Page 87 of Green
I stayed in bed all day the next day. The day after that, I had meetings with the crew of the short film I would be working on. I took the week-long low-paying gig as set designer for the short film shooting up at Big Bear. I really liked the young director’s student films that I saw online, my friend Julia was working on it too, it was a set designer film credit (which was a bigger job than set decorator), it was a great script, and the director-producer already had an agent and manager, so the finished product would surely do the film festival circuit, which would mean good exposure for my work, and most importantly—it meant I would have an out-of-town job to throw myself into. I can’t imagine how I would have gotten through that week without it.
When it was time to return to the city, on the way back to Chloe’s, I stopped by Winsome to get a take-out order. I told myself it was because I was craving the fried egg sandwich, but really I was craving Theo. I couldn’t call or text him, and if I’d actually seen him, I didn’t know what I’d say. But I was hoping to run into him there, because at least I’d know that he had chosen to be in a place where there was the possibility of running into me, and it would be an opening of some sort. But I didn’t see him.
Then I had back-to-back house staging gigs for a realtor that Ethan had introduced me to. The houses were all mid-century modern, beautiful with clean lines, and it should have made me so happy to be de-cluttering and boxing up all those personal items and arranging art and books and furniture. But I was always on the verge of tears.
One morning, I woke up at five-thirty and immediately started tidying up every room in Chloe and Ethan’s house except their bedroom and bathroom. I was rearranging the cookbooks in the kitchen when Ethan came in, saw what I was doing, and wisely chose to leave without saying a word. I was in the living room when Chloe walked in, eating a piece of toast as she was getting ready to leave for work.
“Oh my God, stop tidying.”
“I’m almost done.”
“You’re never done. Did you even sleep last night? You look terrible.”
I glanced down at my pajamas, and continued to arrange the throw blanket on the back of the sofa, so that it looked effortlessly dropped there. Chloe plopped down on the sofa and ate her toast. Watching me. Judging me.
This is who I was without Theo Walker. A lady at home in her pajamas, fretting about stuff. He was right. I’m Grandma. I made a mental note to message my former roommate on Facebook to thank her for making those pot brownies. If I hadn’t eaten them, and I hadn’t been so completely unable to be alone in that state, I never would have opened that door when I heard Theo yelling and laughing out in the hallway, and I’d probably still be there in that apartment now, alphabetizing my spices.
“How you doin’?” Chloe asked. “I mean, really.”
“Great?”
“Obviously.”
“I’m fighting the urge to cut my hair really short. To celebrate this exciting new phase of my life.”
“Yeah you should do that.”
“Cut it short?”
“No. Fight the urge. I’m confiscating the scissors. And this shitty new phase of your life. You have nothing to celebrate.”
“Wow. You are not good at cheering me up.”
“Why would I be? I’m not your best friend. Theo is.”
She may as well have punched me in the gut. All of a sudden, I couldn’t breathe and everything ached and I felt empty and crappy and lost. God, I missed my best friend, surely even more than I’d miss a limb, or a third nipple. My world had gone from vibrant color to desaturated black and white, and I didn’t see the point of anything anymore. I finally stopped tidying up and collapsed onto the sofa with her.
“Honestly, Gem. I really wanted you guys to stay happy forever, but…I thought Theo would be the one to blow it.”
“What do you mean? He did.”
“With the way he was acting?”
I couldn’t even muster up the energy to say “duh.”
“Being jealous? He wants you. He wants all of you. It doesn’t excuse the shoving and punching or whatever, but that was just one of the many ways he was acting. He was also acting like the best boyfriend you’ve ever had. Domestic bliss isn’t Instagram-worthy all the time, you know. Not even most of the time. There’s a lot of messy feelings and spilled wine and farting.”
“I know that. He told me he doesn’t trust me, Chloe. Because I was secretly in love with him while I was with my boyfriend. I can’t ever undo that.”
“Did he actually say the words ‘I don’t trust you’?”
“Yes! Wait—did he? No. He said…Shit. I guess he didn’t say it. But that’s why he was acting so jealous.”
“Maybe. He can get over that. Eventually.”
“I’m just so mad at him for not believing me.”
“I know. It’s not great. But it doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to. And honestly, we don’t know for sure that that’s true.”
