Viking
June 20, 1997
That week I threw myself into my new job, dull as it was. Anything to get my mind off what I planned to do Friday.
Because I was certain now. It was over. The Derrek Schwinn thing only confirmed it; I didn’t feel good about Cal anymore.
At Elliot & Healey, Industrial Realty, I helped with the “real estate trend” newsletter, a thrilling document called the Pulse & ForeCastr. I worked hard while the brokers paced around like tigers behind glass walls, hunting commissions over their speakerphones.
I worked too hard, because the week passed quickly.
But when Friday came, and I finally stepped onto the boat to tell Cal it was over, I felt brave.
My backpack held an empty duffel bag for my Sausalito things. I wore my work outfit: black pants and a soft white blouse, the necklace he’d given me tucked against my chest like armor.
It was a cold, foggy day and I stood near the bow, a Viking in a purple North Face parka. Ready for battle.
I would say, It’s over.
Simple, clear, irrevocable.
He wouldn’t arrive in Sausalito for three hours, until after meetings in the city, but when he came I’d be in the living room waiting, my Sausalito things gathered and packed in front of me. He’d see the bag, and he’d know.
But when I opened the door he was already there, his back to me, looking out the window. And the room was gold.
Gold helium balloons clung to the ceiling, ribbons spiraling down. The gas fire glowed on low, cake and champagne on the dining table. Something smelling of brine warming on the stove.
He turned, proud. Shoulders decked in gold ribbons. Holding a white box with a gold ribbon. “Surprise. I blew off my meetings.”
“It’s too much,” I said. “My birthday’s not for eight days.”
“Twenty-one’s a big deal, human. This way I get to be first to toast you.”
In the box was a wide, wavy gold cuff bracelet from the vintage shop.
“You wear it above the elbow, the girl said. Flapper-style.” He rolled up the left sleeve of my blouse, guided my hand into the cold circlet and gently worked it up my arm to near my shoulder, shaping the metal so it stayed.
I looked down at the armband, touching the small zigzag window of my flesh framed in gold. “You didn’t need to do this.”
“Of course I didn’t need to. I wanted to. You’ll get your big present in the morning. I just have a little bit of prep before it’s ready.”
After dinner, he kissed me. He tasted of chocolate frosting, sweet as he had been all night.
It would be brutal to do it now.
“Don’t you want to?” he asked in bed when I caught the hand caressing my thigh, squeezed it gently, and pulled it from my skin.
“Too much champagne.” I kissed him on the cheek and turned my back to him.
I didn’t drift off until three, but then I slept heavily. I woke at nine, groggy from champagne, and found him grinning at me across the bed, excited to show me my “big” present. A brand-new, fancy laptop, festooned with more curly gold ribbon.
“All the latest software’s on there, a TX9 Graphics Booster and 32 megabytes of memory, and I mirrored you over, you only need to start it up, it’s got SmartBackup and—”
“It’s too much,” I whispered, trying to make sense of the jargon.
“Stop. It’s for me, really. I can’t stand watching while you wait for that clunker to boot up, and you’ll get used to it, I swear, once... Hey. Hey, birthday girl, what’s this?” He touched my wet cheek.
I shook my head. “It’s all too much.”
The only sound was the whisper of the ribbon from my present as I raked it through my fingers, pulling the curls, wrapping them around my hand. “It’s gotten too complicated.”
“You mean us?”
I nodded.
“I told you we don’t have to hide like criminals. That’s your thing.”
“It’s not that.”
“Is there someone else? Is that why you’re staying in Berkeley this summer?”
I shook my head.
Then why?
I had prepared for him to ask why, and had decided on this answer: “I care about you, but it doesn’t feel right anymore.”
But he didn’t ask me why. He looked so surprised that I weakened again.
I hedged. “I need some time to think. A break, to figure things out.” I slid the fancy new laptop across the sheet to him.
“Keep the damn computer, Rebecca.” He ventured a smile, half of a beach-volleyball smile. “You can use it for emailing me when you change your mind.”
I shook my head, only half of a Viking. Not accepting the computer, but not admitting the truth, either. “Let’s just see how the summer goes.”
On the ferry ride home, I clutched my key to the Sausalito house, willing myself to drop it into the water. But I couldn’t get my hand to open.