Page 36 of Bad at Love

Storm frowns, looking back up at me. “Inappropriate?”

“Yes. Sex should be between a husband and wife.”

I’m not really sure why I say it because I don’t think I even believe that anymore. I did, at one point. Or… I guess I thought I did, but maybe I neverreallydid. Maybe I only thought I did because that’s what was drilled into my head for my entire life? Damn, I don’t even know what the hell I think about simple things anymore.

Now Storm looks disgusted. “And what about gay people?”

“Oh, I didn’t mean—of course, that’s fine,” I hurry to say. “I should have said partners. Marriedpartners. Gender doesn’t matter. That isn’t something I care about. At all.”

He nods slowly, still giving me a confused look. I leave the room before things get weird because I just put my foot in my mouth by repeating my mother’s words. I’ve never heard her outright say it, but I’d bet a lot of money that she isn’t okay with same-sex marriage. Father either. Which is terrible.

As I get to my room, all I can think is… How did we go from getting along well, sitting outside together until dark, to… whatever this is?

Storm and I avoid each other for most of the day. He spends his time in his room with the door closed. It’s really quiet in there, so I think he may be sleeping. It’s not that I’m trying to listen to him or anything—okay, maybe I am trying to listen. I can’t help that my feet stop working every time I reach the top of the stairs. My gaze automatically goes to his door, no matter how hard I try to pull it away, and my body goes on high alert, my ears homing in on his room in particular.

What is he doing in there?

And most of all… why do I care?

I wash all my laundry, deep clean the bathroom and my bedroom. Then I make my way down to the office. Standing in the doorway, looking in, I’m almost scared to step inside.

This room was a selling point when we were deciding on a house. It’s frustrating that despite her disappearance and lack of financial help, she still owns half of it. The bank doesn’t care who pays the mortgage, as long as it gets paid. I tried getting her name taken off, but they needed her to sign papers. I explained that was impossible and they basically told me they didn’t care. Of course I could get a lawyer to handle it, but I don’t have money for that.

I knew my marriage would be arranged from the day I knew what marriage was. Our parents didn’t hide that from me and my brothers. It’s not that my father owns a business and needs to make connections or anything, it’s just something people in their standing do. They don’t marry for love—that’s messy. Theymarry for convenience because nothing is more important than work. Though I was told this from the beginning, a part of me always felt they would never find someone to match with me and I’d end up single. How right I was.

Getting a good education and becoming a doctor or something similar is the only acceptable career path, according to my parents. My father was a doctor, one of the best surgeons in the Seattle area. My three brothers are all doctors, and then there’s me—the lab tech. Regardless of what we do for work, all of us had arranged marriages. Once we turned eighteen, we were introduced to our future wives. We had no idea when our wedding would take place, only that it would. It would all be settled after meeting and seeing how things go.

Tara visited every Sunday for brunch. Each of my sisters-in-law did something similar. This was so we could spend time with one another, get to know one another, and allow our families to familiarize. My brothers, even the younger ones, were married before me. Seems my father had a hard time convincing Tara’s father that I would be worth the connection, considering I wasn’t a doctor. My father convinced him by telling him it wasn’t just us marrying, but the families, and there are three active doctors and a retired surgeon in the family. What did it matter who I was?

Things with Tara and me moved slowly and differently from my brothers and their wives. It’s why we were engaged much longer, and why we lived together before getting married. Tara’s father wasn’t convinced to make the final step, and Tara seemed indifferent to the entire thing. The agreement was that we would remain engaged and live together for a year. This would allow Tara to have the final decision of whether or not I was worth it. It was supposed to be like a sample of what marriage life would be like.

Things were going well, as far as I thought. We had our routine, and though she was distant most days, I didn’t mind it. I had no want to be in bed with her, no want to have an emotional connection to her. Sure, I would handle all that once we were married and it was necessary, but in the meanwhile? I just wanted to get used to living with someone who wasn’t my family. Up until that point, I’d lived with my parents my whole life. Honestly, living with Tara was almost like living alone, except for the nights we would have dinner together.

She didn’t work, but wasn’t home much. I was expected to care for her financially once we were married. My father paid our mortgage up until the wedding, as that was part of the deal. He held it over my head every chance he got, letting me know how pathetic I was because I couldn’t even support my future-wife. He didn’t care that it wasn’t what I wanted. It’s whathewanted and I am his son, therefore I do as he says. It wasn’t something I questioned, though I knew I wasn’t happy about it. That’s just the way of our family, and because I was made aware of the arrangement at such a young age, I’d prepared myself. I just didn’t expect things to end up like this.

Both our fathers came with us to look for houses, and Tara fell in love with this one. Her father didn’t approve, said it was too small. My father discreetly sided with Tara, under the guise that she loved it and wanted to be happy. Really, he didn’t want a huge bill to handle for me while I “got my act together.” Something that, according to him, never happened since I’m still working in a lab and don’t have a PhD. Why the hell is an arranged marriage worth the money he paid? I don’t get it, and I don’t think I ever will.

I’ve been dealing with my family my whole life, so why am I suddenly now feeling like this? Why am I questioning everything?

When Tara didn’t show up to our wedding, leaving me at the altar alone, the only thing I felt at the time was worry. And not even about her health, because deep down, I knew she was fine. My concern was elsewhere.

What would my father do? Where will I live? What will people think?

Coming home to an empty house was comforting. Knowing my things wouldn’t be touched, that there wouldn’t be someone tracking dirt into the house from not wiping their feet, and no dishes left in the sink… I liked it. It was a relief. Sure, she grew up similarly to me with someone who cleaned up after, but didn’t she care that we didn’t have that anymore? Well, I suppose she wouldn’t since I turned into that person. I was her live-in maid.

It’s hard to say if I’d be like this if I grew up differently. I’m not dumb, I know I’m different from other people. I know I worry about things more than others, and I know things bother me that don’t bother the average person. But this is who I am, who I’ve always been, and after Tara left, I was allowed the freedom to be who I wanted. It’s much easier to survive in a place I made for myself, rather than having to force myself to fit into a mold that was designed for someone I’m not.

The anxiety over needing a roommate devastated me for weeks, but it turned out not so bad. Storm isn’t terrible. Better than Tara, if I’m being honest. Yeah, I can say that even after everything that’s happened. It’s more about the energy than the other stuff. When Tara was here, the house felt… stifled. With Storm, it’s comfortable. The outside world wasn’t made for me. It’s not my safe place. And it’s why having someone move into this house with me was so difficult.

This office was the one thing that made me want this house. My own space, a room I could have without anyone going inside, without Tara messing with it. We’d have to share a bedroom at some point. Bathrooms too. But this would be all mine.

“Just what a man needs,” my father had said cheerily. “His own space.”

Of course he has his own space, as does Tara’s father. They have their offices and studies and places that women just aren’t allowed. I was getting that too, and maybe a small part of me, the tiniest part of me, was happy that I finally would have something in common with my father.

This room was supposed to be the one thing that brought us close. That made him realize I wasn’t as bad as he thought I was. I was going to make it my own, do everything my father did, and hopefully look within to find more parts of me that relate to him. Do things that he could understand. Maybe invite him over, and we would sit in here and discuss… things. We could share a drink, even though I don’t drink alcohol. I would, had it meant we’d get along. Had it meant he could finally understand just one thing about me. Because maybe all he needed was a little something from me to show that I’m not a lost cause.

But that never happened—any of it. This room turned into a dungeon. The one room I hardly go in, even when I clean the house from top to bottom. It collects dust, and I’ve found spiders in the corners more than once. This room was supposed to be the thing that brought me close with my father, but it’s just as closed off as he is, and I don’t think that will ever change. But now I’m wondering if it should matter so much at all.

---