she stands outside his door, this is beyond nerves. she kicks the ground, looks at her cigarette & wants to be anywhere but where she is now. she thinks, the doorway is the last step. once she's crossed over, there won't be as much to worry about.
she paces the pavement, contemplating whether or not to ring the doorbell again. she reaches towards it - she's stopped by footsteps & indiscreet voices. she steps on her cigarette & fixes her dress. the door opens & he stands disheveled - tie undone & shirt unbuttoned.
he had been smiling when he answered the door, but that was gone now. behind him stands a blonde holding a drink - she has the look of a woman dissatisfied with interruptions. the silence is overbearing - he glances at the ground near her feet, "still smoking."
she smiles a little, opens her mouth to say something witty - she decides against it due to lack of luck or uncertainty. finally she gestures towards the house with her eyes, "you've upgraded."
a slight shrug, he says, "things change." - one step short of "you're to blame"
she smiles, clearly uncomfortable, "I liked the apartment better."
he doesn't say anything, just looks at her. & she thinks that a man never really looks at you like he's just seen a ghost, he looks at you like he's just seen someone he used to sleep with. & that's a whole other kind of fear.
the blonde is looking from him to her, waiting for some sort of explanation. but he just keeps staring. so much time goes by that both women seem to be teetering on the edge of boredum.
she wants another cigarette, at least then she'd have something to do with her hands. "..so." she says.
he says, "so." the blonde smiles politely, "so indeed." he had apparently forgotten she was there, & turns around, looking surprised to see her standing behind him.
he turns back to the front & nothing more is said.
she sees two options before her. she can either play into the silence & continue to feel awkward & uncomfortable, or, she can act like everything is alright, & make them feel awkward & uncomfortable. she opts for the latter.
"so!" she says, "who's your friend?" & gives one of her better smiles.
he clears his throat, "well. uh. this..."
the blonde looks up from her drink & smiles, the epiphanic moment where she decides she honestly could not care less about this man's life or who the woman at the door is. she says, "I’m a colleague & I was just leaving."
she hands her drink to him, & takes her coat from the rack near the door. he says nothing as she walks out & down the steps to her car.
neither she nor he watch the car drive away; they're too busy looking at the ground. it's worse now that they're alone, because it means that something must be done.
she looks up at him & he's still looking down & somewhere to her left. she asks, "can I come in?"
he looks up quickly. he waits, thinking not for the first time in his life that the answer he's looking for might be written somewhere on her face. it's hard to say if he saw it, but he softens a little, "of course." & gestures for her to walk in.
she smiles.
facial expressions are a problem. they always come too early, like hope. smiles don't give thought to how awkward things are going to get in the next sixty seconds.
she blamed the door - it slammed. a slamming door sounds like a reminder, "you don't know what you're doing, but now you're trapped." a slamming door says, "too late."
she wanted to leave. or she wanted a cigarette, or she wanted a drink. she wanted him to fix her a drink, so she could leave, & have a cigarette on the way home. home. what the hell is home?
she stood in the hall near the kitchen, rambling in her head about whether home was a building, a person, a place, a feeling. then she realized he was staring at her.
"fuck." she said.
he laughed for the first time.
she was about to spazz out. she was about to spazz out, & they both knew it.
"i need to leave," she said, "i'm sorry." and started to walk towards the door.
"wait," he said, and took her by the hand to stop her. he was smiling like he used to, and she hated it.
he started to say something when he felt the ring on her hand. he looked down at it - a brief look of confusion, and then he lost all expression.
she held her breath. this was why she was insane, & this was why she needed to just go home. she opened her mouth to tell him she was honestly sorry for coming, and that she was leaving.
before she could, he said dully, "that's new." and let go of her hand.
"it's two years new. old. i mean," she exhaled, "it's been two years."
he was staring at her hand, and it made her want to pull the ring off & throw it away. to tell him it doesn't mean as much as it should.
but she didn't. and he didn't ask.
he cleared his throat and said, "i was, too."
"was?" she asked.
he was looking at the floor again, "for about a year. we uh...realized it wasn't right or whatever people realize."
"oh," she said, "well, then, that's, you know, for the best." she gestured with her hands & her lighter fell out of the pocket of her dress.
she looked down at it, like it was to blame for everything that had gone wrong in the past ten years.
she said, "jesus christ i'm awkward."
at some point his gaze had travelled back to her ring. he now looked from her hand to the lighter on the floor, up to her, standing the way she does when she doesn't want to be looked at.
he laughed, hard, & said, "we're in dire need of alcohol." and motioned for her to follow him to the kitchen.
she stood for a minute, not knowing how they managed to smooth over that moment. she decided it didn't matter, picked up her lighter, & followed him down the hall.
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Submission Name: hang me up to dry.
