Stages of Grace (2 page)

"Nothing, do you have any plans?"

"I was thinking about checking out this new wine bar. One of my girlfriends went there last week and said it was fun. Or there's that new movie coming out, you know the one with that funny girl who won the Oscar."

"That sounds nice
." I add, and it did.

It's been so long since I've done anything fun like that
. Single pretty girl that she is, Nikita always seems to be doing something interesting. I can’t believe how much older I feel considering I'm only twenty-five, twenty-two seems like a lifetime ago. Nikita chats happily as she follows me back to our desks. The office will be opening shortly and so will the phone line. Between the both of us we cover the patients getting checked in, making photocopies of insurance cards, updating addresses to manning the phones and setting new appointments. I'm thankful our office is busy. It keeps the time to chat down to a minimum, and I feel better when I'm doing something. The only downfall is it seems as though the days fly by, and I'm back in my car again, headed home.

Jon will definitely be
up tonight when I get home. He will also be expecting dinner. The days of him cooking are long gone. I put my hand on my neck as I slowly roll my head from one shoulder to the other. I get my now empty lunch bag and purse from under my desk and walk out with Nikita. She is still happily chatting without a care in the world while I, on the other hand, move slower with each step, almost willing my car further away. Resigned to the fact that I have to go home and that Jon will be there. I slow as I cross the Cuyahoga, wishing for the peace I feel when I look at it. That feeling of peace leaves me once I'm past the river, replaced with a dread that builds each mile closer to home I drive.

Parking the car, I look up at our apartment. It had once been a place of so much joy. When Jon brought the idea of officially moving in together I had been thrilled. We had been dating exclusively for almost a year since the night we met at the bowling alley. I had been thrilled. We had basically been living in my cramped studio apartment for the last six months. It was decided, Jon would move out of the house he shared with his buddies, and we would find a place to rent together. The complex we settled on was halfway from both of our jobs. It meant a little bit longer of a commute
for both of us but not by much.

Our apartment felt like a castle in comparison to the tight squeeze of my old place. We had so much fun decorating it and making it feel like home. I had felt bliss there at one time. Now all I feel is as though I am walking a tightrope suspended over a deep canyon with no hope of making it across. No, I shake my head. We are fine. We are going to get through this. I love Jon, and he loves me. Everything will be okay. I unbuckle my belt and gather my things before
carefully making my way up the walkway, then the stairs. False smile ready, my key is in the lock.

Looking up at me from the leather armchair, Jon smirks. My face already feels exhausted in maintaining my false grin, as though someone had said, "Say cheese!" before being ready to actually take the picture, and I am forced to stay there, just waiting for the shutter to click. Jon's face shows no visible sign of being happy to see me. His eyes survey me, stopping when they meet my eyes and then drop back to his book. I hang my purse, keys and lunch bag on the hook by the door. The hook is one of thre
e attached to a plaque that says Home Sweet Home. Shrugging off my coat, I hang it in the coat closet, then go to the kitchen to start dinner.

"No need to make anything for me," Jon says rising, his book now fac
e down on the arm of his chair.

Now that he is standing I can see that he is neatly dressed, wearing slacks and a button-up dress shirt. I want to ask where he is going but know better and feel intense relief at the thought of him not being there. Nodding quickly, I look down. It is impossible to know what reaction I will ever get from him. Currently, he seems indifferent. Jon must have been waiting for me to get home to leave. He puts on his coat and goes to leave. His fingers hesitate over his own keys for a moment before remembering he no longer has a car, and they move to take my keys instead. Part of me rebels within. Why should he get
to take my car without asking?

Jon is out the door without saying goodbye or when he will be back. It seems unfair that he expects me to account for my time when only going to and coming from work each day. He needs to blow off steam, my mind argues. Maybe when he comes back he will be in a better mood, I hope. Still in the kitchen and now only responsible for feeding myself, I make a sandwich and sit down to watch TV. In an effort to save money since we are down to one income, I had purchased a digital converter box for my old TV since we could no longer afford cable. Sometimes I had to adjust the antenna, but it go
t all the basic local channels.

With my plate on my lap, I watch Jeopardy. When Jon and I first moved in together, we used to watch it every night while we flip flopped making dinner. We never kept score but would shout out answers, though never in the form of a question. We stopped watching months ago. I had answered a tricky question and looked at Jon with a big smile. His res
ponse had been, “You think you're so fucking smart, don’t you?” Taking in my wounded expression, Jon continued, “Great. Now you're going to fucking cry” before turning off the TV and storming to our bedroom, door slamming behind him. We never watch Jeopardy together anymore.

Suddenly I feel paranoid for watching it at all, so I turn the TV off and go to clean my plate. Our
apartment does not have a dishwasher. I can almost hear Jon's sing-songy voice as he would say, “you cook, I'll clean” when we talked about the lack of dishwasher. These days, I do all the cleaning. There are a pile of dirty dishes in the sink that had not been there that morning. I cannot help but notice that there seem to be more plates than one person might use during the day. I wash them, placing them one, by one onto the plastic drying rack beside the sink.

I go to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth before changing into pajamas and going to bed. It feels strange, having the bed to myself. I plop down into it without a care and take my time getting comfortable. Sometime in the night, I start when I
hear the front door close. I lie there, eyes shut, doing my best to appear asleep. Jon switches on the bedroom light when he walks in. Still, I pretend to sleep. I hear him walk over to my side of the bed and can sense him over me. He stands there for a few moments. I do not move an inch. With my entire being I wish him away. I almost open my eyes when I feel the feather light touch of his finger brushing a strand of hair behind my ear.

Was that affection? I am too startled to respond. As
quickly as his fingertip brushes my cheek, it is gone. Jon turns off the light before undressing and climbing into bed. I lie there stunned, hopeful. Jon still cares. He has to. I drift back to sleep with a feeling I have not had in months: hope.

The next morning I wake early. I would have loved to sleep in, but I had gone to bed fairly early and have an internal alarm clock. Jon is still asleep so I ease out of bed to not disturb him. His touch the night before was still affecting me. I feel almost light and cheerful. Wanting to surprise Jon, I quietly set to baking cinnamon rolls in the kitchen. It’s my mother's recipe, and Jon loves them. I remembered my mother as I made them. My parents died in a car accident six months after Jon and I had moved in our apartment.

My grief had been so palpable at that time that Jon had been my one saving, well, grace. I was an only child and handling my parents’ estate had been overwhelming. Jon had helped me sort everything out. My parents’ house had been a nightmare to deal with. There was still a mortgage on it, and due to the housing crisis in Cleveland, had been underwater in its value. I had a few nerve wracking moments with the bank holding the mortgage, but with Jon's help, was able to get everything squared away.

Cleaning out my parents’ house had been especially hard. I saved photos and other memorable items. I felt such an overwhelming sadness that since I had no children or brothers and sisters or aunts and uncles that their memories were only known to me now, that their passing was only felt by me. Once the estate was settled, I was able to pay for their cremations and the rest went to paying off my student loans and some credit card debt. Jon had been with me, holding my hand as I released my parent's ashes into the Cuyahoga. My parents had loved that river
. Maybe that was why I did too.

I am just taking the rolls out of the oven when Jon comes out of the bedroom. Setting them on the stovetop to cool, I smile up at him. Jon moves past me to the fridge, ignoring the rolls
, and gets a soda. I move my gaze to the rolls so Jon will not see my smile fade. I make a plate for myself and take it to our small table to eat. Jon goes to sit in his armchair and turns on the TV. After eating, I wash my plate and go to take a shower. Jon walks in as I am about to step in the water, and I grab a towel to cover myself, startled.

"Don’t worry Grace. You have nothing I want to see," Jon says, pulling a bottle of painkillers from the medicine cabinet before slamming the door closed behind him.

I stand there allowing his words to sink into my core. I have nothing he wanted to see. What does that mean? How could I go so quickly from the most beautiful girl he had ever seen to this? As much as I want to turn the water off and curl up in a ball on the bathroom mat to cry, I don’t. I step into the stream of water. It is hotter than I expect, and I rush to turn the knob to add cool water. As I shampoo my hair and clean my body, I cry quietly, curious if the man I love will ever come back to me.

Those words become a chorus in my head: “nothing I want to see, nothing I want to see.” I remembered the days when Jon could not keep his hands off of me. From our very first stolen date at the bowling alley. I had two beers with Jon. Afterward, as he waited with me in the parking lot for my friend to pick me up, he kissed me for the first time. It was a September evening, and even though we were having a bit of an Indian summer, it had cooled off outside once the sun had set. We were sitting on the back of his car, looking up at the stars. Jon was making me laugh by maki
ng up names for constellations.

Jon pointed across me to a grouping of stars low on the horizon. When I looked back at him, smiling at his ridiculous name for them, I was not expecting his face to be right there.
Locked in the gaze of the bluest eyes I had ever seen, Jon leaned in to kiss me. I had felt lit from within, as though every nerve ending on my body was emitting heat. I was so surprised I had kept my eyes open the whole time. His lips were soft, and the kiss was sweet. After our kiss we looked at each other almost stunned. I wondered if he felt the same way I had. Our second kiss followed not long after. This one was less sweet and more of a promise of things to come.

I had been almost sad to see my friend pull up. Jon had my number and promised he would call the next day. I traced my lips, feeling his phantom lips still on them. Claire, my friend and neighbor, teased me on the ride to our building. She had never seen me like this and was still stunned I had ditched my date for him. It had been completely out of character for me. Claire had seen Jon, so it was easy to see why
I had been so taken. Claire was just hopeful he had some cute single friends for herself.

I dry off after my shower. Our bathroom does not have a fan for the steam, only a small window that I should have opened but didn’t. The window is meant to vent the steam, but it i
s too cold outside this time of year. I use my hand to wipe condensation off the mirror and look at myself. Nothing to see now, and once I had been so desirable. We would get past this. I dress and brush my hair, leaving it down. Maybe Jon will be happy to see how long it is getting.

Jon is in his armchair when I come back into the front room. The roll I had eaten is the only one missing from the tray. He hadn’t had one. Why not? I look at the tray and back to Jon. He's sitting with his head down, still reading. He had not even acknowle
dged I had come in to the room.

"I made rolls."

"Not hungry," he says. turning a page of his book.

"But I—"

Jon huffs and looks up at me. "Yes?"

"Nothing."

I hurry back to our bedroom and sit on our bed. Why am I so upset? My emotions are overwhelming me. I bring my hand up to cover my mouth as I quietly break down. I don’t want Jon to hear me. I don’t want Jon to see me like this right now. He must have heard me, though, because I look up, and he is standing in the doorway, coldly looking down at me.

"You're c
rying over some fucking rolls."

"I…I…I"

"You what?"

I just sit there
shaking my head.

"Spit it out!"

Jon is yelling now and standing over me. I shrink further down, pulling my shoulders in, a sitting fetal position. He words a roar in my ears, I cannot understand him. Why am I getting yelled at for crying? It is surreal, almost as though I am watching from the other side of the room. His anger is now wholly directed at me. All I try to do is love him and support him. Why is he so angry at me?

Jon tries to lift my chin up, to make me look at him. I struggle to keep my face down, his fingernails biting into my
skin, I want him to go away. I don't want him to see me like this. He throws his hands up in frustration and storms out, banging the door shut behind him. From the bedroom I hear a crash in the kitchen and then the jingle of keys being taken off the hook by the door followed by the boom of the front door closing behind him. I want to go see what the noise in the kitchen had been but feel incapable of standing. Falling over onto my side, I pull my legs up into my arms and hug myself.