empty. I don’t feel like it, but I change, grab my backpack, and head to the gym. I have to fill the time with something while Miranda’s at work.
Now, back at the house, after a shower, in comfortable clothes (jeans and a sweater, in case Miranda wants to go out to eat), I wait for her, sipping a beer. But it’s really late already. I should call her.
She picks up on the second ring, but she’s distracted.
“Six, seven, eight… Eight, Cris, there are eight!” she says to someone who must be in her glass office. “Hey, handsome.”
“Are you still at the magazine?”
“Yes. But I don’t think I’ll be here much longer.”
“Are you closing?”
“Yes.”
There’s a lot of chaos around her. I catch the word “poke.”
“I’m tired, but I can come pick you up and we can grab a burger somewhere around there.”
“The thing is, we still have to send it off, and everyone’s acting like they’re green.” She clears her throat. “I’m sorry, babe. It’s just that…it’ll probably take a while, it’s cold…it’s a pain in the ass for you.”
“Should I make something at home and wait for you?”
“No, my love. That’s the last thing you need. I get home super late, and you have to take care of everything on top of that? Don’t worry about it. Plus I’m gonna be catatonic when I get home. Can we leave it for tomorrow? Today, all I can think about is thigh-high boots and polyamory being in this season.”
“Polyamory?”
“An article in the issue we’re closing today. Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m not worried. It’s physically impossible for your job to leave you time to have another relationship, so…”
She laughs. That laugh makes me smile.
“Don’t make anything for dinner,” she says. “I’ll send dinner for both of us. Put mine in the microwave, and I’ll eat it when I get home.”
“Should I wait up so we can watch a movie?”
“Don’t wait to go to bed if you’re tired.”
“But didn’t you say it wouldn’t be much longer?”
“I don’t know, Tristan. I can’t guarantee it.”
I rub my forehead.
“Okay. Well, see you in bed.”
“Great. See you in bed. I’ll be the one in underwear that shows my whole ass, okay?”
I crack up.
“It’s winter, for God’s sake. Don’t wear those ones.”
“What do you think, my butt cheeks are going to catch a cold?”
“Now I’m trying not to picture them sneezing.”
I hear a kind of cough, and I realize she’s choking.
“Okay…I’ll let you go. I don’t want to bug you,” I insist.
“I’ll see you soon. I love you.”
“Yeah…” I sigh. “I think I can almost remember the last time I saw you too.”
“I’m sorry. You’re right. I’ll make it up to you soon.”
“Blow job?”
“I was thinking more like whisking you away to a hotel with a fireplace, but if a blow job is all it takes…”
“Miranda!” I scold her. “Don’t say that out loud! I can tell someone’s in your office.”
“Do you think I talk any less dirty to my other boyfriend?”
I blow her a kiss, one of those liquid I love yous that leak from couple’s mouths, and I hang up.
I look at the living room, calm, organized, lit by a pretty, trendy lamp in the corner, and… I don’t know what to do. But it’s fine. A good day is one where there are no surprises, right? A good day is a day when nothing happens.
I dig out the book I’ve been making slow but steady progress through for weeks: How the Mind Works . I hope when I finish it, I have a slightly clearer idea…because sometimes I don’t even understand myself.
“Hey…”
My sister has a knack (for better or worse) for always calling when I’m alone at home, bored, with nothing to do. In a way, it’s good, because it keeps me entertained and makes me feel connected to the world…but it gives her too many tools to doubt how I’m doing things.
“You picked up on the first ring. Is your life that interesting?” she asks.
“You caught me with my phone in my hand. I was scrolling on Instagram. I’m reading, but… I don’t know what’s going on with me lately. I can’t concentrate for more than fifteen minutes in a row.”
“Yeah…and apart from that, what can you tell me?”
“Well, not much. Same as every day.”
“Have you solved your work problem yet?”
“Yeah, the hard way. I don’t know what’s going on with the bosses. I think when you get to a certain point, after a couple of years, like a computer programmed to become obsolete, you start to malfunction.”
“Isn’t your girl the boss?”
“You’re the worst,” I say very seriously.
If I laugh even half-heartedly about this, we’re in trouble.
“Have you seen the news? Seems like this flu is going to get complicated. Are you going to come see us?”
“You say that like we’re all going to turn into zombies in a few months and I have to say goodbye. Like in Apocalypse Z . I loved those books…”
“Yeah, right. I’m just saying…judging by how you’re always so happy and surrounded by people there…”
“It’s Tuesday. It’s normal for Miranda to be working.”
“As far as I know, you work too…and you’re at home. It’s almost eleven.”
“Ah, and you didn’t think it was too late to call at this hour?”
“Tristan…”
The doorbell rings. Saved by the bell. I buzz them up without checking who it is.
“Is it the princess?”
“It’s dinner. Miranda sent it, and by the way, she’s not a princess, she’s the queen.”
“Argh, so gross. Saying stuff like that is really not a good look.”
“I must be hangry. I don’t know what she sent, but right now, I’m so hungry I’d even eat that disgusting soup Papa makes with spinach.”
“Not even the dogs eat that, Tristan.”
I laugh and open the door when I hear the sound of the elevator arriving on our floor. I take the bag the messenger hands me and thank him with a smile. Burgers. I doubt it sometimes, but Miranda does listen to me.
“I’m gonna go eat,” I say to Uxia. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Wait, Tristan…one second.”
I put the bag down on the kitchen counter and wait for my sister to keep talking.
“You spend a lot of time alone.”
I lick my lips. Here comes the lecture.
“I never had the social prowess to make friends.”
“What about your girl?”
“My girl does, but Miri’s friends are her friends. And the truth is I’ve always felt like they look at me kinda weird. I’m a dry guy, Uxi. Of course I’m not their favorite dude.”
“Have you talked about the kid thing again?”
“No.”
“I never thought I’d say this about a woman, but…do you think she’s a commitment-phobe? I think she’s traumatized by the whole dead mother thing.”
“First of all, that’s grossly misogynistic. I can’t believe I have to point that out to you.”
“True. The first part was badly constructed,” she admits. “But I stand by the trauma thing.”
“She doesn’t have any trauma.”
“Well, she’s going to end up traumatizing you. Or not. You’ll just end up a bitter old man in your fifties, always wondering whether.”
“Uxia…” I stop her firmly, annoyed, “I had a shitty day. Don’t make it worse.”
“It’s just that…if you don’t tell me anything…”
“What do you want me to tell you? I hate my job. I don’t know why the fuck I listened to everyone and became a lawyer, and even worse, I don’t know how I can be so good at it when I hate it so much.”
“What does that have to do with…?”
“Let me finish! I’m a guy from the sea living completely landlocked, surrounded by people from the drylands. The only good thing I have, apart from you three, is Miranda. Are there things that aren’t so great about our relationship? Of course there are. She avoids certain topics, she’s in love with her work, and sometimes it seems like she totally spaces out and returns to her planet, but I’m crazy about her. Do you get it? And if we broke up one day because…because…I don’t know. Because I can’t stand my shitty job, this city that isn’t mine, the little time I have by her side, and I discover my life’s purpose is to raise children…if all that happens all at once and I leave her…even then, with all those reasons, it’ll still be the hardest fucking thing I’ve ever gone through in my life. And I’m probably not a very romantic guy, you know? And I can’t tell her this, but sometimes I think we can fall in love many times, but each time is going to be completely different, and I want to spend the rest of my life in love the way I am now. Exactly like this. With this person. So stop being a pain in my ass about it, for fuck’s sake.”
Uxia doesn’t say anything, but she hasn’t hung up, because I can hear her breathing on the other end of the line. I close my eyes and lean my forehead against the cold counter, next to the paper bag full of our dinner. I don’t think there’s anything else to say. She can’t stand Miranda because she’s everything my sister will never be and we always hate what we envy. And that’s a fact. But it doesn’t mean we always envy what we hate. I decide to cut the conversation off there, but affectionately.
“Good night, Uxi.”
“Good night, Tristan. I’m just worried about you.”
“I know. But please stop. You’re making me feel worse.”
When I hang up and unwrap the burgers, I’m not even in the mood anymore. But I eat it.
I miss Vigo. And not just Vigo. I miss Galicia. It’s like a pull deep inside me. Because you can take the boy out of Galicia, but you can’t take Galicia out of the boy. Sometimes this landlocked phase is painful, this hiatus to “grow up.” If it weren’t for Miranda, I would’ve been back by now. I wouldn’t have stuck it out, but we all know that she’s not omnipotent, even if for a while now, I’ve started thinking of her more and more as a deity I worship and thank every night, every morning.
I’m starting to see the cracks in this approach. And I need something, some kind of proof. Like Saint Thomas, I want to put my finger in the wound on the relationship’s side to give me faith that everything will pay off. I need her to give me something in return for everything I feel, maybe unfairly, that I’m giving up for her. Because I’m here with her, even though she never asked me to be. I need more. I don’t know how to tell her anymore. I don’t know how to bring it up again. I’m afraid to insist, because deep down, deep, deep down, I know what she needs and wants and what I need and want. And they’re not compatible. Even though they should be. They say love conquers all…
Not long ago, a woman I work with whom I was venting to for some reason told me that Miranda was a spoiled brat and that she must not love me that much if she wasn’t capable of growing up and starting a family. I answered her calmly but sharply:
“No. Not at all. Miranda’s just a woman who thinks differently than you do, but that doesn’t make her worse. And I’m not just saying that because she’s my partner. I think it’s pretty logical. In any case, it’s a question of empathy. You just have to understand, as much as it kills me that we’re not on the same page about this, that my partner needs other things to feel like her life is full. I want her, but I want a family too, and a peaceful life, a house in the suburbs, and probably, if I can dream, to go back to Galicia with her and get out of here and never come back. She wants me, she loves her job, she wants to travel, keep growing and learning, finding time for herself, time to spend with me, time to decide, she adores her apartment right in the center, the noise of Madrid, and some day, she wants to feel like she accomplished something big. Does that make one of us better than the other?”
She didn’t answer me. I didn’t add anything else. I wasn’t really responding to her and her rudeness. I was talking to myself, making it clear that it is what it is and that as much as everyone likes to say it, love doesn’t conquer all, because that would mean steamrolling a ton of other things that are important too. If love conquers all, where does that leave us? Where does that leave what we choose, who we are?
When Miranda gets home, I’m half-asleep watching a show in bed, but I try to perk up a bit and get up.
“Ay, no,” she says, her face looking pained. “Don’t get up, please. I feel awful.”
“Don’t worry about it. I was awake. I want to sit with you while you eat.”
“I’m not even hungry.” She rubs her face.
She looks…oof… I almost feel tired just looking at her. There’s hardly anything left of the flawless makeup she put on this morning. She has deep, dark circles under her bloodshot eyes. I hug her.
“Don’t hug me, please,” she begs. “When I’m this tired, I get really sensitive.”
“I know. And it’s fine.”
“I’m the worst girlfriend in the world.”
I notice the shoulder of my pajamas getting damp where she’s curled up against me, so I squeeze her tighter. I don’t mention the tears, because I know she just needs to get it out a little. A minute of weakness and then she’s back on track…that’s how she is. When she calms down, she straightens up and smiles at me.
“All better. I’m a dumbass.”
“Never say you’re the worst girlfriend in the world again. You’re exhausted, and you have no reason to feel bad for not having the gift of omnipresence. Babe.” I smile at her. “You’re doing the best you can, and that’s always much more than you need to. Because you’re amazing, okay?”
She nods, pouting.
“You are too,” she moans.
“Me?” I laugh. “The sad lawyer.”
“No.” Tears well up in her eyes again. “You just haven’t found the thing that will show everyone how amazing you are yet. But you already are to me.”
And this is why I say love doesn’t conquer all, because it can also be a liar and convince this woman that she doesn’t deserve me and that she’s screwing everything up.