27. I’m Less Allergic Than I Used to Be
I’M LESS ALLERGIC THAN I USED TO BE
PRESENT
We’re then left to roam the grounds. We can cuddle with the cats or insert ourselves into a variety of volunteer projects, from socializing and feeding the cats to cleaning cat “bungalows” or painting their old, weathered storage shed.
When Lucas doesn’t start popping Claritin like Tic Tacs, I blurt out the question I’ve been dying to ask. “Aren’t you allergic?”
After the verbal diarrhea that had been admitting I wished for a future where my parents basically disappeared and I raised my sisters, I avoided all talk of a future (shared or otherwise).
Whenever Lucas broached anything beyond graduation, I tried to be deliberately vague and noncommittal.
It almost became a game. Lucas would ask about kids, and I’d joke that progeny were rarely financially viable.
He’d muse about where we’d live, and I’d joke that we needed to improve our sex life before committing.
The only time I really caved was when he asked about dream pets.
I had always loved the idea of adopting cats. Plural.
Lucas admitted he’d always found felines judgmental and also that he was very, very, very allergic. He looked apologetic and guilty, as if destroying some long-held dream.
Now, the longer Lucas stays silent, the more I begin to itch in frustration. “Am I misremembering?”
Lucas looks at the expanse of green and doesn’t meet my gaze. “I’m less allergic than I used to be.” He doesn’t offer an explanation, and it’s not my right to expect one. Perhaps he had a girlfriend who had cats and he became acclimated; maybe he hadn’t really been that allergic.
Though we all start with socializing (playing) with the cats, I’m particularly drawn to the senior ones. They’re calmer, but also, though I know I’m likely anthropomorphizing, there’s a stillness I equate to acceptance when I stroke their fur.
Also, if I’m honest? The kittens are getting enough attention.
The older ones are largely ignored in a way that pulls at me.
Because we’ve committed to spending at least a few hours here, and because cleaning duty attracts the fewest volunteers, I head toward the laundry shed where I can help and not socialize at the same time.
Win-fucking-win.
There are posted instructions on the outside door, and I start gathering the large piles of sheets and cat bedding.
I lose track of Vera and the married lawyers who’ve joined us, but it doesn’t take long for Lucas to find me.
“This isn’t quite the mountainside picnic I was envisioning.”
I know exactly the picnic he’s referring to, but instead of feeling warm at the memory, it’s Khloe’s voice I hear, that Lucas and I have nothing beyond nostalgia. My voice is hopefully lighthearted when I reply. “I don’t think they sell picnic baskets here.”
“They didn’t at Yellowstone Club either. We always packed leftovers from breakfast.”
I fold and stack sheets until I can’t stand it. “Is knowing about the past just another unsolved riddle to you?”
Lucas’s face is all bland mask, the one he’s likely perfected during our years apart, the ones in which he climbed ladders and I . . . didn’t.
“Explain.”
“When we flew, I’d always distract you with riddles—you always had to know the answer, could almost not breathe until you’d solved the problems. Is that all this is? Your need to know the whole truth, even though there’s nothing you can change? Even if talking about it hurts both of us?”
“I’ve never wanted to hurt you.”
“Then let this go.”
“And if I can’t?”
My hands tremble a little as I continue folding. “You always said I was the control freak.”
“You were, and are.”
“But it’s just as true for you. It’s not that I haven’t thought about it. You were thirtieth on your own. You always solved the most problems. Meaning yes, you won with me and Brody, but you could have won with Arjun and Xinzhe.”
“I picked the teammates I thought would work well together. Look at everything you and Brody have—”
“Don’t say it. I’ve accomplished nothing.” I look away, trying not to think about Khloe, trying to make sure the words are mine and mine alone. “You haven’t contacted me in years—”
“You changed your number. Announced your engagement.” Lucas is quiet, but not in a way that communicates any sense of calm. It’s more eye-of-the-storm quiet, Please say something, anything, to lessen the tension, quiet.
“I’m just saying, the riddles I gave you, none of them were life-changing. You had to solve them because you were trapped on a plane and frightened to death. You were obsessed because the riddle was right there, in front of you.”
“And you think I only care about this because you’re what, convenient? Try again.”
I close my eyes, not knowing what to say, wondering if there is a version of the truth I can give him so that he will walk away after this week.
Before I can think of anything even remotely convincing, Lucas continues. “You declared we were over. You never gave me the chance to fight for us. And I wanted to. Then and now.”
I wipe away the tears that are somehow falling.
I’m not a demure crier. I reach toward my sundress and remember, belatedly, that I don’t have pockets, which means no Kleenex.
I wipe at my face angrily, the pens holding up my hair finally giving up.
The barely green strands fall across my face as I whisper, “I can’t do this with you right now. ”
I hate using that word, can’t.
But it’s the most accurate word to use. It’s not that I won’t talk to him, it’s that I feel, viscerally, as though it’s beyond me.
Lucas uses the corner of his shirt to help wipe my snot away, and I can’t decide if it’s gross or romantic.
Probably neither.
Probably my brain is just broken.
I push the wooden door open, not caring how angrily the hinges shriek back at me. The day, which had started off as clear and sun-dappled, has gone gray, the darkening clouds perfectly reflecting my mood.
Lucas grabs my hand; he doesn’t let go when I tug.
“You can’t talk to me right now? Or you can’t talk to me . . . ever?”
His shirt is a little tear- and snot-stained, but he looks (otherwise) flawless. There’s almost no trace of the anxious man-boy he once was. New Lucas is adept at small talk, carries himself with confidence, commanding attention and respect in way I can’t help but admire.
I grab at my stomach and feel the raised rash there, thinking that the difference between us has never been clearer. At the moment, I don’t care that he’s followed me outside the building where anyone can see.
“Ever,” I whisper, before tearing myself away. “As in I will never want to talk about this.”