Chapter 11
eleven
BILLIE
Our washing machine is in the hallway, which is a design choice I have never once made peace with.
Our apartment has many qualities that the listing described as “cozy” and “unique layout” but that really means “cheap.” I’m standing in front of it now, sorting laundry from the basket— my least favorite chore.
Three of the shirts in this pile are white and are Tyler’s, and they got in the colored load here because Tyler doesn’t sort his laundry, no matter how much I beg. I am so tired.
From the living room, the sound of a video game reaches me in waves: an explosion, a reload click, a burst of music from what sounds like a cutscene Tyler has already seen sixteen times.
The apartment smells like the fabric softener I buy in bulk and the remains of the takeout we had last night.
I shake out a dark shirt and fold it. I pick up another. I fold that one too.
“Have you seen the— no, never mind, got it,” Tyler calls from the couch.
“Great,” I call back, which requires no actual information about what he was looking for.
From the living room: another explosion, another reload.
In moments like this, I remind myself why I stay.
What are the things I like about Tyler? He brings me coffee (sometimes) in the morning, appearing in the doorway of the bathroom with a mug before I've asked, which is a small thing but a genuine one. He says sleep well, Billz, every night, and he means it. I do love him like an old friend. But I’m not sure I can love him and myself at the same time.
We met a long time ago, and we were young.
I’ve grown, but he hasn’t. I don’t know what to do about it— or maybe I do know, but it’s too hard and I can’t face it.
My phone buzzes on the top of the dryer, screen-up. It’s Alana.
Alana texts the way she talks— in a brightly-paced cadence that communicates exactly what she wants. She uses way too many words, probably because she’s so confident everyone wants to hear what she has to say. The first text reads:
Alana
Okay so I need to tell you something about Rodrigo…
I answer with a simple:
Me
?!
Alana
He is driving me crazy with talk about this job in Spain!
He is so, so needy and went on tonight about how he can’t live without me but also has cold feet about getting married.
And then I made him pasta and he was SO ungrateful.
I need to get out for a bit. Like I love him I truly do but also I need space to breathe, you know? ?
I read this. I think, briefly and without meaning to, about the Rodrigo I met at Melissa’s shower— he was so cold, and so distant, it’s hard to imagine him as needy as she describes. But maybe the men who seem coldest in rooms full of strangers are the ones who are neediest. Maybe.
I file this away under: not my business. I read the next text:
Alana
ANYWAY. I am at Tilly’s Bar. I ordered you a drink already. Yes I know you haven’t said yes yet but you are going to say yes because you deserve a girl’s night and also honestly? Forget Tyler. I mean that in the most loving possible way.
I think about not going but then the next text arrives:
Alana
You’ve been doing laundry, haven’t you?
I look at the washing machine. I look at the basket, and at the pile of Tyler’s shirts on top of the dryer. They’re folded, stacked, and waiting to be returned to Tyler, who is one room away doing nothing at all. I type back:
Me
I’ll be there in twenty minutes.
And before I have fully processed the decision, I'm already reaching for the laundry basket lid to push the remaining pile inside and sliding my feet into the boots I left by the hallway wall this morning, and pulling my coat off the hook by the door.
From the living room, the game makes a triumphant sound.
I grab my keys.
“Hey,” Tyler calls from the couch, not urgently, “What do you want to do for dinner? Are we ordering, or?—”
“I’m going out,” I say, over my shoulder. I turn the handle. The cold air meets me.
“Oh—” Tyler starts, and I can hear him shifting on the couch, can hear the creak of it, can hear the beginning of a follow-up question.
I pause with the door open and wait for him to ask where I’m going.
To care about what I’m up to. But instead, he disappoints me.
He goes back to the game. I can hear him cheering as he makes another kill.
That’s it, then, I think, somehow a little surprised even though I shouldn’t be.
The door closes. And I’m on my way to Tilly’s.