“N O . N O , Bob, listen to me. Bob, listen to me. Yes. No. Yes. Bob. Bob. Calm down.”
I turn off the tap, shake my hands over the sink, and reach for towel as I listen to the one-sided conversation drifting through from the next room. I don’t really know why I’m surprised. It’s not as if this hasn’t happened a hundred times before. Richard and I will make plans, and then that damn phone of his will vibrate, emitting the inane, grimace-inducing ringtone I’ve never been able to stand, and everything will unravel.
Richard and I met at a Christmas party five years ago, just before he started his job at Robert Preston & Associates. To date, that was the one and only Christmas we’ve managed to spend together. Every year since, something work-related has called him away. He does his best to make it home for dinner on my birthday, which falls during the holidays, but even that is touch-and-go. Some years I’ve ended up celebrating alone, surrounded by fast-cooling, half-eaten slices of pizza and a pile of empty beer cans.
For months I’ve been begging him for this overseas trip. We’ve been going through a tough patch, and I thought spending the holidays together—without interruptions, just the two of us—would go a long way toward healing the rift. I’d held out hope that the distances involved would grant us some measure of security, that the fact that we were out of the country would make Bob think twice before dialing. But it appears I was wrong. Honestly, you’d think Richard was Bob’s boss and not the other way around, given the manner in which the man carries on.
“Yes, all right. Let me check flight times and I’ll call you back, okay? Yes, I’ll be there, I promise. Try not to panic. Yes, I’ll call you straight back. As soon as I know, you’ll know. Okay, Bob, hang tight.”
I lean over the sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror. It seems that Grinch-Bob has struck again, ruining the holidays for the fourth year running. I concentrate on my breathing, trying to stay calm for the conversation I know is coming.
In the bedroom, Richard sighs and sets the phone down. A moment later he’s standing in the doorway, and I look up to meet his gaze in the mirror.
“Jimmy, I’m sorry, but Bob—”
“Yeah, yeah, I heard.” I bite back the rant hovering on the tip of my tongue and brush past him into the bedroom. “When do we leave?”
“There’s no need for you to cut short your vacation. The room’s paid up for the week, and I’m going to be sleeping at the office for the next few days anyway, from the sound of things, so you may as well stay. Enjoy yourself, enjoy the holidays, and I’ll see you at home next Monday.”
“You want me to stay here on my own?”
“Reykjavik was your idea. You said it would be inspirational for your writing.”
“Yes, but that wasn’t why we came.” I swallow, trying to clear the tightness in my throat. “This was supposed to be about us, Richard. You know things haven’t been right between us for a while, and this trip…. Did you forget tomorrow’s my birthday?” I can hear myself descending into a whine, but I can’t seem to stop the words from flowing. “You promised we’d see the Northern Lights together. It’s Christmas for chrissake!”
“I know, I know. I’ll make it up to you, Jimmy, I promise. I’ll get you a new camera, a new laptop, whatever you want. It’s just that Bob—”
“Bob, Bob, always Bob. Well, you know what? Fuck Bob! Or maybe you already have.”
The slap takes me by surprise, and my neck gives a painful and audible crunch as my head snaps to the side. My cheek stings, but I fight the urge to rub it, just as I refuse to brush away the tears I can feel rolling down my face.
“My work is important, Jimmy. Can’t you see that?”
“Oh, I can see it just fine,” I reply, staring down at the red and white stripes of the carpet. “It’s more important to you than I am, that’s for sure.”
The
I turn off the tap, shake my hands over the sink, and reach for towel as I listen to the one-sided conversation drifting through from the next room. I don’t really know why I’m surprised. It’s not as if this hasn’t happened a hundred times before. Richard and I will make plans, and then that damn phone of his will vibrate, emitting the inane, grimace-inducing ringtone I’ve never been able to stand, and everything will unravel.
Richard and I met at a Christmas party five years ago, just before he started his job at Robert Preston & Associates. To date, that was the one and only Christmas we’ve managed to spend together. Every year since, something work-related has called him away. He does his best to make it home for dinner on my birthday, which falls during the holidays, but even that is touch-and-go. Some years I’ve ended up celebrating alone, surrounded by fast-cooling, half-eaten slices of pizza and a pile of empty beer cans.
For months I’ve been begging him for this overseas trip. We’ve been going through a tough patch, and I thought spending the holidays together—without interruptions, just the two of us—would go a long way toward healing the rift. I’d held out hope that the distances involved would grant us some measure of security, that the fact that we were out of the country would make Bob think twice before dialing. But it appears I was wrong. Honestly, you’d think Richard was Bob’s boss and not the other way around, given the manner in which the man carries on.
“Yes, all right. Let me check flight times and I’ll call you back, okay? Yes, I’ll be there, I promise. Try not to panic. Yes, I’ll call you straight back. As soon as I know, you’ll know. Okay, Bob, hang tight.”
I lean over the sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror. It seems that Grinch-Bob has struck again, ruining the holidays for the fourth year running. I concentrate on my breathing, trying to stay calm for the conversation I know is coming.
In the bedroom, Richard sighs and sets the phone down. A moment later he’s standing in the doorway, and I look up to meet his gaze in the mirror.
“Jimmy, I’m sorry, but Bob—”
“Yeah, yeah, I heard.” I bite back the rant hovering on the tip of my tongue and brush past him into the bedroom. “When do we leave?”
“There’s no need for you to cut short your vacation. The room’s paid up for the week, and I’m going to be sleeping at the office for the next few days anyway, from the sound of things, so you may as well stay. Enjoy yourself, enjoy the holidays, and I’ll see you at home next Monday.”
“You want me to stay here on my own?”
“Reykjavik was your idea. You said it would be inspirational for your writing.”
“Yes, but that wasn’t why we came.” I swallow, trying to clear the tightness in my throat. “This was supposed to be about us, Richard. You know things haven’t been right between us for a while, and this trip…. Did you forget tomorrow’s my birthday?” I can hear myself descending into a whine, but I can’t seem to stop the words from flowing. “You promised we’d see the Northern Lights together. It’s Christmas for chrissake!”
“I know, I know. I’ll make it up to you, Jimmy, I promise. I’ll get you a new camera, a new laptop, whatever you want. It’s just that Bob—”
“Bob, Bob, always Bob. Well, you know what? Fuck Bob! Or maybe you already have.”
The slap takes me by surprise, and my neck gives a painful and audible crunch as my head snaps to the side. My cheek stings, but I fight the urge to rub it, just as I refuse to brush away the tears I can feel rolling down my face.
“My work is important, Jimmy. Can’t you see that?”
“Oh, I can see it just fine,” I reply, staring down at the red and white stripes of the carpet. “It’s more important to you than I am, that’s for sure.”
The
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