Page 34 of This Is Who I Am
“I can’t deal with how you feel about me. Really feel, I mean. Underneath… all the drama and whatever.”
“What do you mean?” Of course, I know what she means.
I just brought it up. But fuck, this is so hard.
Before midlife started chipping away at it, I always considered myself a reasonable woman with plenty of empathy, but I haven’t yet been able to shake off the profoundly fundamental desire to touch her.
It goes infinitely deeper than simply wanting to be inside her.
Now, instead of it being a lack I might learn to deal with, it has become a barrier to a more intense connection between us—like we can’t get past a certain point we need to reach in order for our relationship to progress.
“You said it for a reason. I know that.” She pushes herself up. “It’s always the same.”
“Maybe, but we talked about this. I just need some time.”
“Time for what? To compromise? To accept that you can never have what you so long for?”
Yes, I think, but I can’t say that. And maybe that’s the real issue. Maybe I should say it. How else are we going to get out of this if we can’t be honest with each other?
“Yes,” I say, out loud.
“I don’t want to be your compromise,” Estelle says, her voice flat, like all life was just squeezed out of it.
“We both have to compromise. This isn’t some fairy-tale romance by the seaside. But I love you, Estelle. I want to be with you. I really, sincerely do.”
Estelle shakes her head. “I can’t do it.”
“You… can’t?” My hands tremble against the cold countertop.
“I can’t have my heart broken all over again. It’s barely hanging by a thread. I just can’t do it again.”
“No, no, no,” I say. “No, we are not doing this, babe. We are not breaking up over this, just because my hormones were raging yesterday. That can’t happen.”
“That’s not why we’re breaking up.”
“We’re not breaking up.” I swallow a lump out of my throat and walk to her side of the counter. “Not like this. Not over that.” I look her in the eye. “Please.”
“Cass, be honest, with me and with yourself.”
“I can’t let you go.” It’s as though my body shrinks a size.
“No, please.” Tears start streaming down my cheeks.
What the fuck have I set in motion? “Let’s give it a day.
Twenty-four hours. Please, don’t make a rash decision now.
We’re both emotional. We can’t think straight.
We haven’t slept. I hurt you yesterday and I’m sorry.
” I wish I could say it wouldn’t happen again but I can’t fool myself into that kind of wishful thinking.
“But, come on. We can talk our way through this.”
“I’ve had twenty-four hours to think about it already,” Estelle says.
I take another step closer, reach for her hands, but she pulls them away.
“But… you didn’t really give me a chance,” I say.
“I did.”
“You didn’t. It’s not like that .” I snap my fingers. “You can’t just rock up, turn my life upside down, make me come like I’m twenty years old again, and simply expect me to be okay with not touching you. It doesn’t work that way.”
“Oh, I know that.”
“What you want from me is unreasonable,” I say.
Estelle replies with stony silence.
“I’m crazy about you. And yes, I want you. I just… need some time.” I’m running out of steam. “We have time, don’t we? We’re in no rush.”
“Cass,” all warmth has drained from Estelle’s voice—it sounds icy instead of sexy.
“I’ve made up my mind. I have to protect myself.
You don’t know what this is like for me.
You don’t know how this makes me feel.” A tear slowly glides down her cheek.
“You may think all you need is more time. You may genuinely believe that, but I have been here so many times before, I know exactly where this is going.”
“You’re so convinced I’m going to hurt you,” I start to say, but my argument feels void even before I make it because I have already hurt her. During that wretched half hour yesterday morning when all I did was lash out and hurt her.
“I don’t think we’re right for each other after all,” Estelle says.
“Are you really doing this?” My legs go weak. “Are you really dumping me?” To be honest, when I looked in the mirror this morning, my eyes full of shame, all I saw was a woman ready to get dumped.
“I’m ending things…” Estelle’s voice is barely audible. “For both our sakes.”
“It’s not for my sake,” I say. “I don’t want this.”
Estelle takes a step backward, until her back is against the fridge.
I am respectful enough not to make her feel cornered by the volume of my body in the tiny space we’re in, so I also take a step away from her.
But it reminds me of how we recently defused a similar conversation of mounting tension with a dash of humor and a sprinkle of self-awareness.
It doesn’t seem to be an option today. There’s nothing funny about this situation.
“Please, Estelle.” I head to the other side of the counter. “I hope you change your mind. You know where to find me if you do.” I bow my head. “Please.” I leave the house.
She doesn’t follow me.