Page 58 of Bad at Love
“But how can you get to really know anyone if you don’t open up?”
“You can’t.” I give her a pointed look. “You don’t.”
She nods slowly, chewing on her lip, getting it. All the girlfriends I’ve had, no matter how long I was with them, it never progressed to anything deep because I never let them see any deep parts of me. They got my poetry and that’s about it. Everything else was surface. It’s just easier that way.
Really, there’s no mystery to why I’m bad at love. Most of the time, I don’t even think I want it. I might not even deserve it.
“Then let me say, I’m kind of honored that you share that stuff with me,” she says, her eyes fixed on me with a wane kind of hopefulness. “And I hope you know I want to hear more. I know you still keep a lot of things to yourself and I totally get it but…I want to know everything, Laz, even the things you think would scare me.”
No, you don’t.
“Anyway,” she says softly, examining her nails under the wavering freeway lights. “My dad’s on another bender. He was doing so well, as you know. The last couple of times I’ve been to his house, he’s looked great. The house was free of booze, it was actually clean, the cat was fat and happy. I know I…” she trails off and when I steal another glance of her, tears are welling up in her eyes. “I shouldn’t get my hopes up about these things and I’ve been through it so many times, I just…”
I reach out and take her hand, squeezing it, rubbing my thumb along her soft skin. God, if I could take her pain from her. “There’s nothing wrong with having hope, Marina. It’s natural. It’s…needed.”
“Yeah, well,” she says, wiping her tears away with her other hand. “I have hope and he just lets me down again. I know it has nothing to do with me, I know that it’s not about him not loving me enough to stop. I mean, fuck. He killed my mother, Laz. He killed his wife. I know it wasn’t on purpose but don’t you think that would be e-fucking-nough to quit drinking forever?” She takes in a deep, shaking breath.
Fuck, I wish I wasn’t driving right now, that I could just pull the car over to the shoulder and bring her into my arms.
“So she calls me,” she goes on when she’s calmed a bit, “just before you came to get me. And she tells me that it’s my turn and my responsibility to take care of him again and I can’t. I can’t Laz, I just can’t. I know that makes me a terrible fucking daughter but I’m still so angry at him. For everything. It’s not getting better, every day it gets worse for the both of us. I feel like I’m…I’m drowning and there’s no one to save me. I can’t even save myself.”
“Your dad…” I start to say, then change my mind. “First of all, your aunt shouldn’t be calling you like this. If she can help out, she should and not involve you in every step of the way.”
“But she’s my mother’s sister, so obviously she’s harboring a lot of resentment too. And what is she going to do? Someone has to take care of him when he’s like this. He can’t do it by himself. He’s drinking himself to death. He won’t feed the cat. He won’t eat. He won’t clean. I…” She closes her eyes and takes in long deep breaths through her nose. I know she does this when she’s trying to ward off a panic attack. I don’t say a word, I just keep holding her hand. I want to ask again if I should turn the car around and head back but I think that will only make her feel guilty.
Finally, she opens her eyes again and looks at me. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. I asked.”
“I know. But you don’t want to hear my sob story, especially before a date.”
“You know I’ll hear all your sob stories, anytime, anywhere.”
She swallows, nods slightly. Then straightens up in her seat. “Tell me something nice.”
My mouth quirks up into a wane smile. “You look gorgeous.”
“Even though I probably have mascara running down my face?”
“You lookgorgeous,” I repeat, squeezing her hand with each word’s beat. “Extremely…bee-utiful.”
She giggles. I fucking love that sound.
“You betterbee-lieve it,” I add, egging her on. “Because Ibee-lieve in you.”
“Oh, stop.”
“I can’t. You’re just sobee-coming tonight, I mightbeecoming on you afterward.”
“Oh my god!” she shrieks, her face going beet red. “You didn’t just say that.”
“Bee—”
“Don’t say it!”
“—lieve it.”
She groans. I know I’m being silly and cheesy as all hell but at least it has her smiling. I’ll do anything for that smile.
