Read Online You're Not You by Michelle Wildgen - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Michelle Wildgen
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and turned back to her. Without the hot spray it felt chilly in the shower, but her cheeks were flushed even more deeply than they had been before, her neck blotched red. She had said nothing, not even a directive, since we had gotten in the shower. She dropped her chin a little farther and looked away, toward an empty corner of the shower.
I wanted to make a little comment about something inane and conversational, something to open the way for her to reassure me I had done an okay job of it. I was about to do this, had actually taken the breath to speak, when I understood that blotchy flush over her skin, her uncharacteristic gaze at the wall.
She wasn’t used to this at all. She was as embarrassed as I was, maybe more so. The thought was so distressing that I stopped what I was doing for a moment, one arm reaching for the towel rack, and considered what it was like to open yourself up in this way, to whoever came along and was halfway decent enough to hire. It wasn’t like sex, where you could simply refuse and put off intimacy and nakedness until someone more intriguing came along. (Unbidden, I pictured Liam auditioning a series of women in the same café we’d sat in, and I pushed the image aside.) Kate just had to let herself be handled and undressed even if it was by someone as unsure and clumsy as I was.
But why put herself through it? She was married; Evan could do it. If he had to leave town she could skip a bath for a day and avoid having a stranger do it. I could have figured this out if it were ever necessary, but I didn’t see why we’d needed to do it on my second day. Why would you choose the caregiver to bathe you instead of your husband? Maybe it was only to get to the inevitable and face the prospect head-on.
Had I done anything well yet, even one thing? I wondered whether they’d pay me for the days I’d already worked if I quit the next day. She’d be all right if I did. She had Evan. I draped the towel over her breasts and belly, hoping it wouldn’t offend her if I were too uncomfortable. I grabbed a second one to dry the rest of her. She glanced down at herself while I toweled her arms, and then up at me. I waited for her to say something rather arch, or amused, but instead she said, almost clearly, “Thank you.”
EVAN LEFT BEFORE NOON and already I was exhausted. It was more mental than physical, from all the scenarios in my head: Kate falling, me dropping her, me mortifying her in some original way. I kept stretching my neck and massaging my face, which was stiff from smiling expectantly.
All jobs were stressful at first. All the social awkwardness, my own relentless display of ignorance. This nervousness would go away, I hoped. I didn’t want to dread going to work, but if I didn’t get better at it, I might have a nerve-wracking summer ahead. I couldn’t leave this job too soon; the setup was too personal. I couldn’t walk out after seeing her naked, like some one-night stand. I hated this about myself, my tendency to try something new and, as soon as I had begun, to wonder how to get out of it. The fact that yesterday I had been so chirpy and optimistic only made it worse. They had tried to give me some sense of what it would be like, but I’d been too dumb to recognize a grace period when they gave me one.
Even doing her makeup was harder than it seemed. After a few tries at the eye makeup, she had faked a smile of satisfaction and we decided it was done. But the eyeliner was too thick—it seemed to thicken of its own accord every time I looked at it—and I had accidentally added a tiny elongated line at the outer corner of one eye but not the other. This bothered me even more than the difficulty of getting her out of bed and more even than the shower. It made her look a little foolish and undignified, the very opposite of what I was supposed to be helping her achieve. It seemed that for her to look perfect was the very least I could do.
Around the time Kate had suggested
I wanted to make a little comment about something inane and conversational, something to open the way for her to reassure me I had done an okay job of it. I was about to do this, had actually taken the breath to speak, when I understood that blotchy flush over her skin, her uncharacteristic gaze at the wall.
She wasn’t used to this at all. She was as embarrassed as I was, maybe more so. The thought was so distressing that I stopped what I was doing for a moment, one arm reaching for the towel rack, and considered what it was like to open yourself up in this way, to whoever came along and was halfway decent enough to hire. It wasn’t like sex, where you could simply refuse and put off intimacy and nakedness until someone more intriguing came along. (Unbidden, I pictured Liam auditioning a series of women in the same café we’d sat in, and I pushed the image aside.) Kate just had to let herself be handled and undressed even if it was by someone as unsure and clumsy as I was.
But why put herself through it? She was married; Evan could do it. If he had to leave town she could skip a bath for a day and avoid having a stranger do it. I could have figured this out if it were ever necessary, but I didn’t see why we’d needed to do it on my second day. Why would you choose the caregiver to bathe you instead of your husband? Maybe it was only to get to the inevitable and face the prospect head-on.
Had I done anything well yet, even one thing? I wondered whether they’d pay me for the days I’d already worked if I quit the next day. She’d be all right if I did. She had Evan. I draped the towel over her breasts and belly, hoping it wouldn’t offend her if I were too uncomfortable. I grabbed a second one to dry the rest of her. She glanced down at herself while I toweled her arms, and then up at me. I waited for her to say something rather arch, or amused, but instead she said, almost clearly, “Thank you.”
EVAN LEFT BEFORE NOON and already I was exhausted. It was more mental than physical, from all the scenarios in my head: Kate falling, me dropping her, me mortifying her in some original way. I kept stretching my neck and massaging my face, which was stiff from smiling expectantly.
All jobs were stressful at first. All the social awkwardness, my own relentless display of ignorance. This nervousness would go away, I hoped. I didn’t want to dread going to work, but if I didn’t get better at it, I might have a nerve-wracking summer ahead. I couldn’t leave this job too soon; the setup was too personal. I couldn’t walk out after seeing her naked, like some one-night stand. I hated this about myself, my tendency to try something new and, as soon as I had begun, to wonder how to get out of it. The fact that yesterday I had been so chirpy and optimistic only made it worse. They had tried to give me some sense of what it would be like, but I’d been too dumb to recognize a grace period when they gave me one.
Even doing her makeup was harder than it seemed. After a few tries at the eye makeup, she had faked a smile of satisfaction and we decided it was done. But the eyeliner was too thick—it seemed to thicken of its own accord every time I looked at it—and I had accidentally added a tiny elongated line at the outer corner of one eye but not the other. This bothered me even more than the difficulty of getting her out of bed and more even than the shower. It made her look a little foolish and undignified, the very opposite of what I was supposed to be helping her achieve. It seemed that for her to look perfect was the very least I could do.
Around the time Kate had suggested
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