I regret saying it as soon as the words are out of my mouth. The flash of hurt across his face is unmistakable, and on reflex, I coil in closer to him.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. Obviously I don’t think you’d celebrate it. That was a shitty joke.”
“Yeah. A bit.”
“I’m sorry,” I say again. God. Why can’t I learn to stop rattling on about randombullshit? Five seconds ago, we were fine; five seconds ago, this was all sweet and romantic or whatever that he was apologizing and listening to me and being supportive and I couldtrusthim, and now I go and say something like this.
“It’s okay,” he says.
“It isn’t. Fuck. I really didn’t mean that. I promise.”
It’s his turn to laugh, and thankfullyhisisn’t awkward. It’s low, almost affectionate, as he brushes the backs of his fingers along my cheek. “I know you didn’t. Really, Marigold. It’s okay. You can let it go.”
“You’re just being nice to me in hopes of getting more sex.”
A quick grin cuts across his lips. “That obvious, huh?”
“So obvious.”
“Well, then,” he says, as he takes my hand and tugs me down the hall toward the bedrooms. “Time for you to make it up to me, then.”
Two Days
Until Stockholm
20
Marigold
I wonder what normal couples’ first fights are about.
Probably someone always showing up late for dinner dates. Or who has to pay for parking. Maybe bad laundry habits on sleepover nights: missing socks and shrunken sweaters.
I can’t decide if ours was more or less stupid than that.
I guess at least our arguments are about something that materially affects our actual lives and futures? Or at least, in Jamie’s view, it does.
“He’s still a dick,” Cessy says when I talk it over with her the next day. (Because yes, Jamie saw the light, but I’m still entitled to overanalyze boyfriend arguments with my best friend. To quoteMean Girls:It’s just, like, the rules of feminism.)
“He apologized,” I remind her. “Takes the dickishness down at least two levels.”
Cessy bites off the cherry from her Shirley Temple, then stabs the stem in my direction. “One level. Atbest.Jamie Larson is a ridiculous human, and we aren’t gonna rewrite history on that one.”
I sigh. “Yes, I know he’s a ridiculous human. But he’s also got some shit going on, and let’s be real, he has a bit of a complex about his whole bootstraps backstory.”
“What kind of shit?” Cessy asks.
The rules of feminism do not extend to me disclosing all of Jamie’s secrets to her—the way he feels internal pressure to succeed, even though his heart’s not in it anymore. The way it feels like Adam’s death stole his love for music, and no matter how hard he fights and how many competitions he wins, he still can’t steal it back.
“His brother died” is what I end up saying. “Remember?”
“So you have to coddle him.”
“Sure. Whatever you want to call it. But isn’t your girlfriend supposed to coddle you? Like, even if you’re being paranoid, that’s the one person who ought to say your feelings are valid. Wrong, maybe, but valid.”
Cessy tosses her cherry stem back into her empty glass and leans back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest and fixing me with a stern look. “That’s a contradiction. Your feelings can’t be both wrong and valid.”
“Oh, yes they can.”
