Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Ida’s smile makes me weak in the knees. Her anxiety, her crying, makes me want to drop an atomic bomb on the world. Scorch it all and start over fresh with only people that will love and support her.
I’m addlebrained around her. Illogical. Irrational. For days, I’ve obsessed over and about her. I’ve become protective and possessive. I am feeling.
For the first time in years, I have more than the same two emotions. Displeasure and apathy. With her near, I feel…everything, and it’s driving me mad.
“Don’t cry, Ida,” I soothe.
“My life is falling apart, how am I not supposed to cry about that?”
“We’ll find a solution,” I tell her.
“Every solution breeds new problems,” she says, dropping her shoulders in a sign of defeat, while my lip curls at her quoting Arthur Bloch. I don’t like other men’s words in her mouth, because, again, I’m irrational with her.
“I never worry about the problem. I worry about the solution,” I counter. “Shaquille O’Neal.”
“Huh. That’s actually a good one.”
“It is,” I agree, cupping her face and forcing her to see me.
Despite our proximity in my house since she showed up soaking wet that night, touch hasn’t happened.
The warmth of her penetrates me to the bone, heat creeping into my fingertips then moving up my arms. “Stay. Let me tell you my story and we’ll find your solution. Together.”
No longer wanting to resist, I lean down to lightly brush my lips across hers. A hint of a gasp releases from her and swallowing it, taking the small thing of her into myself. If it’s all I get, I’ll cherish it for eternity.
“I’ll listen,” she whispers. “To your story. I’ll hear you, but I won’t promise to forgive you.”
“Fair enough.” I take her hand in mine, leading her out of her bedroom.
Silently, she follows down the hall, up a flight of stairs, into a den rarely used.
This house is too large for me alone. It’s been far more pleasant with her footsteps as she trails me.
She thinks I haven’t noticed, but I have. Of course, I have.
Ida does small things that make my life easier.
Every evening when I go to make the cup of tea I always drink after writing; a mug sits by the kettle.
A saucer neatly placed under it with the tea bag waiting.
It’s a small gesture, sure, yet it shows she notices me.
It shows she sees my needs. That’s only one small example.
In such a short time, she’s made my life easier.
But I don’t want her because she makes my life easier. I want her because she has a good soul. She naturally soothes those around her just by being. Like an aura that’s specifically designed to comfort others. I bet she’s an amazing nanny.
“Did you always want to be a nanny?” I sit on the overstuffed sofa and pull her down next to me, unwilling to separate myself from what she radiates.
“No. I had dreams,” she starts, then pauses to swallow. “I still have dreams. Being a nanny was never one of them. It was a job offer that paid for housing though, and that was important. I set my own dream aside to help pay for my sister’s, so the fewer bills I had, the better.”
“What dream did you set aside?”
“Collaborative Arts at NYU.”
I’m not sure what I expected her to say, but this wouldn’t have been my guess.
That is not a dream that you put on the back burner in hopes of picking back up a decade later.
It’s not something you give up if it is within reach.
I have a couple of friends that went to Tisch.
It’s next to impossible to get accepted and once you are accepted, the experience is nothing short of intense.
Yet they both have wildly successful careers now.
“You gave that up? Ida, that’s impressive.”
“I know, but Edie is worth it.”
“That’s your sister? Edie?” She nods, and I notice the tear fall though she tries to hide it with a turn of her head. “You’re helping her through schooling?”
“It’s been her dream since she was five, she’s driven and deserving. I want what she wants.”
More than she wants what she wants for herself. It’s not a surprise; it reconciles with everything I’ve learned about Ida. She’s a giver. But not so much that she’s a people pleaser, she’ll stand up for herself as I imagine she would for others as well.
“Each time you open your mouth, I find another reason to be impressed by you,” I say after a moment of simply contemplating her situation, her strength, and her conviction.
“I’m neither impressive nor all that interesting,” she says, so quick to dismiss more conversation about herself.
“I disagree,” I tell her. “Your family depends on you.”
“My dad was great but wasn’t a planner. There wasn’t much saved up, and only enough life insurance to cover his funeral.
We sold the house after he passed, but that money didn’t go far.
Mom and Edie share a small apartment. We all get by, but med school is expensive,” she says.
“It’s not my story we’re here to discuss, though, Braxton. ”
“It’s not the easiest thing for me to discuss,” I tell her.
I’m no longer in love with my ex, but the bitterness remains heavy like a pit slowly rotting in my gut.
“I was engaged once, years ago. I loved my fiancée with everything that I was. From the moment I met her, I knew I’d give her anything she asked of me. ”
Ida’s face crinkles, not at all awed by my romantic sentiment, it seems. I fight the smile. This isn’t the time to be amused by her; it’s the time to apologize for my appalling behavior.
“What happened?”
“I did exactly what I knew I would. Anything she needed or wanted, I procured. Putting aside my own necessities, my friendships, my career, wasn’t out of the question.
I was so enamored. No, that’s not right,” I say, shaking my head.
“I was transfixed. Roseanna is an expert manipulator. Every idea she had was carefully created in a way that I thought they were my own.”
The deep-rooted shame of it all sticks in my throat. There I was, believing myself to be such an intellect and yet I fell for her every ruse.
“When did you see the situation for what it was,” Ida asks, with perhaps a bit more sympathy than she’s shown this morning.
“It’s a hard pill to swallow, you know? That I didn’t see it sooner. I didn’t see it until I happened upon her affair with one of my best friends only days before our wedding.”
“Oh, shit,” she mumbles.
“We’d been a couple for years and it took me years to dismantle everything I thought I knew about our life together.
It took as long to rebuild relationships with people who had tried subtle, and some not so, warnings with me.
I didn’t see any of the signs. I couldn’t,” I say, turning to face her, my knee brushing her.
“I struggle to trust, Ida. And I’m quick to assume deceit. ”
“I am not her,” she says, defiantly, and again I think I’ve insulted her. This time without any intent. I can’t say the same for my words last night. Hurt was my goal because I felt cornered and fearful.
“I know that. I do,” I say, taking her shaking fingers in my own. “I am very sorry for what I said to you last night. You scare me, Ida.”
She considers me for a few moments, while I patiently wait for her to say… anything. To ask me questions or say she understands. I wait for any sign that she accepts my apology. For any sign that she’ll stay.
Not forever, but for now. I hope for a second chance at a friendship with her. Maybe more, too. Maybe what she offered last night. Something without strings or labels. Something that lacks complicated emotions.
Two people physically connecting. I hadn’t realized I’ve been missing that until Ida. And now I crave it with abandon.
“You scare me, too, Braxton,” she says. Almost always she uses my full name; something not even my mother does. “You’re this enormous, enigmatic presence. You exude this careful control and have rigid discipline. I think you could crush me, my ego, my spirit so thoroughly.”
I think I could, too. She’s right about that, but she’s wrong about my control. I only feel that when I’m alone. When people are around, especially Ida, I feel like I’m driving at peak speed with no brakes.
“I don’t want to crush you, Ida.” I move closer. Inches only. Too close. Not nearly close enough.
“I don’t want to take anything from you,” she replies. “That’s not why I offered you what I did.” Finally, she makes eye contact and I see it, that small fire we’ve shared these past days. The way her eyes glaze, her chest rises, pulse kicking up in the wrist my thumb soothes.
My body reacts much the same way.
“I understand that.”
“But you don’t believe it,” she says.
“I’m not sure I’m capable,” I say, dropping my forehead to hers. “Not long term. But I can try some temporary trust. For while you’re here, until you have a solid plan. I’d like to try.”
“So. You’re agreeing to a temporary good time, after all,” she says, a hint of teasing that settles on my heart like a balm.
“Yes, Ida. Please,” I practically beg.
“Then help me out of my clothes and fuck me, Braxton.”