Sarah
I must have startled Kaitlyn by knocking on her door because her face looked confused when she opened it to find me there.
“Hey…”
Her arms slipped around me as I a set my bags down at our feet and for a minute we just stood there. I was slightly uncomfortable but didn’t want her to know that. It just felt like something we were supposed to do instead of something we wanted to do. Hugging each other has never been much less than awkward, but I suppose friends who pretend not to hate each other have to hug in greeting, just as they should hug when someone they love dies. I guess it’s pretty damn pathetic when two people who kind of hate each other put so much effort into pretending that they don’t.
“I’m sorry it’s so late. I had to make sure that none of the kids pitch up to an empty house tomorrow. I only got away at seven. I tried to call a couple of times but your number was always busy, then I couldn’t once I was driving. I came straight through.”
I was babbling; offering up a fast explanation as if she wouldn’t otherwise understand. I realized how ridiculous I sounded as I spewed it all forth but seemed unable to stop it anyway. It’s all part of the awkward package.
She said nothing.
“Can I get a room?”
She nodded and let me into her lounge while she went off to her bedroom to put on something warmer.
Kaitlyn’s flat is tiny and it looks barely lived in, unlike my house which, though clean, has telltale signs of children just about everywhere. Looking around made me feel like a bad housekeeper.
This is how it is with Kaitlyn. I hesitate to let her in, as she does me, but whenever I look at her I can’t stop myself from wanting what she has, and in a grossly twisted way, actually wanting to be her.
Her voice is so soft and gentle, while mine tends towards shrill and over-excitable. She dresses perfectly for her body type, in a way that always accentuates her good features, whereas I have never remotely possessed any talent for dress. She never looks anything but well made up. Perfect hair, perfect make up, perfectly manicured hands. And none of it ever looks like she’s even bothered trying. Like it all just comes naturally to her. No wonder Caleb left me for her. I can’t even manage to find a pair of jeans that doesn’t make my ass look exactly like it’s not meant to look.
And when I look around her house my mind automatically goes I really should try colour-coding my bathroom or I should invest in more candles and prettier lampshades, maybe buy some cushions for the couch or my God please just get rid of your house and buy a new one that doesn’t come with kids or pets or anything that would be bad for a white carpet.
It’s a twisted form of masochism. I want to be the girl who broke half of my heart, just as much as I want to be with the boy who broke the other half.
“Do you want tea first?” she asked, startling me out of my momentary reverie. She had returned with a puffy jacket on over her pajamas and had slipped her feet into boots that looked like they could be used for skiing. The cold here necessitates Eskimo-like outerwear as well as thermal underwear.
How is it that she still looks good in all those ridiculous layers?
“Uh, no thanks. I’m tired. I really just need to get to bed.”
Really all I wanted was to get into my bed, put something sad into my CD player and cry until I just couldn’t cry anymore. I didn’t want to be there in Kaitlyn’s eerily perfect lounge, imagining how satisfying it would be to spill red wine on her carpet and hoping that the tension in the air didn’t start to become even more awkward.
“You can take it to your room. I’ll make chamomile. Help you sleep.”
That sounded good actually. When last had I ingested something healthy anyway? All I could remember consuming was a bit of coffee and Little Sarah’s cookie. And the chocolate milk.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
I followed her to the kitchen, which was just as neat as the living room. Not a single plate drying in the dish rack. I never dry dishes. Or put them away for that matter. Elsabe cleans up during the week and on weekends it’s generally Chinese takeaway out of a Styrofoam box or pizza. Minimum clean up always appeals.
“Are they coming?” Of course I wanted them to come. It was only right for them to do so, and I knew that if they didn’t come I’d only feel more anger plus resentment on top of what seemed to be a million other conflicting emotions. But I couldn’t help thinking that it might be easier if they didn’t come at all.
“Yeah. Except Josh.” Kaitlyn was looking down, lightly tapping her fingers against the kitchen counter as she waited for the kettle to boil. She then seemed to remember that a mug and a teabag are essential to the process of making tea and reached into the cupboard above her to retrieve them.
“What? Why?” My voice came out in a childish squawk.
Just as I had thought, despite the fact that I had no desire to see anyone really, I still wanted to wring Josh’s neck.
“I dunno. Something about his girlfriend. He was in a bit of a hurry to get off the phone.”
Weird. Granted this was a funeral, but Josh always used to say yes. An offer for anything from a game of soccer to a drinking binge always elicited the same response: let me get my shoes. In fact, it was Josh who insisted we all go to Aunt Gloria’s funeral. And we didn’t even know her last name! She was just this insane old lady who lived next door to his grandmother and we used to talk to her if she was outside in the garden. And then we’d walk off giggling about her alien conspiracies and the fact that she was convinced that her deaf and blind bulldog was using telepathy to communicate with her. Yes, she was a sweet and entertaining old lady, but she wasn’t Philip…
“You want milk and sugar?” In chamomile?
I shook my head and she handed me the mug. The warmth of the cup made me realize just how cold my hands were. So much for giving this place a skip during winter.
“I like your doll.” Kaitlyn was studying my face. She has always accused me of staring (or glaring) at her, and she’s always been rather loud about those accusations. It’s probably true. I have this thing where I space out and just look in one direction, not really seeing anything, just thinking or being blank. So I might be looking at her, or whoever happens to be in the direction of my gaze, but not seeing anything. Of course this explanation has never been enough. But now she was doing what she’s always accused me of doing. Something she hated enough to have a mini freak-out about apparently. Although I imagine it’s more unnerving when you’re being glared at in a room full of people instead of in a room with only two people in it. Do I always think of such stupid things, or is it because I’m trying to not think about Philip?
Rosemary had been on my lap or in my hands or tucked under my arm since Sarah gave her to me. I’d almost forgotten she was there. She’d kind of become like a set of car keys that you absentmindedly carry around with you and then feel all relieved that you haven’t lost them when you suddenly remember that they’re still in your hand.
Rosemary is definitely rather awful. For one she’s faded from a combination of being thrown in the laundry and being left out in the sun too often I assume, and the stuffing her grandmother used is clumpy, like a cheap pillow that’s been washed. She’s got buttons for eyes and her mouth is stitched on badly in red embroidery cotton that hasn’t faded in unison with the floral dress. Rosemary looks like a voodoo doll rather than a child’s plaything. If I set fire to her will Kaitlyn spontaneously combust?
Kaitlyn continued to look at me as if my strangeness was fascinating her. Or perhaps she was just trying to see which one of us was sadder. Or establish how sad I was so that she could gage how much effort to put into her pony show.
God how am I supposed to do this I thought, as I traced Rosemary’s mouth with my finger. The whole day my body had been alternating between blissful numbness and complete awareness. Being with Kaitlyn in her surgical kitchen seemed to inspire, and then intensify the awareness to the point where my climbing insecurities were starting to eat at me more and more rapidly.
“I have to go to bed.” My voice sounded pathetic even to me, and I mentally chastised myself for being so insipid. Surely what I should have been doing was helping Kaitlyn get through this. Not wondering if I could set her on fire. Obviously she was hurting too. She needed someone to say the right words possibly just as much as I did. But I felt too much like no one. And I wanted to set her on fire.
Kaitlyn picked up a key from a key rack near the back entrance of the kitchen. It was one of those gold ones with bold lettered “KEYS” written across the top. I wondered momentarily why people buy those things when they’re so ugly, and then felt a slight surge of happiness at the discovery of something so unstylish in Kaitlyn’s home.
“I thought you’d like 3A. I figured you’d be here so it’s ready for you.” She was so thoughtful, and I couldn’t even say Kaitlyn, I’m sorry that you and your daughter have lost someone that you love.
3A was off the courtyard so it didn’t even take thirty seconds to get there. Kaitlyn came out to help me because there’s a special key-jiggling method to be used on the lock.
When she was gone I suddenly found myself wishing that she wasn’t. The room had an unnatural quality to it that was so stale and unfamiliar it made me long for my own home even more. I looked at Little Sarah’s doll and its voodoo eyes stared blankly back at me; no soothing words or advice forthcoming.
“It’s just you and me Rosie.”
And so it was.