MY CHOPSTICKS END up in his orange chicken. His plastic fork scoops out my rice in revenge. We take to the floor, boxes of takeout sprawling before us in an inviting buffet.
His laughter is familiar and so is mine. Our elbows brush every time we reach for the vegetable chow mien.
The television blares Family Feud, but we’re not paying it any attention. Our conversation is good. So is the food. We inhale it until it’s all gone. Until it’s time for him to go.
I don’t want him to leave. This apartment hasn’t heard much laughter since I moved in. The furniture held me alone. My tears. My loneliness.
Tonight, the walls are coming alive. Because he’s here.
A part of me still thinks this ‘changed’ Jerrison is just a mirage. I’m skeptical. And I have reason to be. Like Doc told me to, I observed Jerrison carefully when he didn’t want to give me the password to his phone.
In the past, I wouldn’t have noticed the signs. If I did, I would have written it off for the sake of keeping the peace. Thanks to Doc, I recognize my husband’s actions for what they are and jot them down carefully in my heart. He failed the test and I know I’ve still got reason to be wary of him.
“I’m stuffed.” Jerrison drops his chopsticks into the empty box. He leans back, drapes his head on the sofa and rubs his belly.
“It was good, wasn’t it?” I press a palm on the coffee table. Stand. Look down at him with a gaze that says you should probably leave.
“Thanks for the food.”
“You’re welcome.” I collect the empty containers.
Jerrison’s eyes follow me while I work, but I pretend not to notice. He reaches out and takes the leftovers from my hands. “I’ll put this up and then take out the trash.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I say quietly. It feels too intimate. His earnest care of me. His eagerness to do the things I’ve just gotten the hang of doing myself again.
Jerrison doesn’t waste time arguing. He takes off. I hear the garbage bag rustling in the kitchen. To my surprise, Jerrison collects the trash from my bathroom too.
He returns to the living room. “I didn’t mean to snoop, but I saw your mother’s rocking chair on top of a pile of junk.” He frowns in concern. “What happened to it?”
“It broke on the way here.” My voice cracks. Simply talking about the movers’ awful handling of the chair fills me with sorrow. “I haven’t had the time to fix it.”
“I can come back. Take a look at it.” My mouth slams shut.
The right answer is ‘go away’. One night isn’t enough. He’s still got more groveling to do. More work to show me I can trust him.
But… my mother’s rocking chair means so much to me. “I guess not,” Jerrison says quietly.
Awkward silence falls between us.
I feel the urge to say something and go with the truth. “It’s too soon to fix everything that’s broken.”
“I understand.” He lowers his head. His fingers tighten on the garbage bag.
Tensely, I nod to the door. “You should go.”
He walks with me to the exit and then turns suddenly. “Before I go, Harriet, I just want to let you know something.”
I hold my breath.
“I’ve been seeing Doc consistently for the past few weeks, and I’m learning a lot. Some things are easier to swallow than others.” His eyes dart away. “Even if it’s difficult, I want you to know that I’m fully committed to seeing this through.”
My heart skips a beat. His words move me, but I’m afraid they’re just a screensaver. Afraid that if I shake the mouse, the computer will show the virus ravaging everything.
He lifts the garbage bag. “I’ll just take this trash out. See you later.” I watch him go.
Then I shut the door firmly behind him, wondering why my heart feels like I’m the one who just got rejected.