Dinner is predictably awful. Xavier sets the pizza box on the table with three plates and opens a beer. It doesn’t escape my notice that he doesn’t offer Melanie one.
We sit in our usual spots: Xavier and I across from each other, and Melanie at the head, and the mood around the table is disjointed and weird. There’s a heavy energy between Xavier and I. We’re stilted and silent. But Melanie is completely indifferent. She’s positively incandescent as she talks about how great it is for the three of us to be back together again, and how New Mexico was just “faaabulous!”
“You would love New Mexico!” is the first thing she says to me when we sit down at the table-as if I had the opportunity to go and opted out. “For an artist like you, it’s so inspirational. I swear I did some of my best painting work out there. Oh! I need to show you The Faces of Love. That’s what I call it. It’s a painting of Cathedral Cliff-get it? Rock faces?”
I don’t react at all, and I don’t have to. Melanie doesn’t even pause for breath.
She continues talking for a while about her art and then abruptly focuses in on my neck with an alert, keen look. “Is that a diamond necklace?”
I lift my hand to the familiar chain around my neck and run a finger down it until I find the round diamond in its smooth platinum setting.
“Xavier gave it to me for my birthday.”
“Did he?” She looks directly into my eyes for the first time since she got here as if she’s just noticed me. For one blessed moment, there’s silence, and no one speaks. Then she reaches for her glass of wine and picks right back up where she left off about New Mexico. “Breathtaking scenery,” she says emphatically. “Just breathtaking.”
Xavier gets up two more times to grab a fresh beer throughout dinner, while Melanie eats barely anything at all, she’s so busy talking. After I’ve picked at one slice long enough to have consumed half, I look up at Xavier and ask if I can be excused.
“Finish your slice,” he answers, at the same time as Melanie chimes in, “Yes! Off to bed with you!”
I look back and forth between them and make up my own mind to stand up and leave.
“Good night!” Melanie sings out cheerfully as I walk away. Xavier says nothing.
#
Xavier
#
Shortly After Hazel goes up to bed, I interrupt Melanie and tell her I’ll get her set up in the basement.
“Oh, but it’s early!” she protests. “I thought we could keep talking.”
“That’s enough talking for one night.” I’m tired, irritable, and at the end of my rope.
I gather bedding from the basement linen cupboard and make up a bed on the sectional, while Melanie comes downstairs, helps herself to another scotch, and watches me work.
“Are you still working out at five every morning?” she asks.
“Yes,” I grumble, tucking a flat sheet around the sofa cushions.
“Thought so.” Her voice is coy and playful. “You look good. Rock solid.”
I flash her an irritated look.
“Does that mean I’ll be waking up at five, too?” She cocks her chin towards the windowed wall that separates the gym and the den. There’s little chance she’ll be able to sleep through the heavy drone of the treadmill or the clanging of the weight machines, and I don’t care.
“Guess so. Better get some sleep.”
I make to leave but she grabs my arm, lifting imploring eyes to me. “I miss you, you know?” She smiles, relaxing her grip and rubbing my forearm. “I miss these massive arms. How strong you are. It’s good to see you.”
“Goodnight, Melanie.” I turn away impatiently and leave the room without looking back.
I lie awake for a long time, thoughts churning. For nearly eleven months, I’ve lived in this house alone. For eleven months, I’ve stared at this ceiling when I couldn’t sleep, thinking about Melanie or Hazel, my lost family. And now they’re both here under this roof.
At best, it’s bittersweet. There’s something pure and sweet about my love for Hazel, but it’s corrupted by my obsessive physical desire for her. My wife’s presence highlights that for me. How dare I accuse her of being a bad parent? Isn’t what I’m doing worse?
Eventually, I manage to fall asleep despite my tortured thoughts-so deeply, that when a fingernail grazes across my collarbone, and a sweet, quiet voice whispers my name, I start violently, grabbing the intruder’s wrist and eliciting a squeak of surprise.
“Xavier!” comes a whispered protest. “It’s me!”