He cannot hush. He has not lived. If he had lived, he could hush, but he hasn’t. He made rules, put up his goddamn bulwarks. Constantly pulled back. He could have loved. Again. He could have been in love! And he would have felt ridiculous, a middle-aged fool clambering once more aboard the merry-go-round, but he wouldn’t have cared.
Because he’d be in love!
And there, in love with her, maybe that’s where the yellow room was. Him in bed, Jenny walking away across the dark floor. But she would have come back. She would have come back to bed, in the yellow room, in the house where they lived, for as long as their love lived. Because maybe she was the answer. Not a sealed-off compartment but a whole life. Maybe he misunderstood everything. He was supposed to leave England because it was on the way to her. Maybe everything, even Caroline, even his malaise, was leading him to that kitchen, that porch, her, them. But he couldn’t see it, couldn’t accept it because he couldn’t admit his mistakes. If he had…what if he had? He would have opened up to her. He would have been a pain in the ass about it but he would have shown her his true, full self. Been known by her, and known her in turn.
But he didn’t. He didn’t choose her when he could have chosen her and lived.
And now they’re dead.
We could have had a life together, he says. We would have stopped sneaking around. We wouldn’t be here.
She coaxes him up onto the bed, where he curls on his side. She curls around him.
We missed our chance, Jenny!
She strokes his hair. At what, happiness? It might not have worked, Nick. We might have only lasted a month. Anyway, we had a lot of happiness. You made me happy.
But—
Nick, stop. Okay? Stop. We’re here now. We’re together. This is what we have. It might not last for very long, but we have it. We’re here.
He’s still for a moment.
Did that work? Did she calm him?
No. Because now he jolts up, turning to face her, takes her hands and yanks her up, too.
He’s kissing her hands. Threading his fingers in hers. He’s smiling!
He looks so young all of a sudden.
She’s never seen him look so young.
You’re right! he says. We’re here. Fuck the past! I feel…you know what? I think…I think I love you, Jenny.
Oh, Nick.No.
I do! I love you. In fact, I think I always have.
You care about me, she says. You think much more highly of me than I do. But you don’t love me, and that’s okay. It’s enough.
You’re wrong, Jenny! I get it. The way I think about you, the things you do to me…I couldn’t want you as much as I do if I didn’t love you. I just couldn’t seeit.
And now you do? she says. Isn’t your timing a little suspicious?
Why are you being like this? he cries. All night you’ve been at me to talk about my feelings. Now I am, and you’re disputing them!
She kisses him. Untangles their hands and holds his face in hers.
I’m trying to be honest, she says. I’m being the real me. I finally found her.
What the fuck does that mean? How can you be so calm? Don’t you care at all?
She holds him tight, wishing she could lend him some of her calm. There’s so much she wants to tell him. Because she understands now. She was afraid her whole life—not to die, but to tell the truth. So she hid and cringed and deflected and lied. And because she lied she didn’t live. But that’s over now. The lying. Maybethe living, too, but that matters less somehow. Because the lying is over. And he helped her get there. She needs to tell him, Nick, I get it! Everyone is unfaithful, all the time. To themselves, and the ones they love, and the world. We don’t show our true selves, which means we don’t live as our true selves, which means we don’t live at all. We have to tell the truth. Terrifying as it is, awful, we have to! If we don’t, we’re not alive. I wasn’t alive, until tonight. But now Iam.
That’s what she would tell him.
Twenty Two
