“Are you okay?”
“Why do you keep asking me that?”
Nico slips his arm around my shoulders. “You don’t seem quite yourself.”
I pretend to trip on the sidewalk to dislodge his arm. “I’m fine. Yesterday was just rough.”
He nods and doesn’t try to touch me again. Perversely, that ticks me off too.
Yesterday hadn’t been rough. It had been damned near impossible. After finding that photograph, and realizing that nothing I did could give me the control I craved over my life, I’d grabbed at Nico’s idea of going to the Met today because I didn’t want to be alone. He’d taken me home, and I’d fallen into his arms in my apartment and held on until he gently eased back and kissed me good night. On the forehead.
I’d gone to bed with the feel of his arms around me, and that and my sleeping pills had helped me get to sleep faster than the pills alone could have managed. But when I woke up this morning I’d been so tense I’d had a headache already and I’d been angry at him, blazingly so, without knowing why, and my rage didn’t go away during the time we spent wandering around the museum.
In fact, it got worse, because yesterday he kissed me in that doorway and treated me like a new lover, then he called me his friend and kissed me on the forehead like my aunt did, and today that arm around my shoulders was the first time he touched me. Is he toying with me? Is he giving up on me already?
I don’t know, and I hate that, and now that we’re heading to a late lunch at a little café he likes I’ve had about enough of him and whatever game he’s playing.
“You’ll love this place,” he says, clearly not wanting to talk about yesterday. “Their sandwiches are amazing.”
I stop dead. “I won’t. Stop trying to manipulate me.”
He stops too and stares at me. “I’m not.”
“You are! You love this food and that food and the other thing and it’s all to convince me to eat. Well, you can’t. So quit it.”
“I’m not trying to— look, of course I want you to eat. But I’m not trying to—”
“It’s up to me whether I eat,” I hiss at him, finally understanding why I’m so enraged with him. “I don’t care what you want. I’m fine, and it’s none of your business anyhow, so back off.”
He stares at me like he’s never seen me before. “Valerie, talk to me. What have I done wrong?”
“Nothing,” I mutter, knowing despite how furious I am that it’s the truth. He hasn’t done a thing wrong. I just can’t stand the sight of him.
He touches my shoulder lightly. “Would you rather skip lunch? We could go to the Central Park Zoo and see when they feed the—”
“It’s always about food with you!” I jerk myself away from him. “Seriously. Give it up. You think I have a problem but it’s obviously you who’s obsessed with eating. Leave me alone!”
While he stares at me blankly, I turn and stalk away.
“Valerie!”
“I mean it,” I call back over my shoulder. “Leave me alone.”
*****
He does. I spend the rest of that day and all day Sunday alone in my apartment, staring at the small unframed photo of Gloria and who Anthony could have become and wondering why Nico had to make me so angry. We’d been happy together, when he hadn’t been pushing food on me, and his kisses were magical. On Friday, anyhow. But then they vanished, and that infuriates me. When it’s not making me miserable.
At about seven Sunday night, as I swallow yet another Tylenol for my awful headache and try to convince myself I’m tired enough to throw in my nightly sleeping pills too and shut out the whole horrible world for a while, my cell rings.
Nico.
I vow not to answer, but before I know it I do.
“Valerie,” he says, relief in his voice. “I didn’t know whether you’d talk to me.”
“Wasn’t planning on it,” I say. I can hear my own coldness, but I don’t care. I told him to leave me alone and he isn’t. Why does nothing work the way I want it to?
“I… look, I’m not quite sure what to say about yesterday.”
“Say whatever you want.”
I hear a hint of a sigh from him. Somehow, it both makes me furious and brings tears to my eyes. “I like you, Valerie. A lot. And I obviously did something you didn’t like. I’d say I won’t do it again but I don’t know what it was so I can’t. And I’d say I’ll make it up to you but I can’t say that either, for the same reason. I don’t know what you want from me, but I want to give it to you.”
“Well, I don’t know what I want either, so I can’t help you. I just…” My annoyance fades away, leaving a dull flat sadness. “I can’t do this, Nico. You’re a nice guy, you really are, but this is just not the right time for me, I guess. With Gloria, and all the stuff I’ve learned lately, I don’t think I can be in… whatever this is… right now.”
“I… oh. Okay.”
The surprise and disappointment in his voice hurt, but I push onward. “We’re not really together any— it’s not working, and it’s not going to. It’ll all go wrong and fall apart, and I guess I’d rather end it now than get to that stage. Okay?”
“I don’t have a choice, do I,” he says, his tone making it clear he knows the answer.
“I can’t do this,” I say again. “So no.”
He pauses, and I tense. I don’t really think he’ll swear at me or call me names, but I don’t know him that well so I can’t say for sure. He’d be justified, maybe.
No. He would not be. I’m protecting myself and that is the right thing to do. And I’m not wrong. I’ve had a rough few months and taking charge of my life would be good for me.
As I decide that, he says, “Valerie, you can’t control everything in life. I know you want to, but it just doesn’t work that way. Is trying to get that worth losing what we might end up being to each other?”
I remember how caring he was the day we’d met and how wonderful his kisses are. The idea of not having him in my life makes me want to scream, “No, it’s not worth it.” But if I let him in then lose him…
My past breakups weren’t too bad but I didn’t care that much. With Nico it’s already feeling different, like I could really connect to him. And letting that happen then losing him after spending months or even years with him…
The thought of how horribly out of control I’ll be when that happens means I say, “I can’t… it’s over, Nico.”
He definitely sighs this time. “Okay. Well, not okay. I hate this. I like you, and I wanted to help you get better, but—”
He cuts himself off, but too late. “So that’s your game. I’m not going to be your… your psych project, Nico! I didn’t ask for any help and I don’t need any. Take your therapist crap somewhere else, because I don’t need it at all. I’m fine. I’m in control. I’m in control!”
Then I prove that by hanging up on him.