Maybe not at this very moment. Or for considerable stretches tonight.
But recently. And for years.
People can’t talk themselves out of love, Jenny. You can fall out, but you can’t forceit.
No? You tell me how it works, Nick.
I just think you’re not being honest with yourself.
Often I’m not, she says. About this, I am. I care for you more than I should. But it isn’t love anymore. I feel so lucky that it was. Like I tried to explain, loving you did a lot for me. I wouldn’t give it up for anything. But the feeling itself? It’s in the past.
She smiles at him, so sweetly. Smiles down at his hands, clasps them tightly in hers. Then she releases them and walks away.
He watches her pour juice into her glass. She’s still so maddeningly calm.
You have no idea how I would have reacted, he says.
Oh, Nick. We both know you would have run as far and as fast as you could.
His chest is bothering him again. That pressure. He has to move, to loosen it. He starts pacing again, the endless pacing with nowhere togo.
He stops in front of her.
You didn’t give me a chance! he cries.
My love was not an opportunity for you, Nick. It wasmine.And it changed me. Don’t believe me if you don’t want, but I know it did. It made me…
She trails off.
Made you what? he says. Jenny? Made you what?
But before she can answer—if she even had an answer, if that sentence wasn’t complete—it happens again.
Sound disappears. Like it’s been sucked out of the room.
He turns to the window in time to see an orange bloom reflected in the building opposite. Just a few stories below them.
The silence. The bloom.
Then the roar.
It’s louder this time. Or maybe it’s just closer.
He rushes to her. They cling together, pulling each other to the ground.
The room shudders.
It shudders again.
He holds her tight, feeling her body beneath the thick robe. Her good, firm arms, her back.
She is real. She is here. Jenny.
The room shudders a third time.
The picture on the television freezes. Pixelates. Disappears.
The lights flicker.