Chapter Nine #2
“It seems like you associate a certain kind of happiness with pain,” he says, “so it makes sense that you’d be wary of it.”
“I’ve only been like that once this year, actually,” Yael says. “And I caught it pretty early. Took a half dose of my emergency meds, slept for fifteen hours, and woke up fine, so.”
He clears his throat. “I don’t want to assume anything here,” he says slowly, “but it feels a little bit like you’re trying to assure me of something. And you don’t need to.”
Yael laughs. “You’re right. Yeah, you’re right. I don’t really talk to people about this. I mean, my therapist. But nobody else.”
“Not Sanaa?”
She shakes her head without thinking, forgetting for a moment that he can’t see her. “No. Well, kind of. Not much, unless I have to, like when I was at the start of an episode before I asked her to find me you.”
“‘Find me you,’” he quotes back to her.
Yael’s cheeks burn. “You know what I mean. Find me someone to help with the podcast.”
“I liked how you said it the first time.”
The feeling in her belly roils, and her next intake of breath is sharp. “Okay,” she gets out.
“I’m really grateful that you’re talking to me about it,” Kevin says.
“My ex, Halle,” Yael says, before she can think better of it, “didn’t want to hear about it, really. It’s a long time ago, now, and I was pretty early in my diagnosis. But I sort of had to hide it from her, and pretending I was okay all the time was … Well, she’s an ex, clearly.”
“That’s really fucked up, Elle. I’m sorry.”
Yael swallows at the sound of Elle on his tongue. So close to her name, and yet. “Her dad had bipolar type one, and was abusive, and I think she had trouble divorcing those parts of him from one another. Maybe they can’t be divorced, I don’t know. I want to be fair to her.”
“I don’t,” he says, and Yael laughs.
“I was at my worst, too,” Yael argues.
“I honestly don’t care,” Kevin says. “I wish she’d been there for you. Or, fuck, I wish you’d been with someone who could have been. You deserved to have your partner there for you.”
“Yeah,” Yael says. Her throat is so thick now, it’s almost painful. “Yeah,” she repeats, and then she starts to cry.
ELLE’S brEATHING ON the other end gets shaky, stuttered. Ravi hears her swallow and suck in another breath. “Are you okay?” he asks.
“Yeah. I’m sorry,” she says, and he can tell that she’s crying.
Ravi has no idea what to do. He wants to reach for her. All he can do is fiddle uselessly with the strings of his sweatpants. “I didn’t mean to make you cry,” he says.
“It’s not in a bad way, I don’t think,” Elle says. She gives another few audible exhales, and they get steadier as she goes. “What you said was nice.”
“I wish I was there,” Ravi says. “I wish I could … I don’t know. Hold your hand, or hug you.”
“I wish that, too,” Elle says. “God, do I want that.”
They’re both quiet for a moment, and Ravi feels his own chest tighten, his eyes prick. Like he might cry, too.
“I might not have been able to tell you all this if you were here, though,” she says.
“No?”
“I think it’s easier for me because I can’t see you. Because I’ve never met you, so if I lose you, I’m not really losing anything.”
At that, there’s a sharp pang in Ravi’s core. He would feel like he’s losing something.
“At least, that’s what I’m telling myself,” she continues. “I don’t know that I really believe it. But it definitely makes it easier to share things. I don’t … I haven’t dated seriously since her.”
Ravi swallows against his constricting throat. “Not everyone would be like that,” he says.
“It’s not just about them. It’s me. I want to make sure I’m better first. That I won’t be at my worst again.”
“Elle,” Ravi says, because he isn’t sure how to capture what he’s thinking—that she’s being unfair to herself, that seeing her at her worst is the point, that her ex is a horrible person who never deserved her.
She responds with a sad-sounding laugh. “That’s not even my real name, you know. I use a pseudonym so my day job doesn’t find out.”
Ravi leans forward, propping his arms on his knees. He hasn’t even known her name this whole time? “What’s your real name, then?”
“I don’t know if I’m ready for that,” she says. “Like I said, it’s easier.”
“So you want me to still call you Elle,” he says.
“If that’s okay,” she says.
He swallows, nodding. I guess it’ll have to be. “Yeah, that’s okay.”
“Thank you, Kevin.”
Ravi pushes a breath through his nose. “I forgot—I guess you don’t know my real name, either.”
“You used a fake name on your resumé?” Her incredulity comes through even in a whisper.
“No,” he says. “But I go by my middle name in person. I don’t think anyone ever calls me Kevin to my face outside a doctor’s office.”
“Why didn’t you correct me in that first email?”
“Didn’t see the point, I guess. I didn’t think we would become…” He doesn’t know how to finish that sentence. Friends? No, that’s not quite right.
“Yeah, me neither,” she says, and he can tell she understands exactly what he means. A pause, and then, “Can I know your real name?”
He wants to tell her, just so he can hear her say it. But he also wants to keep that bargaining chip for himself. “If you tell me yours.” She makes a tiny whine of frustration, and he finds himself laughing. “Sorry, if you’re going to be Elle, I’m going to be Kevin.”
“Fine,” she says.
“Okay,” he says.
“I could ask Sanaa, you know.”
“So could I,” he says, even though they both know where Sanaa’s loyalties lie.
Elle sighs. “I won’t do that, though,” she mutters. “It feels wrong.”
“I won’t, either. Whenever you’re ready, you can tell me.”
“Not whenever you’re ready?”
“I’m waiting on you,” Ravi says.
“Can I at least know why you go by your middle name?”
Ravi smiles, leaning back against the pillows. Even if she’s not ready to share about herself, she wants to know about him.
He must wait too long, because she adds “Please,” and he closes his eyes and lets the sound wash over him. It’s not good, he thinks, how much I like this person I don’t know. How much I like this person I know I can’t be with.
“I wasn’t supposed to have a middle name,” he says. “But my dad’s best friend was called Kevin, and he died the week before I was born. So they gave me his name, always planning to call me by mine.”
“What was he like?”
“My dad’s friend?” Ravi asks.
“Yeah. I know you didn’t know him, but your dad must’ve talked about him, right?”
“Not really, actually. My dad doesn’t really …
talk about hard things. Or things that are hard for him.
” In Ramdeo Kissoon’s world, Ravi is one hundred percent straight.
No, he’s a completely nonsexual being. It doesn’t matter what he or Suresh or his mom says.
It’s just not something Ramdeo seems to think is worth trying to understand, unless and until Ravi brings a man home.
“Oh?”
“I’ll tell you about it, but not tonight.” Elle hums her assent, and Ravi continues. “Suresh talked about Kevin to me, though. Said he was a really fun uncle.”
“There you go,” Elle says. “In Ashkenazi Jewish tradition, you can only name a child after someone who has already passed, because the superstition is that it imparts some of their soul. It’s why we don’t commonly have Juniors or Thirds.
Because if it’s a living person, it’s like you’re stealing from them.
But if they’re gone, it’s saying that you loved them so much you want a piece of them to live on.
I mean, I guess it’s sort of like that in a lot of traditions, but this is the one I know. ”
“I like that,” Ravi says. “I’ll tell Suresh that I was destined to be the perfect uncle. This is why I’m more fun at bath time.”
Elle laughs softly. “I’m sure he’ll love that.” She clears her throat. “Ugh, I think my voice is getting sore from all the whispering.”
Ravi rubs at his neck. His is, too. “I guess I should let you go to bed,” he says.
“Text me later?” she asks, her voice shy. “Not later later, but maybe tomorrow? Or, I mean—”
Ravi chuckles. “Yeah, I’ll text you tomorrow.”
“Good night, Kevin,” she says. “Thank you for listening to me.”
“Good night, Elle,” he says. “Anytime.”
He keeps the phone pressed to his ear until he hears the beep.