When the bell rings, I hope it’s Zoe, but I know it will be Jamie. Although I can’t be sure, and a tiny part of me clings to the hope of seeing Zoe’s beguiling face instead of my brother’s familiar features when I open to door.
“Paint delivery,” Jamie says. “I figured you’d be running low.”
I thank him and usher him into the living room. “Is the invoice in the bag? I’ll pay you back first thing tomorrow.”
“Whenever’s fine.” Hemingway sniffs Jamie’s jeans with a lot of purpose, probably because there’s cat hair on the fabric.
While I have plenty of paint supplies in my studio, I appreciate Jamie’s small act of subterfuge. But then we sit in silence, and when even Jamie doesn’t have a clue what to say, I know it’s time to address the elephant in the room.
“Did Jaden tell you?” I ask.
“Zoe did, actually. When she came to pick up Brooklyn last night.”
“Ah, that’s why you called.”
Jamie nods. “I didn’t want you to feel too alone.”
“I very rarely feel alone, certainly not ‘too alone’,” I say.
“I know, but still…”
I get up and fetch us both a beer from the kitchen.
“Did Zoe say anything?”
“Not to me, but she and Janet had a long chat. In fact, they’re out for drinks together right now.”
“That’s good. That she has someone to talk to about this. I mean, not about me, but, about her feelings, I guess.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I fill my cheeks with air, then blow it out slowly. “I’d just told Mom and Dad we were dating. Now I have to tell them it’s over already.”
“I can tell them if you like.”
“I don’t want Mom fussing over me as though I’ve just had major surgery and suddenly can’t take care of myself any longer.” I sigh. “I shouldn’t have told them in the first place.”
“So you don’t want to talk about it?” He takes a sip of his beer.
“It just didn’t work out. There’s not that much to say. I wish there was. I wish I could tell you exactly how and why I drove Zoe away, but it’s all a bit vague, even to me.”
He takes another sip. “How are you feeling?”
“Like crap.” Something wells in the back of my throat. “Like I should have known how to do this, even though I’m not completely sure I wanted to be with someone. But I wanted to be with her. I wanted to be with Zoe. I really did. And I somehow screwed it up, and that just royally sucks.” That’s about as eloquent as I’m going to get.
“Do you want to try and find out what you’re supposed to have done wrong?”
“It doesn’t really matter anymore.” I don’t want to feel the way I did last night, when I couldn’t move, and couldn’t find the words that I needed to get Zoe to stay. All I had in me, and that was after she left, was a stupid text message, to which she never replied—for which I don’t blame her, because what was she supposed to say? “It’s done and, in the grand scheme of things, it’s for the best.”
“I saw you with her, Anna. I saw how you were together. How she made you smile and go all soft around the edges. I saw how you looked at Zoe, and I saw how Zoe looked at you, and that’s not nothing. It’s not something to just walk away from.”
“I didn’t do the walking away.”
“Then do the walking back toward her.”
“What’s with all the talk of walking? You’re going to get Hemingway all excited if you keep that up.”
“Anna, come on.”
“I know you mean well, Jamie, but sometimes you’re a bit too much like Mom. You believe that I will only be happy when I find someone to spend my life with, because that’s your reality. It’s not mine. I’m perfectly fine on my own. Sure, I’m sad now, because, well, Zoe’s just… so amazing and beautiful and warm. But she’s also way too direct for me, and too demanding, and she really is rather fond of the sound of her own voice.”
“Why is she too demanding?” Of course Jamie would focus on that.
“Because… she wants things I can’t give her.”
“Oh. Right.” He practically hides his face behind his bottle now.
“Not like that.” Although, of course, that would have turned into an issue down the line as well, I’m sure. “She just… thinks she can waltz into my life and tell me that I don’t accept myself and basically ask me what I’m going to do about that, while, quite frankly, I think I’ve done a pretty good job of accepting myself already.”
“She doesn’t know you that well yet. She’s still operating under neurotypical assumptions. You’ve got to give her some time to adjust. I know it sucks, but you can’t expect people who are not like you to understand you just like that.”
“But I don’t need her to understand me. I don’t need any of this. I don’t need to prove to anyone, least of all myself, that I’m capable of being in a relationship. And I don’t need Zoe to go to any special trouble to try and prove she can be with me. Besides, she’s better off without me.”
Jamie shakes his head. “If you said something along those lines to her, I don’t blame her for walking away.”
“Don’t you start with the tough love as well, Jamie. I can’t take it right now.”
“Can’t you see you’re burying your head in the sand?” Jamie says.
“My head’s right here and I can see very clearly.”
“You’re the one who always says you want to be treated like everyone else, Anna. That you don’t want anyone to go out of their way to accommodate your needs and, worst of all, to pity you. That your diagnosis didn’t change your relationships in any way; it only changed your awareness of yourself. But your relationship with Cynthia did end and now you’re doing the same to Zoe, because you’re so keen to prove God knows what…”
It’s very unlike Jamie to speak to me like this. “You’ve lost me. I have no idea what you’re talking about any longer.”
“I’m talking about you and how utterly infuriating you can be.” He holds up his hands. “I say this with love, Anna, and I hope you know that. But you’re so full of contradictions and you want everything on your own, very narrow terms. It must be hard for you, but it’s difficult for me as well, to see you like this. To see you suffer because another human is trying to find a way in with you, and you’re doing everything you can to sabotage it. You’re even using the one thing you claim to hate the most: self-pity.”
I don’t need my brother to tell me that this is no way to live, even though I believed that I could manage. Zoe came and started to tear down my walls and ask annoying questions, and now I have my brother on my back as well.
Sensing that I’m upset, Hemingway puts his head in my lap. I pet him and the soft touch of his fur soothes me a little, but nowhere near enough to calm myself after Jamie’s little speech. I’ve already forgotten half of it, although the sting it caused in my heart only seems to amplify. The words always go, but the pain always stays.
“I’m not expecting you to say anything right now, Anna,” Jamie says. “I know that’s probably impossible for you. But I’m going to stay here a while longer with you, because I don’t want you to be alone and I want you to know that I’m here for you.” He puts his empty beer bottle on the coffee table. I haven’t even touched mine yet. “Can I switch on the TV?”
I nod and let myself fall back against the couch. I’m glad Jamie’s staying, not because I need the company—I could very much do with being alone right now—but because the act of him walking away from me as well would hurt too much. It would reinforce some truths about myself that I’ve avoided for too long.
He flicks through the channels until he lands on an old episode of Who’s the Boss, which we used to watch together when we were kids. Then I’m not just glad he has stayed, but I’m grateful for the brother he has been to me, before and after my diagnosis. For the brother he was after Cynthia and I broke up, and I pretended I was perfectly fine. When I pretended that us breaking up was in fact what I wanted, while it tore me apart inside. Because I knew I was at war with myself at the time, and I took it out on Cynthia over and over again.
That’s why I’m not angry with Jamie for saying what he just said. I’m thankful that he found the courage to tell me, because no one else ever would—although I have a feeling that Zoe might have done so at some point, if we had made it. Which is probably one of the reasons we didn’t.
“Maybe,” I begin to say.
Jamie lowers the volume, because we don’t need a laugh track in the background right now.
“Maybe I should see someone. Talk to a therapist. Just to sort out some of this mess in my head.”
“I’ll help you look,” Jamie says, then increases the volume again.
“Thanks,” I whisper.
“It’s no bother, coz I’m your brother,” he says, and looks at me out of the side of his eye.