waited for me to go on. I felt exposed suddenly, and without knowing what was coming, I started talking.
“I’m a failure. And worse than that, I’m the one reminding myself most often. Every time my mom offers me cash, every time I fill my gas tank on her dime, or come home and feel agitated that she left a bunch of shit on the kitchen table – who am I to be agitated with her, it’s her fucking house? And I’m such an asshole, I shouldn’t have said anything about you and your family yesterday, but I did, and I think about you and compare myself in so many ways.” I was unloading. One thought led to the next and the next and my filter was just about gone. “When I was doing well, I looked down at your situation. Not at you, but your situation. You can hate me for that, but I did. I thought ‘why doesn’t he do something with that brilliant mind of his and get out of there,’ and now I’m the hypocrite sitting in the same situation – only worse.”
“Why is it worse?” He asked, and there was nothing tense about his tone.
“Because -” I said, and for the first time, I actually let it sink in. “You’re not unhappy. I am.”
The jeep sat on that dark, wooded road like some quiet Golem waiting for passersby.
Stellan stared at the radio, quiet. “I’m going to say something, dove, and I need you to promise me you won’t get upset.”
My chest tightened. ‘Faye, we can’t be friends anymore - I’m moving to Argentina, Faye – Faye, I hate your haircut; it looks stupid.’ I didn’t know what he was going to say, but his tone scared me so completely that I was almost willing to suffer the curiosity and never hear it.
“Okay,” I said, finally.
“You weren’t happy before, either.”
If words can hit like a right hook, these were the ones to do it.
My mind raced toward immediate defense, but he wasn’t done.
“When you were ‘the most successful woman in your graduating class,’ I never saw you. No one saw you. Then if I got lucky, you were exhausted and frustrated, complaining about one thing or another. You were miserable.” He paused. “And you dressed like a yuppy, which was the worst part, really.”
“Hey -” I said and realized my steam was gone. “- I dressed like a yuppy?”
“When you were all traumatized over losing your job, it was the hardest thing in the world to pretend I wasn’t happy. Yeah, I was happy that I’d get to see you for a change, but I was elated you were out of there.”
“It was a paycheck. I was successful, I was good at it -”
Stellan leaned back in his chair, propping his hands behind his head. He looked up at the roof, his face serene. “There’s a difference between being successful and being -”
He faltered a moment, and I pounced.
“Being what, oh all-knowing Guru?”
“Prosperous? I don’t know. I just don’t think success is what brings you peace when you’re on your death bed, babe. I’m just saying.”
I had trouble arguing this point, but it reminded me of the other piece of my puzzle that I’d recently lost. “No, but I thought I had that other part handled, too.”
Stellan breathed in softly, and I could hear the apology. Yet, he didn’t hide from the conversation.
“That’s another thing I haven’t really said.”
I waited, scared.
He shot me a sideways look, giving a sheepish eyebrow raise. “Good riddance.”
I bristled. “Why do you say that?”
“He was a douche bag from jump street, babe.”
“Don’t say that.” My tone was low and warning, but Stellan blew right through it like a fugitive heading for the border.
“No, let’s be real here, shall we? You’ve been with him since you lost your job, yeah?”
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and my mind raced. If this was a text from Cole, his timing was impeccable. I ignored it. “Yes.”
“Had he been to your mom’s place - even once?”
I paused. “No.”
“There you go. I could go on for hours on the guy, but I think that right
“I’m a failure. And worse than that, I’m the one reminding myself most often. Every time my mom offers me cash, every time I fill my gas tank on her dime, or come home and feel agitated that she left a bunch of shit on the kitchen table – who am I to be agitated with her, it’s her fucking house? And I’m such an asshole, I shouldn’t have said anything about you and your family yesterday, but I did, and I think about you and compare myself in so many ways.” I was unloading. One thought led to the next and the next and my filter was just about gone. “When I was doing well, I looked down at your situation. Not at you, but your situation. You can hate me for that, but I did. I thought ‘why doesn’t he do something with that brilliant mind of his and get out of there,’ and now I’m the hypocrite sitting in the same situation – only worse.”
“Why is it worse?” He asked, and there was nothing tense about his tone.
“Because -” I said, and for the first time, I actually let it sink in. “You’re not unhappy. I am.”
The jeep sat on that dark, wooded road like some quiet Golem waiting for passersby.
Stellan stared at the radio, quiet. “I’m going to say something, dove, and I need you to promise me you won’t get upset.”
My chest tightened. ‘Faye, we can’t be friends anymore - I’m moving to Argentina, Faye – Faye, I hate your haircut; it looks stupid.’ I didn’t know what he was going to say, but his tone scared me so completely that I was almost willing to suffer the curiosity and never hear it.
“Okay,” I said, finally.
“You weren’t happy before, either.”
If words can hit like a right hook, these were the ones to do it.
My mind raced toward immediate defense, but he wasn’t done.
“When you were ‘the most successful woman in your graduating class,’ I never saw you. No one saw you. Then if I got lucky, you were exhausted and frustrated, complaining about one thing or another. You were miserable.” He paused. “And you dressed like a yuppy, which was the worst part, really.”
“Hey -” I said and realized my steam was gone. “- I dressed like a yuppy?”
“When you were all traumatized over losing your job, it was the hardest thing in the world to pretend I wasn’t happy. Yeah, I was happy that I’d get to see you for a change, but I was elated you were out of there.”
“It was a paycheck. I was successful, I was good at it -”
Stellan leaned back in his chair, propping his hands behind his head. He looked up at the roof, his face serene. “There’s a difference between being successful and being -”
He faltered a moment, and I pounced.
“Being what, oh all-knowing Guru?”
“Prosperous? I don’t know. I just don’t think success is what brings you peace when you’re on your death bed, babe. I’m just saying.”
I had trouble arguing this point, but it reminded me of the other piece of my puzzle that I’d recently lost. “No, but I thought I had that other part handled, too.”
Stellan breathed in softly, and I could hear the apology. Yet, he didn’t hide from the conversation.
“That’s another thing I haven’t really said.”
I waited, scared.
He shot me a sideways look, giving a sheepish eyebrow raise. “Good riddance.”
I bristled. “Why do you say that?”
“He was a douche bag from jump street, babe.”
“Don’t say that.” My tone was low and warning, but Stellan blew right through it like a fugitive heading for the border.
“No, let’s be real here, shall we? You’ve been with him since you lost your job, yeah?”
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and my mind raced. If this was a text from Cole, his timing was impeccable. I ignored it. “Yes.”
“Had he been to your mom’s place - even once?”
I paused. “No.”
“There you go. I could go on for hours on the guy, but I think that right
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