Chapter Theo
Theo
We finish our run, but barely. Bex is going to be in agony for the remainder of the day, so she needs an ice bath before I go into the office. Ignoring her repeated warnings about the kitchen, I enter and open the freezer door.
I assumed she didn’t want me to look because it was full of junk food. An entire drawer containing nothing but Skittles, perhaps. A water dispenser that provides Sprite instead.
To my surprise, it’s crammed to the gills with things I know aren’t hers.
There’s half a frozen cake, covered in ice.
There’s a soup can full of bacon grease, a casserole in foil that I know Bex didn’t make, a bunch of those frozen breakfasts Rick was so addicted to that he’d sometimes pack them in a cooler for trips.
This freezer is a sad monument to the family that once was. She’s holding on to the people she loved in the weirdest, most meaningless way possible, and she doesn’t want me to know…or change things.
Fuck. It was so hard when we lost my brother—I guess in some ways it’s still hard—and it was excruciating to watch my mother fall apart. But Bex lost them all at once and had no one to turn to. She has it so much worse than we did and hides it so well but…fuck.
I hate this. I hate that I didn’t do more for her when it happened. But if nothing else, I can bloody well start now.
I carry the tray of ice and dump it into her tub, which I then fill with water.
She swallows when she sees the ice tray, a faint blush staining her cheeks. “I told you not to go into the kitchen. And that looks unpleasant.”
“Get in,” I demand. “It’ll help.”
“You will say absolutely anything to get me naked,” she says with an aggrieved sigh, “but fine.”
She reaches for the bottom of her shirt and I hold her arm. “I’m leaving first. When I’m gone, you get in the tub. I’ll bring food home tonight, and then we’ve got plans.”
“Is that when you’re going to try to undress me?” she asks. “It won’t work. I mean, it might if you ask. But not otherwise.”
I laugh. “No. I’m not undressing you. You’re not undressing you. We’re cleaning out the freezer.” She will never be able to move on from this house until she starts to dismantle it, until she accepts that the people she loves really aren’t coming back for their half-eaten ice cream and grease can.
It’s a baby step, yet there’s panic in her eyes at even that.
“I think I’d rather undress for you,” she says. “We’ll try both our ideas and see what everyone’s in the mood for when you get home.”
I think she’d really do it, simply to avoid cleaning out the fucking freezer. And I will need to call forth a level of almost unthinkable restraint…because yeah, I know which one I’d prefer too.
· · ·
I get home that night with burgers and fries.
She’s curled up on the couch with a copy of The Economist, watching some show where they put makeup on babies.
“I’d love to do the freezer tonight, but I’m too sore,” she says, turning off the TV.
“Seriously, I don’t even think I can walk across the room. ”
I set the bag on the kitchen table. “I got you a double cheeseburger with grilled mushrooms and fries,” I tell her. “The food is right here. It will not be walking over to you.”
“Goddammit,” she groans, throwing off the blanket and limping to the table. “Why do you care if my freezer is cleaned out anyway?”
“Because I think this house is weighing you down.” I grab my burger and slide the bag her way.
“I know you feel bad about leaving anything behind, but there’s a whole lot of shit that isn’t memorable at all.
A photo is worth keeping. Half an ancient cake, not as much.
So maybe we start at least separating the things that matter from the ones that don’t, okay? ”
When she gives me a tight nod, I carry my burger to the counter closest to the freezer. It seems best to strike while the iron’s hot.
“Leave my dad’s ice cream,” she whispers, her shoulders rigid.
It might be slower going than I’d thought, but that’s okay. “How about the grease can?” I ask. “I don’t see you using a grease can much.”
“I might start,” she replies. “You never know.”
“Bex.”
That wins me a quiet laugh. “Fine. You can throw out the grease can.”
“How about the frozen pot pies?”
She pushes a fry into her mouth. “What if donut holes are outlawed? I might be forced to eat real food.”
“I’m not sure I’d consider them real food, but I will buy you more.”
She sighs and rises, setting what remains of her burger on the counter next to mine.
“Tell me about Fiona,” she demands, elbowing me to move over to the refrigerator side.
I scowl, checking the expiration date on a bottle of salad dressing before I toss it into the bin between us. “Fiona? Why?”
She rolls her eyes. “Good grief, Theo. I’m not asking for your banking password. I just wondered what it was you saw in her.”
This is nothing I want to discuss, though I suppose I’ve brought it on myself by yammering on about Brian, that prick. “She was smart, she was attractive. What’s not to like?”
I hold up a bottle of soy sauce and she shrugs. I assume this means I can toss it.
“So you’re saying,” Bex persists, “that Fiona was the first smart, attractive female you’d ever chanced upon so you knew you had to just snatch her out of the dating pool ASAP?”
I pull the trash bag out and replace it while I put my words together, hoping to make the truth sound less insane.
“I liked her…predictability. She always ordered the exact same meal when we ate out; she wanted to rewatch an old movie instead of trying a new one. I thought it meant she could be relied upon. Clearly, I was wrong.”
Bex frowns, her normally laughing eyes sad for me.
It is pretty insane, I suppose, but I was simply trying to avoid all the upheaval of my childhood.
Drunken rants from my father, my mother locking herself in her room to weep, Kieran’s infatuations.
So I chose a woman who always said and did the appropriate thing, a woman who, in truth, I did not especially look forward to coming home to.
“You’re incredibly lucky you got to marry me instead,” says Bex. “She sounds awful.”
I wholeheartedly agree with both statements, though I’ll never admit it.
An hour later, the refrigerator is eighty percent empty. She let the condiments go, but not Bronwyn’s favorite jelly or her father’s maraschino cherries.
“How does it feel?” I ask, as we stare at the vacant shelves.
“Not great,” she whispers. “I didn’t want to erase them and now it feels like I have. But really, it’s just about admitting that they’ve already been erased.”
I understand that better than she thinks.
It took me a full year to delete my brother’s phone number from my contacts.
Instead of taking over his office, I still use a smaller one down the hall.
I wish I could wrap my arms around her right now, but we are already too close.
I’m already crossing lines I shouldn’t cross, and I don’t dare cross any more.
Her smile is forced as we start turning out the lights. “So what are we cleaning tomorrow?” she asks.
I wince. “I’ve got a five-thirty flight home. The new manager seems to have a handle on stuff.”
“Oh. Cool.” It’s her normal insouciance, but this time I hear the bleak note behind it.
“I’ll come back with you after Norway,” I find myself saying, though I really have no reason to return to New Jersey before the marathon in September. “We’ll tackle the living room next.”
I’m making this sound like altruism when the truth is that I just don’t want to be away from her. It’s fine as long as I never say it aloud.