Page 38 of Recollection

“You didn’t call me baby?” I’m sure I remember it. But all my memories now are fragmented and confusing.

He leans over and presses a kiss against my forehead. “Maybe you dreamed it.”

“Maybe.” I scoot over to make more room for Fred beside me. He turns three circles and then curls up in a ball on top of the covers near my right hip. “Thanks for carrying me.”

He’s rather breathless. I’m not tiny, and he carried me a long way. But he smiles down at me and murmurs, “Good night, Scarlett.”

“Good night.”

seven

Past

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THE TWO WEEKS AFTERmy broken kiss with Arthur are miserable.

Long and frustrating and tedious andmiserable.

He barely talks to me at all.

It’s obvious to me that it’s about the kiss, about how he thinks it’s wrong but wants to do it anyway. And that makes it even more upsetting—because he’s pulled away for irrational reasons instead of letting us discover what this thing between us might be.

It might be nothing. It might be that our differences are impossible to overcome. Or it might be primarily physical attraction that goes nowhere. But I’m feeling more than that, and maybe he is too.

I’d like to try. See what could happen.

And he doesn’t.

So I do my best to focus on work and try not to brood. As Dr. Walters keeps saying, I can’t control other people. I can only control my own choices. Despite my hurt and utter exasperation with Arthur, I manage not to fall apart.

I keep hoping he’ll come to his senses, but he doesn’t.

It makes me want to shake him. Berate him for how stupid he’s acting. Throw a temper tantrum and storm around.

I don’t do any of that. It’s not in my nature. I pull it all into a tight little ball inside as I calmly go through my daily routines.