~Eleanor~
I can see lights under the front door of my apartment, and I clearly remember turning them off when I left for work this morning. My brain starts to spin rapidly. I can imagine my neurons trying to come up with the best excuse as to why I come home so late. Errands? No, I don't have any bags. Inventory? No, he knows it's on Wednesdays. Dinner with a handsome stranger? No, he'd kill me. Screw this, I'll wing it. I hate lying to Ben, but right now I don't really have a choice. Plus, he didn't even call me, he's obviously not that worried. He is sitting at the kitchen table when I walk in. He' looking at his laptop's screen. An empty plate is waiting to be put in the dishwasher on the kitchen counter. The toaster is also waiting to be back in its cabinet. What did he eat? Eggs and toast? That's so not his style. A sandwich? That's even less his style. When we were in high school together, he never brought sandwiches for lunch. I can still hear him say that eating bread in the morning and at lunch equals way too much carbs for one day. I say hello to him with a voice as normal as possible.
"Where were you? I thought you got off at five, it's eight," he says his voice even. He doesn't even raise his eyes from his screen to look at me.
"I stopped by Blair and Vivienne's for dinner," I walk up to him and press a kiss on his cheek. "I thought you wouldn't be back until later. If I would have known, I would have come back earlier." I enter the kitchen to clean up his mess before asking: "What did you eat?" It bugs me that he hasn't looked at me since I walked in. Is he mad or just really focused on whatever he's looking at?
"Avocado toast with a poached egg." Poached egg? Where did he learn to cook poached eggs? Last week, when I asked him to prepare some rice, he had to look up videos online, the recipe on the back of the box wasn't clear enough. Now that I think about it, he doesn't even like sunny-side-up eggs. He always asks for scrambled eggs when we have breakfast at the restaurant.
"Poached eggs? Since when do you like poached eggs?" He shrugs, his eyes still on his computer. I snap my fingers in front of his face to try and get his attention. When he finally lifts his eyes, he is faced with my face two inches from his. "I asked you a question and I'd like an answer." I keep my voice as normal as possible, but even I can notice the annoyance in my tone.
"I did what I did for the rice, I looked up videos online." Yeah, right, of course he did. I just roll my eyes and finish cleaning up his mess. Why am I even doing that? I should let him clean up, but I have a feeling he won't, and I know myself well enough that if I walk into the kitchen later tonight and his plate his still in the sink, I'll wash it. I'm just saving myself from a late-night dishwashing duty. I walk into our room to pick up what I need for a shower. Over the years, I learned that when Ben acts that way, it's better to let him cool off before asking questions.
While I let the warm water relax my muscles, my brain doesn't turn off. I keep thinking about all the stuff Ben could be upset about. Was it the game that went wrong? Was that awful man there? Did he make fun of Ben for what happened last time? Did they win? Did they lose? Did I upset him without knowing? Or was it something else completely? I take my time washing my hair with the new fancy shampoo I bought last week as a prize for winning the writing contest. It's made specifically for curly hair in need of a deep hydration. When I read the description, I immediately thought that this shampoo had been made specifically for me. It smells divine, a mix of fruit and some oil I don't remember the name, but it doesn't matter. What matters is that when I used it for the first time, Ben spent the evening with his nose in my hair. I am hoping that it will have the same calming effect tonight.
When I get out of the shower, I google tonight's game results. They lost 1-2, but Ben scored the only goal of the game, so that can't be what he's upset about. I look at myself in the mirror. There is a glow in my eyes that I haven't seen for a while now, but it's darkened by the nervousness I feel because of Ben's behavior. While I rub lotion on my legs, I think about what happened tonight. I had dinner with a perfect stranger and I enjoyed it, a lot. I felt bad about lying to him until I saw him being too focused on his computer to kiss me when I walked in. I felt bad about not warning him that I would come home later than usual until I remembered all the times he went out with his friends after games or practices without telling me, leaving me home alone for the entire night with nothing to do. Now, I don't feel bad at all. He is not the only one who can have fun! I exit the bathroom with a confident expression on my face. I won't let him tell me that I should have called. I won't let him make me feel cheap for spending the night with friends even if it's just what he thinks I did.
He is no longer in the kitchen. I call out his name and a "bedroom" breaks the silence. I make my way to our bedroom to find him leaning against the headboard with a book in his hands. I would recognize the cover anywhere. It's ripped from all the readings. The corners are thorn and the pages have turned yellow a little. It was my mother who gave me this book when I was twelve after I saw the movie on television. I had put it on my Christmas Wishlist. I spent all Christmas break reading and rereading it. I always thought it was because of this book that I want to become a writer. I sit beside him to check at what page he's at. A small 108 is written in the bottom right corner. He must have started it before today.
"When did you start Pride and Prejudice?" I lean my head on his shoulder and read the words I am so familiar with. "Mrs. Bennet was perfectly satisfied, and quitted the house under the delightful persuasion that, allowing for the necessary preparations of settlements, new carriages and wedding clothes, she should undoubtedly see her daughter settled at Netherfield in the course of three or four months." I almost forget about my question until I hear his voice breaking the silence once again.
"Last week, after the reading at the university. I saw a copy at the library and I remembered just how much you love this book, so I am giving it a try. Can't say I understand everything though." I can't help but laugh. He closes the book after putting his bookmark. He turns his head towards me before planting a soft kiss on my forehead.
"I think it's the first book you read that isn't about hockey." I feel him chuckle more than I hear him. The muscles in his abdomen contract under my hand that is resting on his stomach.
"Your hair smells nice. Did you use that fancy shampoo again?" I nod against him.
I know I have to ask him why he was upset earlier but I need just a little more time. I need to gather more courage and feeling his fingers play with my damp hair is doing just that. Just a little more peace before the arguing, that's all I want. I close my eyes and inhale the scent on his t-shirt. It's exactly the same as it always was, a mix of detergent, mint, and him. Just the smell on his clothes brings me back to when we first met. It brings back all the feelings, all the adventures, all the sacrifices. I inhale deeply one last time and raise my head from his shoulder. I sit cross-legged in front of him on our bed.
"What happened today? Why were you upset earlier?" I play with my fingers as I speak. He picks up on the gesture and grabs my hands in his. He starts rubbing circles on my palm with his thumb making me look up at him. He gives me a small smile that doesn't reach his eyes.
"At first, I was upset because I dropped in the drafting rankings, that's why I came home straight after the game. I wanted to spend time with you, but you weren't here, so I became upset about that." Did I just get a straight and honest answer out of him on the first try? The last time that happened, we were in high school. I try to hide how shocked I am.
"Is that what you were googling earlier?" He nods but stays silent. "What do you mean by you dropped?" He sighs before letting go of my hand. We usually have different point of views on hockey rankings.
"I'm second for my team and twenty-first overall. I dropped six positions in less than a month." I admit that it's not good, but it's also not that bad. There are over five hundred players in his league so being twenty-first overall is pretty good considering what happened at last week's game against Sudbury. I tell him just that and that's where it gets ugly.
"You don't understand, El. Recruiters don't even look at players who aren't in the top twenty. If I don't do better, I'm screwed. We're screwed." I roll my eyes. My poor boy is as dramatic as ever.
"We're in November, Ben. The season ends in March, you have plenty of time. And we're not screwed, even if you don't get drafted." I have been trying to get through to him about the last part, but it hasn't been easy. Hockey has always been the only thing in his mind. In his head, not being drafted means that his whole life is ruined, that he is a failure.
"And what will I do, Eleanor?" he says dryly. "Go back to high school with people four years younger than me to get a degree that will only be good enough to work at McDonald's?" He grabs the pillow behind him and throws it against the wall on his left making the framed picture of us at his aunt's wedding sway back and forth.
"You very well know that there are plenty of good jobs that don't require a high education." I try to keep my voice as soft as I can but seeing the anger in his eyes makes it difficult to stay calm.
"But that's not what I want," he says as he raises his arms in the air. "What don't you understand? I'm a hockey player, nothing else. I have nothing else, I never had, and I never will." I can feel tears forming in my eyes like every time he says things like that. Hearing him diminish himself and us like that saddens me more than it angers me.
"You know that's not true, Ben." I lower my eyes to focus on my fingers. The tears are streaming down my face now. If I could be anywhere else right now, I would. I look up at him and say the words I have been wanting to say for a long time but haven't had the courage since now: "If you have nothing, then what am I doing here? If I am nothing, then I'll just leave." He seems to realize what he just said. All the anger disappears from his eyes to be replaced by sadness.
"I didn't mean it like that. I meant professionally." He reaches for my hand, but I snatch it away before he has a chance to grab it. Tears are still streaming down my face, but I know he can see the anger in my eyes.
"If you would only think before you speak," I say while looking directly at him. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I am going to bed." He keeps calling my name, but the sound of my electric toothbrush blocks his voice. When I get back into our bedroom, the lights are off. I only know he's in bed with me because of the bump under the covers. It's only a quarter to nine, I am certain that I won't fall asleep for a while but rolling in my bed is a better option than having a screaming match we already had many times over the past four years.
***
The next day, he leaves for a couple of games on the road. He waves before walking out the door without saying a word. In fact, neither of us has spoken a word since last night. He went to the gym early this morning and when he came back, he just packed a bag and it was time to go. I thought I was going to cry again after he left but I think that I have exhausted all the tears I had for fighting over the importance of our relationship last night. Instead, I turned the TV on and spent my Sunday watching Gossip Girl on Netflix.