“We’re still filming, though,” he says. “We’ll turn the cameras back on when he’s in his tub. Don’t worry, we’ll blur out anything necessary.”
I look over to Jason, worried. He was so—understandably—uncomfortable with being in his boxers for the climb, and now he’s going to be sitting naked in a tub full of spaghetti sauce. “You know, you don’t have to do this,” I say. “This asshole may not let you in the trailer”—Rich sniffs at this, but doesn’t say anything— “but Geoff andTim and I can bring out buckets of water and you can wash off in ourtentif you need to, I don’t care.”
Jason gives me a weary look. “No, it’s fine, whatever. Let’s just get this over with.” He strips down, tossing his nasty stank-clothes at Rich’s feet, which I think is a perfect gesture. Rich backs up several feet until he’s well behind the cameramen.
Then, fully naked, he sits his bare ass in the tub with his limbs all spilling over the edges.
I start opening the jars of sauce. By the light of the cameras and the light spilling out from the trailer window, I can see the labels. “Well, you got some Garden Vegetable here,” I say, and dump the sauce right onto his crotch.
He lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Fantastic.”
I dump a few more of those on, the sauce—complete with lumpy vegetables—sliding down around his hips. “Hey, this one’s got meat in it,” I say, keeping my voice light as I pour it on.
“It definitely does now. And I’m pretty sure I have a garden vegetable wedged up my ass.”
I chuckle, and Jason gives me a look. “So, what are the chances you’ll ever be able to see me as a sexual being after this?” he asks. His voice is teasing, but it’s forced.
Jason and I have done some seriously sexy things with food before.
This is not one of them.
However—
“You’ll always be sexy to me,” I say. “Always. But we may not be going out for pasta any time soon.”
“Sounds good to me,” he says.
We exchange another long look, and I wonder if he’s thinking, like I am, of us having more nights of getting takeout together, of rifling through the menu drawer and ultimately picking one out with our eyes closed. Of sitting on the couch curled up together while we eat.
Right now, it feels like a desperate hope.
We don’t say much more as Jason scrubs the sauce over himself and soaks for the prescribed ten minutes.Then he gets out—I have to help pull him out, which comes very close to us both toppling over in a pool of skunk-infused sauce—and heads around to get into the trailer, while I go back to our tent to get him some clean clothes.
My eyes are burning again, and I don’t think it’s from the skunk smell anymore (though clearly, I’m going to need a shower, too, and probably all our clothes from today should be burned.)
I wish I could talk to someone about all this, to help me sort out what’s going on in my head. But even if I could call someone now without having to drive out of the canyon, I don’t think it would help. Su-Lin would probably tell me that ofcourseJason and I will work it out, because we’re us and we belong together. And my family, well . . .They aren’t the people to go to for help with relationship problems.
I climb into our tent and zip the door up behind me, just wanting to close out the cameras for a few minutes, at least.
Having that family I want, that life, with anyone else but Jason? I can’t imagine being truly happy if he’s not there with me. I need him. I needus.
But I also don’t know how I’ll stop wanting that future with him, feeling that constant ache of wishing he wanted that with me. I don’t know if I ever can.
What am I going to do?
The truth is, I don’t think I could bring myself to break up with him, not for real, not knowing he loves me. I might always hurt knowing I can’t have the future I’ve always wanted, but I’d hurt a million times worse knowing I broke up with a man I’m crazy in love with who wanted me back, over something so simple as not being on the same page about the future.
Maybe I can’t have everything I want, and if that’s true, I’m still going to pick Jason. I’m just not sure how I’m going to live with that, how I’m going to be entirely happy without a marriage and a family and all those other things I always believed we were working toward.
At this moment, the only thing I can do is to curl up in a ball on top of our sleeping bag and finally, finally let myself cry.
Eighteen
Jason
I’m up much earlier the next morning than I want to be, still smelling vaguely of skunk, and generally questioning all my life choices. Emily and I slept in our tent last night—she swears the shower took care of the skunk smell, but I’m not convinced it got rid of it entirely, all up in my junk as it was—but we just lay side by side, not talking.
Not resolving that horrible place I left us, because I couldn’t figure out how to make myself clear, even in my own head.
