it’s not the first time, that the phone’s come up between them. jessica lets her hand fish into her jacket pocket ahead of the telltale twinned vibrations, buzzing numb against the bones of her palm until she slides the lock screen open.
her blink sticks hard enough to dully ache, at what meets her eyes. jessica’s exhale sounds too hurt to be a laugh, more like a quiet winding, like a solid blow to the stomach. it’s all so — far from you’re not helping me that she feels the muscles of her throat clench up, unsure for a moment if she wants to cry or throw up, but her stomach lurches either way. what’s supposed to be funny just hurts. – but it’s a clean hurt. maybe – maybe that doesn’t have to be all bad.
— but, for the rest, jessica is quiet, save for how the pacing strikes up again. it’s — not easier, but something like it, to take in, to process, the flood of words when she’s moving, even if she feels her hands shaking by the time trish, in turn, falls back into silence and she halts her gait.
‘ — … everything in me wants to say your bar’s gotta be set pretty goddamn low if you’re comparing people to me. ’
her eyes sting hot-sharp-salty until jessica blinks it back, but the lump in her throat doesn’t drive off so easy.
‘ but i, uh. i didn’t come here for that. i want … mm. i want that — for you. to have other people, to have … your own shit. so — if you feel good about them, so do i. and, uh. it’s … ’
‘ it’s good. that you’re doing that. meeting people, … branching out. i know that’s not — i mean, you give … really good bluster, and — performance shit, but i know it’s not easy. so. if this doesn’t sound — fucking corny, i’m proud of you. ’
( she tries not to think too hard about the last person to say that to her, and why, but a hot burning-nauseous sting leaks out from her left eye down to cool in the crevice at the side of her nose all the same. )
‘ uh — shit. ’ sniff, wet and ugly and animal, rubbed off against her knuckles. ‘ sorry. give me a minute, i. ’
something in jessica’s chest convulses, like a silent hiccup or a dry heave, and evens out by the time her hand lowers back to her side.
‘ it’s just … i — spent … a long time feeling small. around you. and every time i tried to move, the bar raised too. if i — remembered to eat, didn’t matter, because i forgot to charge my phone. if i took too long to tell you what i was dealing with, it wasn’t good enough that i told you at all, because i should have done it earlier. so it — i don’t know what to do with that. you … comparing people to me, giving — a shit about what i might think of them. i mean, i try to … fix things, and — every time i feel like i’ve made progress with you, the standards just keep getting higher, so i don’t know how … i can be the yardstick when i don’t measure up to anything. ’
a wave of clammy, hot-cold dizziness bleeds through in the pause, and it’s less of a sitting down and more of a stumbling, by the time jessica’s weight meets the ground, back meets the wall.
‘ i don’t know. how to do any of this. i feel like i’m trying to fucking — negotiate a goddamn kink contract but without the sex. which. is not anywhere near as much fun, by the way. maybe … uh. i mean, fill in the blanks whenever. but maybe we can — do phone calls? for now? once a week, or something, to. updates. you know. n — normal shit. ’ jesus, when did she catch trish’s stutter? ‘ and if that, mm, if that works maybe build — up to, uh, lunch, or something? ’
a weak huff, gaze faltering down to her crooked-up knees.
‘ i feel like such an idiot. i mean, what kind of asshole has to — make rules for her friendships, right? ’
it's a disconcerting thing, to hold someone in such impossibly high regard and find out you've made them feel small. to know maybe the love you’ve tried to give has been more like -- well, that doesn’t matter. that’s her own problem for later. point being: trish didn’t always do her best, she knows that, knows she’s dishonest and that she uses people, that she’s overcritical for reasons any decent therapist would have a field day with. that she’s never known how to admit when she’s wrong because it feels like some kind of self-sacrifice and there’s just not enough of trish to go around. what’s news to her -- what hits her so hard she actually recoils, a little -- is that she wasn’t much better with jessica. in through your nose, out through your mouth.
‘ i’ve not ... i-i think i’m being helpful. and i’m not. it’s never been about you not being good enough, it’s like ... all this time i’ve seen you as the only part of me that really mattered, that was ... worth something. e-everything. and not because of ... what you can do, if ... i know i’ve put a lot on you you probably never wanted thinking everyone just, does and i never meant to end up here giving this goddamn dorothy walker ‘v-vicarious dreams’ speech but i guess ... ’ inhale, exhale. remember. ‘ i guess i can’t expect denial to start doing me any favors now, and, uh. thank you. for telling me. it’s not shit but i’m so sorry i made you feel like that and i know i can’t just undo anything but ... i’ll do better. i’ll b-be better. ’
( a pause to get the hair out of her eyes, which have been drier but the tears won’t fall; she’s never been good at that part. )
‘ and i don’t ... get it, either, you know. i’m never ... together but i’m always like that. can’t let go. i was proposed to a month ago by a guy who never noticed i don’t buy groceries until he moved in with me, at which point i said, and i quote, ‘making lists stresses me out’ . so, you know. there’s your lifetime runner up in transparency, i guess. i don’t know what you see when you l-look at me that says to care about my standards, but i’ve lived off spite and caffeine since i was twelve. ’
trish smiles, or at least it’s half there; looks up and meets jessica’s eyes as best she can.
‘ i'll be alright, you can ... stick to the schedule, but if i’m unreachable and you need. proof of life or whatever -- ’ ( which, okay, she’s fine by her terms but it’s a reasonable future concern; might as well ) ‘ i won’t change my locks. please don’t break any glass. ’ she tries to remember to breathe but it’s getting harder, the tightness in her chest worsening with each word instead of loosening up. trish reaches beside her for her bag, pulls out her keyring. ‘ i want you to take this, though, ’ she says, unlinking jessica’s, holding it out. ‘ i d-don’t ... it’s not. good. for me to feel like i can just ... you’re dating your super, or whatever? it’s a half hour commute. an emergency key is illogical. ’ she looks away, focuses on making out details on the rooftop opposite theirs.
‘ my weekends are almost always free, ’ she says, wiping her nose on the back of her hand in the most dignified way possible. ‘ if you called sunday or saturday it wouldn’t matter when you woke up and i don’t work then, so. ’
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