Page 64 of This Is Who I Am

It’s Saturday morning, and I wake up on the couch, my back sore and a crick in my neck. I had to flee my bed, where Estelle was sleeping so peacefully, in the middle of the night because my body was burning up from the inside. I had to go outside, into the night air, to cool off sufficiently.

Before all that, at the restaurant, I fucked up someone’s order during a brutal hot flash. A customer had to wait double the time for their entrée—inexcusable in my book.

When Estelle turns up in the living room, wearing nothing but a tank top and boxer shorts, the joy the mere sight of her usually awakes in me is very short lived. I’m crazy about her but I don’t want her to see me like this, all wrinkles and sweaty clothes and just all-encompassing unattractiveness.

“Bad night?” she asks, stretching her arms above her head.

“Yeah,” is all I say.

She just stands there, looking at me with her head tilted as though she’s studying me for research purposes.

“Can I get you anything? A strong cup of coffee? A morning kiss? Both?”

I can’t tell her that I can barely stand to have her—herof all people—in my house right now. I take a breath and try to say, in an even, mature voice, “Coffee would be great.”

I can’t have her kiss me right now. I need at least fifteen minutes under a cold shower, freshly laundered clothes and… I don’t know, some miracle cure to feel better. To not feel this worn-out and ugly and like we are the oddest couple in the universe.

Look at her. She’s breathtaking. And I’m not even allowed to touch her to make my—I stop my train of thought. I can’t pretend it’s not been a point of contention, that I haven’t gone to war with myself over it too many times by now, but it’s not Estelle’s fault. I’m the one who, once again—just like with Sarah—falls short.

“Coming right up.” Estelle reads my mood infuriatingly correctly and skips into the kitchen.

Gus jumps into my lap and no matter how awful I feel, I always have affection to spare for him. And he always makes me feel a little better. I can say to him whatever I want and he never takes offense—that only happens when I don’t feed him on time.

I sink into the couch, my cat perched hotly on my thighs, my legs unable to move, not just because I’m held captive by August, but because they feel as though I ran a marathon last night—as if.

“Here you go.” Estelle walks toward me with two mugs of steaming coffee. She hasn’t read the room sufficiently right to make herself scarce—and why would she?

“Thanks,” I barely manage to squeeze out of my throat.

“Hey, um, I was thinking…” She has that look of possibility on her face that I’m so not in the mood for this morning. Although, to be honest, I’m not in the mood for anything. “How about, after you’ve woken up properly, obviously…” She throws in an irritating smile. How can she be so gorgeous and annoying at the same time? “We go down to the beach together and I give you a private surf lesson?”

“Excuse me?” Estelle has really taken to surfing, spending time in the ocean almost every day. Good for her, of course, but I fail to see what that has to do with me.

“Surfing has helped me with so much and I’ve been thinking that, even though you’re not into it, maybe, if I’m the one teaching you, you could benefit from it as well.”

I can’t believe this. She knows I hate surfing. Most of all because I wouldn’t be caught dead in a wetsuit. But also because a body like mine doesn’t find balance on some flimsy wooden board. That’s just an illusion she must have dreamed up during that wonderful night’s sleep she had.

“Babe, please. No.” I sip from my coffee and she has made it exactly the way I like it but her kindness only stokes my diabolical mood—it’s like waving a red rag at a bull.

“Why not?” she has the audacity to ask. “I’ve been talking to Devon and she believes in surfing being a great therapeutic tool for women in the menopause. Especially women who don’t take hormones. You have to do something to… I don’t know, work through it all, I guess.”

“I would like you to leave now.” I put my cup down.

“What? Why?” She brings her hand to my knee and Gussie takes it as his cue to jump off—and avoid whatever’s coming. “I know you had a bad night. I knew that as soon as I saw you weren’t in bed this morning. It’s okay.”

“It’s not fucking okay.” I huff out some air. “Everything’s always fucking okay with you. Well, I don’t feel okay. Putting me on a surfboard is not going to magically change that.” I shake my head in utter disbelief. “You know I don’t surf. I don’t understand why you are suggesting this now. This morning of all mornings.”

“I’m just trying to help.” Estelle’s voice grows thinner. Nobody’s patience is endless.

“Help me how? By trying to fix me somehow?” I hear myself, and I know my tone is too harsh, but it’s as though I don’t have the power to stop myself. “This is who I am. Okay? Take it or leave it.” Stop now, I tell myself. But I’m in no state to listen to anyone, especially myself—I don’t hold myself in high enough regard for that. “I have to accept you as you are, so…” I even look her in the eye for the next zinger. “Why don’t you try doing the same for me? I know it’s hard, excruciating even, but this is our situation.” Estelle’s about to say something, but I’m not done yet. “I can’t sleep. I can’t think straight. And I can’t even touch you.”

The silence that follows is deafening. I know I’ve gone too far, but, sadly, it’s also the truth. A truth that can’t be spoken, yet I just did that. Well, it wasn’t really me, it was a hormonally raging version of myself, but I also know that this fight I picked isn’t only due to a horrible night’s sleep and yet another menopausal meltdown.

Estelle goes quiet. Her expression closes off as she rises and starts to get dressed.

“We can talk about this another time,” she says. She moves as if to kiss me goodbye but catches the look on my face—and stops herself.

I should snap out of it—why haven’t I? This would be the point in the argument where I have behaved so appallingly that pure shame brings me back to my senses. Yet, it’s not happening this morning. My brain is too foggy and my body simply too drained of energy for such a sudden turnaround.

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