She doesn’t knock. She comes right through the door.
Not that I mind. Despite all that’s happened, we’re still on an ‘enter instead of knock basis’, and I’m okay with that.
Since the Christmas tree, they’ve had a few quiet moments, a few interactions that have made me think maybe things will be okay. I’ve seen them on more than one occasion studying the tree or kissing goodbye on the porch. I’ve told myself the Christmas magic was working.
But then again, there have also been moments that tell me it isn’t as picturesque as I’d like to believe. There have been shouting matches at his car when he comes home. There have been screaming fights so violently loud, I can hear muffled yells even from my rocking chair. There was something thrown at the window just last night.
Things are still unravelling, and even though she’s visited a few times since the tree went up, her smile doesn’t quite fool me. Things still aren’t right. Then again, maybe they never were.
Amos meows, plodding over to her as she comes into the kitchen. I stand from the table to greet her, my sad piece of toast sitting on a lonely plate the centrepiece. The chill of the winter wind seems to follow her even though the door is shut.
She unwraps her scarf, brushes off the snow from her shoulders and drapes her coat on the chair. ‘Hi, how are you?’ she asks, her voice bubbly.
I smile. It’s good to hear her voice, the one I recognise from before. I study her, the dark purple dress she’s wearing contrasting beautifully with her hair. Even though her hair is short now, so short, it’s still striking. The choppy look only accentuates her features even more. I see up close that she’s beautiful, stunningly beautiful, long curls or not.
‘I’m good. How are you?’ I sit at the table, and she goes to put tea on, as is our custom.
‘Great. I’m great. The holidays are coming up, and everything is perfect, you know?’
‘Uh-huh.’ I bite my lip, watching her frantic movements, listening to her hum to herself as she dances around the kitchen grabbing teacups. She’s too … happy. Too calm.
But I know now it’s an act. And that’s what frightens me.
She continues on, her disillusioned cheer carrying her through the conversation as she sets a kettle on the stove. ‘Doesn’t the tree look lovelier and lovelier? We keep going shopping and buying more decorations. I just can’t seem to stop myself from sprucing it up. But anyway, have you seen the stories lately? That Jessica, I’m telling you, she’s headed for trouble with Clint. Can you believe—’
I put up a hand, walking towards her. ‘Stop. Just stop for a second.’ My words surprise me, and after I’ve said them, I take a breath. I really hadn’t planned on saying anything. I really did just want to enjoy some tea, but it was unstoppable, I suppose. Sometimes you have to say something.
She shakes her head, as if she isn’t sure she’s heard me correctly. ‘What?’ she asks.
I take a breath. ‘We need to talk.’
‘Oh dear, are you busy? Because if you’re busy, I can go.’
‘Shh,’ I say. ‘Come have a seat.’
I usher her towards the table, feeling in control of the situation. Feeling like I need to take the lead here.
‘Honey, listen. I’m worried.’ I say the words slowly, as if I’m savouring each one as it exits my lips.
She stares, blinking for a long moment.
‘About what? Is everything okay?’ she asks. She smiles that sweet smile, the one that would usually make me smile right back. But things have changed, no matter how badly I don’t want to see it. She’s different. They’re different.
And, as a consequence, this is different.
I feel an anger surging within me, beneath the surface. How can she sit here talking about soap operas and tea? How can she pretend everything is okay? How can she act like the Christmas tree is going to make it all better, make all the horrid actions disappear? How can they just sweep it all under the rug?
‘I’ve been watching and I’m worried about you.’
‘That’s absurd,’ she says, spitting the words towards me. She’s claimed her defensive position, her body tightening, her lips in a pursed line.
‘I’ve seen that things aren’t okay. You’re different, and I’m worried. I also see glimmers of who you were, of that loving girl. It’s not too late, but you need to take a step back. All the yelling and fighting, it’s not good for anyone. All the shoving and physicality. It’s not right and you know it.’ My words gain volume and seriousness as I continue, courage building. Someone needs to say it, and I guess it’s got to be me.
‘How dare you make assumptions. Who do you think you are – telling me what to do? You’re just an old, lonely woman. You don’t understand what it’s like.’ Vengeance seethes in her eyes, her posture tightening now. She sits taller, as if she needs to make her presence known. I notice her hands shake as one finds its way to her neck, grasping it and rubbing it as if she’s easing the tension.
I continue, staring right into the face of the wolf across from me. ‘But I’m telling you I do. I might be old now, but I wasn’t always. And I know that this path you’re heading down, it’s ugly. It’s going to leave you cold and alone. You need to get it together and bring it down a few notches.’
‘Stay out of my marriage.’ Her words are sharp, pointed and full of an energy that unsettles me.
‘Stop abusing him,’ I shout back, a strength in my voice I haven’t sensed for a while making itself known.
She’s taken aback, I can tell. I venture that I may have scared her a little.
She stands, stomping towards me, her face inches from mine, circling the table like a rogue shark. She leans in closer and closer until I wonder when she’ll stop. An icy terror clutches my heart, but I fight to overcome it. I need to stand strong in this.
‘Stay out of it. You don’t know shit about me, and I won’t have you trying to meddle with things. What, you think you’re going to save the world from your rocking chair? You don’t know anything. You can’t do anything. So it’d be best if you just lived your life and forgot about ours. It’s our business. Mind your own.’
She grabs her coat from the chair and stomps out, the door slamming. I shudder in the wake of the storm.
The kettle screams, and I jump, my nerves grated.
You know what’s worse than witnessing someone falling apart? Knowing you really, truly are powerless. Knowing you really, truly can’t do anything to stop it.
The kettle screams on for a long while before I remove it from the stove to quiet it. It’s the next day, though, that screams of a human variety will change everything.