“Ah.”
“I’m afraid of some men, but I’m not afraid of you.”
“Because I’m a lilac kitten puff,” he said.
She pointed the knife at him.
“Emmett what. What’s your last name?”
“It’s just Emmett. Like Bono.”
“Okay.”
“You’ve been very kind to me. Not a lot of people would do what you’re doing. I realize that,” he said.
The vegetables hissed in the pan as the pasta water came to a rolling boil. He opened the box of rigatoni, rattled them in. Tallie finished chopping the tomatoes and stood there drinking her red wine, looking at him like she really could read his colors. His mind.
They ate their dinner with Parmesan and mozzarella cheese, drank their wine, and sat on the couch when they were finished. He sat on one side; she sat on the other. She tucked her feet underneath her and tuned the TV to the World Series. It was soothing how she never ran out of things to ask. Their talk didn’t feel so small anymore.
What’s your favorite movie? Where’s your favorite place you’ve ever been? Do you have a favorite book? What other kinds of music do you like? If you won’t tell me your last name, will you at least tell me your middle name?
Hers was Lee. Tallulah Lee Clark. TLC. He told her his middle name was Aaron and his favorite movies were Back to the Future and Badlands, but he didn’t tell her how much Sissy Spacek reminded him of his mom. His favorite place besides Kentucky was Paris. He loved too many books to pick a favorite. He liked other kinds of music besides Radiohead. Frank Ocean, Sturgill Simpson, Solange, John Prine, OutKast, Alabama Shakes, A Tribe Called Quest, the Roots, Free.
Emmett rarely listened to music anymore. Hadn’t read a book in a year. Couldn’t remember the last time he watched a movie.
“Your turn,” Emmett said. She’d lowered the volume on the TV, but he could still hear the murmurs. The wine in his bloodstream—an eraser that had lightened him, like he could balloon-float away. He could almost mistake it for happiness.
“I love a lot of movies and musicals. Every James Bond. Singin’ in the Rain and Funny Girl…those classics…I’ve seen them all a million times. When I was growing up, my mom and I would watch them together. That’s why California’s one of my favorite places…because I love old Hollywood so much,” she said. She kept talking, mentioning that she was an official member of the Jane Austen Society of North America and how Austen’s books were her favorite. She talked about the Outlander series and how she listened to a lot of folksy, quiet music and oldies.
“Also Sade, Patty Griffin, Aretha Franklin, Ella Fitzgerald, Etta James, Ben Harper, Florence and the Machine, One Direction—”
“One Direction? The what…British boy band?”
“Yes, and don’t try to tease me, because I have a Harry Styles mug I can legally use as a weapon. Absolutely One Direction, the British-Irish boy band that was,” she said, rolling her eyes at him. “I make no apologies for loving sunny, happy music! The world is dark enough. But I can tell I probably shouldn’t let on how much I love ABBA, though, at least not yet.”
Emmett raised his hands in surrender and laughed. An accident. It was the wine. The fake happiness held him under his arms, lifted him up and up. He couldn’t help but smile, betraying the darkness in his heart. He nodded, kept drinking. The goal was to get as drunk as possible without making himself sick or blacking out. Two more glasses should do it. The Yankees ace threw a wild pitch, allowing the Giants a run. Emmett went into the kitchen, ferried back the warm bottle of red to the living room after asking Tallie if it was okay. She’d hesitated before relenting.
They drank. It rained. They drank more. It rained harder.
“What color is all my energy now?” he asked. The all stumbled out because his blood was wine. The room was wine. He, Tallie, and the cats, along with the entire house, would dissolve into a puddle of wine, drip and slip off into the rainwater.
“Oh, it doesn’t change. Well, not usually. You’re still a lilac puff,” she said. He poured more wine into her glass, his own.
“You’ll tell me if it changes? Promise?” he asked.
He wasn’t flirting. Not intentionally. He liked to imagine he’d transcended sexual desire, since this could be his last day. He liked the sound of the rain against her windows; maybe it would never stop raining. The water would rise and rise and rise and rise and lift them up, float them away. The whole earth would be covered in water and no one would complain. This is our new normal, the world leaders would say. Or maybe he’d drown, maybe they’d all drown. Then he wouldn’t have to make the decision himself; the rain would do it for him.
“I promise,” she said.
“But a self-destructive suicidal man such as myself”—he touched his chest—“my energy must be reading somewhat unpredictable and crooked. Isn’t it like I’m a radio station that won’t come in all the way? Shouldn’t this be where you tell me what’s wrong with me?”
The Giants scored another run. If the Giants came from behind to win the game, he would wait to return to the bridge. And if he waited…and the Giants won the World Series…what then? His impulses buzzed on and off like neon as he considered his past, his present, a future that didn’t exist. All that could happen. How his world could change in an instant. He’d lived it and he was fucking tired. Didn’t he have the right to be tired? After what he’d been through? Regardless, his alligator tomorrows waited with open mouths, toothy snaps. Nothing wrong with waiting a few days.
“You don’t need me to tell you what’s wrong with you. Do you want to tell me what’s wrong with me?” she asked.
Her cat hopped in her lap, purring as Tallie smoothed the hair on its back.
“There’s nothing wrong with you. Well, wait…you’re too trusting,” he said.
“Clearly,” she said, opening her arms wide. “But I’m more distrustful of people in general than I might appear. When it comes to you, I’m just going with my instincts, which are much better now post-divorce. I trust those above all. And honestly? It’s kind of one of my rules now…not to be afraid to live my life.”
The Giants scored again, tied the game. Like the rain, maybe the inning would never end.
“Were you ever afraid of your ex-husband?”
“Ah, good ol’ Joel,” she said.
“Were you afraid of Joel?”
“Not really. He was never violent, but he had these heavy moods. Sometimes it still feels like a dream to talk about because it all happened so fast. I found out…he moved in with her…we got divorced. They got married and had a baby,” she said, miming a head explosion. “We didn’t really talk about it. There’s so much left unsaid, and now it feels too late. What’s the point? It’s baffling how you can think you know someone and not know them at all. Maybe not even a little bit…but that’s not what you asked. However, I do still stalk him on social media,” she finished, her words clomping out with sticky boots. She was buzzed like him. They were two tiny bees touching antennae. Buzzing.
“I’m not on social media,” he said.