We went to bed late that night, and I don’t think either of us slept at all. I went about my day mechanically, not really aware of what I was actually doing, and Daniel came home from work early just to sit on the sofa and stare off into space, with a slight frown on his face.
Things went on like that for days - we barely spoke, except to re-hash the same conversations over and over again, how could this have happened, can you believe it, what's going to happen if…
Daniel had dark circles under his eyes, growing darker every day. I was sure I didn't look any better, but I hardly left the house, so it didn't matter.
I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt this awful. It was the sort of stress that wears away at you slowly, the kind that rarely spikes to panic proportions, but that sits quietly, draining your energy with every heartbeat, until you can hardly keep your eyes open - but of course, you can't sleep. It's ever-present, murmuring awful thoughts in your ear, until it commands nearly all of your attention. You want nothing more than to ignore it, but you can't.
One morning, after weeks of this, I went to fetch the mail as I always did. In spite of everything, I still felt a spike of mixed fear and anticipation every time I unlocked the box - I don't know what I expected to find.
But today, I found it.
There was an envelope from the INS. I opened it with shaking hands, my vision going black around the edges as I struggled to focus on the words.
Dear Mr. Thorne,
Your application for permanent residency has been processed and accepted…
I fumbled with my phone, barely having the presence of mind to rush back to the apartment before I called so I wasn't babbling about the INS and residency applications in front of God and everyone.
He answered just as I slammed the front door behind me.
"There's a letter," I blurted out, "it says they accepted your application. Does that mean…?"
He was silent for a moment. "I think so," he said. "I think…I think so."
"Congratulations," I said.
"I'm coming home early. I need to arrange some things. And I'd like to see it."
"Of course," I said.
"Right. See you in a minute."
I sat down, heavily, on the sofa. So this was it. This was what it had all been for. Why did I feel like punching a hole in the goddamn wall?
Chapter Fifteen
When Daniel walked through the door, he didn't say a word to me - didn't even shed his laptop bag and coat at the door. He just walked straight over to me with his hand outstretched, and I held out the letter obediently. His eyes scanned all over it, quickly, from top to bottom and then once more.
"Well," he said, setting it down on the coffee table.
"Well," I agreed.
He finally lifted the strap of the bag over his head, setting it down on the floor, and stripped out of his coat. He sat down next to me and stared at his hands for a moment.
"I've been consulting with some people," he said. "My new lawyer - chosen very carefully, I promise. I don't think she'll have quite as much of a weakness for Flo as Wegman did. And I talked to some people on the inside who are pulling for me. They've all agreed that we're through the woods now. There'll be no more interviews or surprise visits. The decision's been made, the file's been sealed. So really - there's no reason to keep doing this."
I stared at him. "Sorry?"
"I know what the contract says." He met my eyes, finally. I couldn't quite read his face. "Six more months. But I'm willing to break it, if you are. I can have the money by tomorrow."
I clasped my fingers together tightly in my lap. "I think that's a little premature. I promise I'll stop throwing things at your head."
He let out a little huff of laughter. "Regardless," he said. "I think this will be better for both of us. Don't you?"
I bit my lip. "I always just…I guess I just figured we'd stick to the terms of our agreement."
"I did too. But wouldn't you rather go home?"
"I'm not sure what you want me to say."
"I'm sorry," he said, after a moment's hesitation. "I thought this would be an easy decision for you. I wouldn't have brought it up, otherwise."
"I just don't think it's a good idea to assume we're out of the woods," I said. "Do you?"
He was tapping out an abstract rhythm on his knee, his fingers seeming to move almost of their own accord. "Please don't take this the wrong way," he said, finally. "But I really do think it'll be better if we don't have to see each other."
My throat felt very dry. "Better for who?" I said.
He didn't answer - he just stood and walked away, up the stairs to the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. It seemed our fight wasn't over.
He was right. I had to remind myself of that, forcefully, because I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach. We were getting entangled with each other in a way that simply wasn't practical. Proximity had fooled us into believing we were…if not in love, then at least some reasonable facsimile of it.
Sitting there alone on the sofa, I remembered a beginning psychology class I'd taken in college, because it seemed like the easiest way to fulfill a science requirement. The professor had gone around the room and asked everyone to name the place where they'd encountered their last romantic interest - a chorus of school, work, school, work, school, school, and work followed. The teacher explained that people feel more affection and emotional investment with people to whom they are close in proximity. We don't date classmates and co-workers just because it's convenient, we do it because we are literally close to them.
I'd been so, so stupid to think I could live with a man who looked like Daniel and not find myself head-over-heels for him within a few months. No matter what I "knew," the deeper parts of my brain - the parts I couldn't control - would whisper sweet nothings until I lost myself in feelings that didn't make any logical sense at all.
A man like Daniel had no time for someone like me. He'd made that abundantly clear.
Finally, I managed to drag myself up off the sofa and over to my studio, in the spare bedroom. I folded up my easel and packed up all my charcoals and pastels, getting everything ready for a move to…
…where the hell would I go?
This whole time, I'd been picturing myself going back to my old apartment. But of course, that wasn't "my apartment" anymore. Someone else lived there now. I hadn't expected to grapple with this question so soon, and now I was completely lost. Where on earth would I go? And I had to consider that quite literally. With two million dollars, I could go anywhere I wanted and start an entirely new life.
Daniel had left his laptop bag sitting in the living room where he'd dropped it, so I pulled out the computer and started to browse. After a few minutes, in spite of myself, I found myself back to browsing apartments that were ten minutes away. I didn't particularly love this city, but at least it was familiar.
There was something to be said for familiarity.
When Daniel finally emerged from the bedroom, I half-expected him to have packed all my clothes into liquor boxes. He hadn't, of course. I wondered if he expected me to do it.
Which reminded me - I was going to need some boxes.
While he stood in front of the open fridge, staring, as if he expected some previous unknown foodstuffs to have appeared in the last few hours, I heard his phone go off in his pocket. I made the barest effort to pretend I wasn't listening, but of course I was.
"Lindsey," he said, turning to look at me. "Hi."
I perked up.
"You're going to be in town this weekend? Well, that's great news. Just you?"
I watched his face carefully, but he betrayed almost nothing.
"Of course you can stay here," he said. "Maddy can move her art supplies out of the big spare room….no, no, don't worry about it, it's no problem."
After they'd finalized their plans and said their goodbyes, I stood up and headed into the kitchen. Daniel shoved the phone back in his pocket.
"Well," he said. "I guess we'd better delay things until she's gone home, at least."
"See," I said. "This is the kind of thing I'm talking about."
He shrugged. "If you'd already moved out, I just would have told her you were away at an…art conference." He pulled a beer out of the fridge. "That's a thing that exists, isn't it?"
"With all my clothes and personal belongings?" I countered.
"And the place is being sprayed for cockroaches, so she can't come over."
"Sure, there's no way she'll get suspicious."
"We can talk about this after she leaves," he said, meaningfully, prying the lid off his beer and tossing it into the trash can. From his tone, it was quite clear he wasn't really open to further negotiations.
Well. We'd see about that.
-
Lindsey arrived on Friday evening, all smiles and sass like usual. She hugged me tightly, then promptly took us out to a late dinner and bought us enough drinks that we were actually able to act like a couple again.
Daniel retired to bed early, leaving me and Lindsey sitting on the sofa, quietly chit-chatting about everything that came to mind. She'd managed to land another big client who was even more insufferable than the last, so we chuckled over her stories for a while as the clock ticked quietly in the background.
After a silence, she switched gears.
"Is everything going okay between you two?"
I hesitated. Obviously, we weren't pretending as well as I'd thought. "I guess so," I said, although nothing could be further from the truth. "It's just tough right now. I'm not really sure why."
"Danny tends to bring his work stress home with him," Lindsey said, stretching her legs out in front of her. "He has trouble letting it go. I'm sure that's not easy for you."
"Yeah," I said, vaguely, hugging my knees to my chest. The urge to be honest with her was almost overwhelming me. It was welling up in my throat. But I couldn't. I knew I couldn't.
"Hey, are you hungry?" Lindsey glanced up at the clock. "Jesus. It's been ages since dinner. No wonder. I think I'm going to order a pizza, you want any?"
"Sure, I guess. Any kind. I'm not picky." I played with a loose thread on my shirt while Lindsey made her phone call. I was trying to think of a way I could get advice from her without actually being honest about what was going on. The opportunity to get her unique perspective on Daniel's behavior was just too tempting.
When she sat back down, I had something prepared.
"Do you ever feel like Daniel's sort of…distant?"
"Oh, all the time," Lindsey replied. "He's just trying to protect himself - I don't know why, but I always figured he let his guard down around you."
"Maybe not as much as I thought," I admitted. "Sometimes it's like I just can't read him. I have no idea what he wants from me."
Lindsey was nodding, slowly. "It's not easy," she said. "I wish I had a simple answer for you, but even I can't get him to open up, most of the time. He has to get there on his own. Most people do, really." She looked off into the distance, thoughtfully. "He's a tough nut to crack, that one."