Fifty-Eight: African Paintings
Fifty-Eight: African Paintings
It’s hard to believe we dated for a whole year. We made it through her birthday that spring when I whisked her off to San Francisco. We fought the entire plane ride out there as she pretended to act indignant about such an extravagant gift and I was legitimately annoyed that she could find ANY reason to be mad. We spent the flight over muttering things under our breath as she pretended to focus on her book and I flipped through the airlines shitty music stations, only half listening to her responses.
“I don’t know why I bother. I’m seriously not in the mood for the prideful poor girl routine right now. I’m really not. It’s trite and over done at this point I don’t know why I bother doing anything nice for you.”
“Then don’t.”
“Fine, I won’t. Next year we won’t even acknowledge your birthday.”
“Well that will be exactly what I want.”
“Ungrateful bitch…”
“What was that?”
“Hm?”
“What did you say?”
“I said, as you wish.”
We fought a lot. I actually didn’t know that I was capable of fighting so much with her until it happened. She claimed that I started fights to initiate more passion- that I thought unless we had something to argue about like lovers in movies, something was wrong. Of course I denied these claims, but looking back, I think she was right. The more we fought, the more we made up, and the more passionate make up sex there was.
When we arrived in San Francisco I stormed off to the bathroom at the airport, sat in there for 10 minutes sulking and calling my mother to complain like the 23 year old Mama’s boy that I was, before going back out and begging her to just enjoy herself for at least her own sake. To me shock, I received an apology. We spent the next two days eating at vegan restaurants and perusing Chinatown. She later claimed it was a “perfect trip”, which what do you know, I had known all along.
By the time Spring decided to show up, we were ready to kill ourselves, if not each other. It had been the longest winter I could remember- week after week of bitter cold. Just as it seemed it might get warm, the temperatures dropped below freezing again.
When it got warm we laid outside in my backyard on a blanket reading, like the dorky people we were at heart, and bought mountain bikes. I got some idea in my head that I wanted to be a fitness freak and dropped over a thousand dollars on biking gear, expensive wind resistant windbreakers and insulated water bottles. I installed a bike rack on my SUV and we drove down to the bike bath by the river, only to find myself 20 minutes later biking along side Gabrielle for half a mile before having to stop to catch my breath.
“Surprise surprise, the smoker can’t keep up,” she’d smirked.
I extended a dainty middle finger as I reached into the pocket on the $150 windbreaker and pulled out my Reds.
When Ezra and Penelope came in June we took them to the local water park where we all received 1st degree burns on our cheeks because I didn’t realize that SPF 4 didn’t hold up for 6 hours in the sun on a scorching Tulsa day. We all spent the night greased in aloe, trying to concentrate on Little Einsteins over the sound of my bitching. There was nothing I hated more than a bad sunburn. The only way I was able to reason with the whole situation was reminding myself it would fade into a perfect tan eventually.
And it did. I was perfectly browned by the 4th of July, and walked around our backyard barbeque shirtless flaunting my tan and purposely situating myself next to Zac who was sporting a particularly unattractive farmers tan that summer- everything but his arms and face glowing.
Summer at the Hanson house is never without barbeques. In fact, by September you’d rather roll over and die than eat another grilled shish kabob. We cooked out for fathers day, the 4th of July, Jessica’s birthday, and Zac and Kate’s engagement party. And when we weren’t celebrating, I grilled hamburgers. Despite being completely over anything grilled, hamburgers were the one thing I could make well, and there was nothing more exhilarating than biting into a big juicy burger across the table from a vegetarian. Unfortunately, she eventually stocked my freezer with veggie burgers and that ended my summer long grilling fest. I will never stoop as low as to grill a veggie burger.
It was an amazing year. By the time fall came around, it was hard to believe that only a year ago I’d been married, miserable, and living most of my days in my bed.
I had no regrets. I always found it fishy how people said that as they looked back on their years. ‘I have no regrets- I wouldn’t be the person I am now if I changed anything about my past.’ It seemed like bullshit that people made up to feel better about themselves and their shitty past choices. But the truth was, I understand that.
I will never be the kind of parent that scrapbooks my children’s photographs or proclaims that being a parent is incredible all of the time. Being a parent is a pain in the ass, exhausting, frustrating, and painful much of the time. But even so, I would never take back a moment with my kids. Sometimes I wish I could go back and spend more time with them. Sometimes it’s hard to remember what Penny was like the summer she was born- what her cry was like or how tiny she was. It’s hard to recall Ezra as a toddler, and although I can remember quick snapshots from those days, I couldn’t tell you what his favorite quirky foods were or what songs he liked to listen to over and over. I wish I was there more, I wish I had built more memories. But I will never regret having them, and I will never regret how it all went down, for lack of a better way to phrase it.
And I don’t think Natalie ever will either, or Gabrielle for that matter. It’s been a painful road in a lot of ways, far from perfect, but I understand finally how old men feel as they lay on their deathbeds. Their stories are not perfect, but they are theirs, and that is all that is important.
It was November 10th when it happened, just two weeks before Thanksgiving. I had driven over to her apartment because I’d told her I’d come by after she got out of work and we’d have dinner together. We spent most nights together, and I remember this night was no different than usual. I had a bag of Thai food take out on my passenger seat when I parked outside and a pair of her underwear shoved in my pocket.
I made my way up the stairs to her apartment and knocked. I had a key by this point but was too lazy to set the food down and get it out. When she opened the door, I had pulled the underwear out of my pocket and was smirking at her waving them in her face.
“I think these are yours baby… at least I hope they’re yours…” I smirked.
She raised an eyebrow.
“I’ve always wanted you to leave your underwear at my house so I could return them to you and feel all skanky about it,” I explained as I pushed past her and tossed them at her chest. “I carried them around in my pocket all day and pulled them out to smell them when I missed you,” I said, laughing as I walked over to her kitchen table and setting the bag of food down. “Okay, not really, but I should have just to be creepy.”
I turned and looked at her living room, a couple boxes catching my eye. I squinted and looked at her, and then looked back at the boxes. Moving boxes from the liquor store. She was packing. There were clothes spread out all over the back of the couch.
“Why are you packing?”
She walked over and tossed the underwear down into one of the boxes, and then crossed her arms over her chest, looking at me. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Right…. So talk.” I could already feel my blood beginning to boil. I didn’t know what was going on yet, or if there was a reason to be mad yet, but somehow I suspected there was.
She sighed and walked over, sitting down on the edge of the couch and dropping her arms down to her lab. “I took a job offer.”
“Where.”
I didn’t even pause for a moment. I wanted details… fast. I felt I was owed them.
She ran her fingers through her hair and glanced down at the boxes, before looking back at me. “New York.”
I wanted to put my hands over my ears and turn away. I wanted to do anything but listen. Where was this coming from? I hadn’t seen her in two days, she’d been busy trying to get work done in the evenings, but I didn’t think something like this could happen in 48 hours. I couldn’t think. It had to be a joke, a prank. I don’t think I spoke for almost a full minute. I just stood there, my mouth parted, my eyes wide, my skin flushed.
“What?” It was all I was eventually able to utter.
“New York City. I’ve been meaning to tell you… I didn’t know how.”
Again, I just stood. I could feel the anger beginning to rise. It started in my hands, as my fingers curled themselves into balls, and then made it’s way to my head. I slowly shook my head at her, still only unable to stare though. It seemed impossible! ‘I’ve been meaning to tell you.’ Who would ever say something like that about moving across the country? This couldn’t be possible.
“It this… please tell me this is a fucking joke… where are the cameras? I’m being punked…” Somehow I forced a laugh- although it came out as more of a scoff.
She licked her lips and put her hands on her temples, beginning to rub at them a little. “I’ve only known for a week myself. It’s so last minute. The job came available, I applied for it, and I start in 2 weeks.”
I licked my lips and looked at her, and then glanced around the apartment looking for Ashton Kutcher hiding behind a wall. “So you had time to start packing, but telling your boyfriend you’re moving across the country just didn’t make the agenda…”
“It hasn’t felt real yet. I was putting off telling you… I was scared to. I was planning on telling you tonight.”
“It’s about time!” I yelled, being to pace the length of her small living room now. “Are you sure you didn’t want to wait until when you’re at the airport? Might as well have just called me from the plane before you take off for your new fucking life. This has got to be a fucking joke!” I turned and looked at her, and then shook my head at her. “No. You’re not going. You’re not going! Your entire family is here, your life, not to mention I think you would give a shit about leaving ME!”
“And I think you would understand that I can still be with you in New York!”
“You’re not going,” I said flatly, walking over to the box in the middle of the room. I let my arms fall at my sides and reached in, pulling the blow dryer out of the box and tossing it down onto the floor, then reaching in and grabbing a handful of wires- computer chargers and extension cords, tossing them down as well. “You’re just not. No. I’m not letting you leave me.”
“You’re not going to tell me what to do…” she said, picking up the pile of things and putting them back into the box.
“Yes I fucking am. Yes I fucking am in this instance. You’re not fucking leaving me!” I felt like a 10 year old boy who had just learned how to use the f word, but I couldn’t help myself. I was seething. “You can’t just pick up and leave without asking if it’s fucking okay with me!”
“I don’t need to ask your permission!” she yelled back.
I paused and looked at her, and then shook my head slowly again, stepping away from her. “No. You’re right. You don’t need to. But I’ll tell you this, Gabrielle. I thought I knew you better. I thought I fucking knew you better. I thought the person I was dating would give a fuck about how I felt about it. I thought the person who claims to love me so much would love me enough to consider my fucking feelings about this. This isn’t going to be one of those ‘you’re such a male chauvinist, I’m an independent woman who can make my own decisions’ episode. Because that’s not what it’s fucking about. Yeah you can make your own goddamn decisions but you’re a selfish, horrible person, Gabrielle, for not even saying anything to me. For making a huge decision that is going to impact BOTH of us without even consulting me first.”
She was silent for a moment, and so when she finally opened her mouth to speak, I naively expected to hear that I was right. “You’re right.” Only she didn’t mean it like I hoped she would. “I guess that does make me a horrible person, but I’m sorry Taylor, this is about my career. It’s an amazing opportunity, working in Harlem, and it comes first. I’m sorry.”
And that did it. That made me completely speechless. She said it came first. She actually flat out said that some stupid job, some try-hard, do-gooder job meant more than someone she’d dated for the past year, and loved for 4 straight years before that. There was nothing more for me to say. I had no more arguments. I wasn’t enough. She needed her career more than she needed me.
I closed my eyes and just stood there, trying to will myself to cry. I wanted her to see what she’d done, I wanted her to regret how selfish she was being and to see my tears and promise to stay. But I couldn’t cry. I just felt in shock- numbed.
“Then have fun, and good luck. Go to New York, but don’t expect me to be a pathetic little puppy waiting at home for you while you run off and carelessly forget about me. You go, and we’re done,” I said flatly.
She nodded. “You’re entitled to your stance on that.”
I fucking hated her! I fucking hated her for not begging me to stay with her, for acting so cold and nonchalant, for ditching me without a fucking concern. I shook my head again and turned and walked towards the door. “You know what? You have been the biggest mistake of my life,” I said as I got to the door and opened it. “You will never care about anyone as much as you care about yourself. You’re no different than your mother, you know.”
She nodded a bit. “Maybe I’m not.”
Just to spite her, I grabbed the Thai food off of the kitchen table and clutched it to my chest. “Fuck you, Gabrielle. Fuck every minute I wasted on you. Have fun in New York,” I muttered. I stepped out of the apartment and began my walk down the stairs to my car, finding it ironic how as soon as I walked away, the tears began to fall freely. I’ve never been the kind of guy to mind crying in public, so I didn’t even wipe at them as I walked across the street to my car.
I set the food down on the passenger seat again and climbed into the drivers seat, resting my forehead down against the steering wheel and just crying.
I must have cried on and off like that for 10 minutes before I drove home. I didn’t know what to do. A part of me wanted to run back and tell her of course I would date her even if she was in New York, I wanted her badly enough that I’d do it, even if it wasn’t fair to me. But the truth was, I couldn’t. I was so angry. I resented her for ruining our perfect relationship. We were on the road towards marriage. I had pictures in my mind of a house of our own, on the other side of town, a big backyard, a white front porch, family dinners and kids. Sure, it was rather pathetic, but I couldn’t help myself. I saw my entire future with Gabrielle, and now she was just picking up and moving to New York- for God only knew how long- probably life- and I was supposed to just be okay with that? What hurt the most was that she never asked. She never stopped to see how I felt, to see if I was okay with it. She just went.
I went home and cried to my Mom. For once in her life, she had little advice to offer. And for once in her life, she wasn’t on Gabrielle’s side, she didn’t think it was right.
No one did. No one could understand how she could just up and leave, and consult with no one. We loved her. We all loved her so much, we’d made her a part of her family, and now she was just leaving in a week hardly saying goodbye to anyone.
She left me a message and I tried not to listen, just because I was so angry, but I couldn’t help myself.
“Taylor, I’m sorry you’re so upset. I don’t know what to say. I thought we could work something out but it sounds like you’re not open to it. Please call me.”
It didn’t deserve a response, so I never called back. Her careless attitude turned me off and for a moment during that week before she left, I even convinced myself that I would be better off without her.
What shocked us all the most, was when she left without saying goodbye. My mother invited her over for a ‘moving dinner’ a few nights before she was flying out, but she said she wouldn’t have the time.
It was strange, to say the least. She’d never acted so unappreciative towards her family in her life. We were all angry, and hurt. One night at dinner Jessica said, “After everything we’ve done for her, she’s just going to up and leave.”
But my mother told her it wasn’t fair to think like that. This wasn’t a relationship of IOUs. Gabrielle owed us nothing. She was not forever in debt to us, she was just family, and it was okay to be upset that she was leaving, but not because she owed us anything. My mother reasoned that she was probably too sad to say goodbye, but few of us accepted that.
I’m not sure what night she flew out, or what she did with that old blazer I had given her years before. I assumed she sold it- she wouldn’t need it in Harlem. I drove past her apartment a few days after she left, against my better judgment, and could look up and see through the living room window that the place was empty. The couch that we’d fallen asleep on so many times- vanished. The African paintings, given to her by a colleague who had went to Senegal- replaced by just stark white walls. There was a ‘for lease’ sign in the window and when my eyes landed on it, I felt like I might get sick.
It had all happened so fast- I couldn’t wrap my brain around it. One moment everything was perfect. We spent every night together, we were madly, deeply in love, and now suddenly, she was just gone. It felt like all of our memories had been washed away and I clawed desperately at them to catch them in the current but they were too fast for me.
I drove down to Woodward Park and sat in my car, looking over the beds of dead roses, thinking about all the times we’d spent there that summer. We’d gotten creamsicles from the ice-cream truck that makes it’s way through there three times a day and brought cards down to sit on the grass and play rummy when there was nothing else to do.
It was surreal. There were so many ‘never agains’ to swallow, and being the overly emotional person that I am, I could turn anything into a ‘never again’. Never again would I stop by blockbuster, rent 5 movies because I didn’t know what she’d be in the mood for, and drive over to her apartment at 11 at night just to be with here. Never again would we wander around the Woodland Hills mall like a couple of bored teenagers, daring each other to do dumb shit like paying for one of those creepy water massage beds that everyone has to watch you do, or running up down the down escalator. Never again would we make a midnight Arby’s run (just for me, of course) or sit outside of Starbucks drinking frappuccinos on a Sunday afternoon.
My life was broken, yet again, and yet again, I didn’t know where to start picking up the pieces. It felt pointless, everything felt in vain without her, so I did what I always did when life got to be too much. I stocked up on a carton of Marlboro Reds, rented a dozen movies, and crawled into my bed at home to sleep my life away.