The spiced, tangy notes of yesterday’s stress lingered under her hoodie. She hadn’t even heard the words as the flew from her mouth, it was only after they had disconnected the call that she realized what she had said. Effie would have taken them back once she remembered. But in the moment, when he had offered her the chance, she doubled down. “I’m not entirely sure what I said, but yes. I meant it.”
Her voice sounded small and hallow, edged with the desperation of someone who could no longer handle the conversation they were in. It betrayed her, but it wasn’t wrong, Effie couldn’t handle it.
Couldn’t handle the weight of the words being spoken, the ferocity of love surrounding each plea. She couldn’t handle the wet, airy sounds of chewing over the phone.
There was a lot that Effie couldn’t handle, sometimes it helped for her to list them:
- mastication
- crinkly paper — paper bags, aluminum wrapped sandwiches
- mastication
- gulping
- trucks
- screaming children
Chills exploded across her back. Effie felt her ear drums tighten. Horrible that something so small could make such a loud, piercing sound. Screaming children were a rarity in Effie’s life, but when they did appear it was her cue to leave. Once she and Ricky had left the last few pieces of chocolate covered Jersey Blue cheese because of a screaming child. Because of her and her response to the screaming child.
Ricky patiently waited while their entrees and desserts were made and packaged to go. Effie had sat in the car feverishly inserting her crochet hook, yarning over, and pulling the hook through. By the time he had gotten in the car the child was long since quieted and Effie had half a hat.
Most people, like Effie’s mother, would have been furious at her. Obviously, it was something she could control she simple chose not to. Instead, Ricky looked down at the hat the shadow of a smile stretched over the lower half of his face.
“You think you can finish it by the time we get to the GoodWill box?”
Effie looked over her shoulder, her hands still manipulating the yarn as she used her elbow to clear the window.
“The one on 7th or 13th?”
The ball of multicolored, sparkly yarn rolled off the center console as Ricky closed the back door and got in the front seat. Earthy notes wafted up from brown paper bag seated behind Ricky. She had forgotten exactly what she ordered but it smelled like buttery meat and mushrooms. Her stomach growled.
“13th.”
“It’s a safety hazard you know. Children should only scream like that if they’re being murdered or taken. I don’t know why more parents don’t just explain it.” She was repeating herself, something she said to herself, her mother, her friends — when she had them, to Ricky.
“Already let my sister know if she chooses to procreate it’s the first thing their cool uncle will be teaching them.”
His eye dazzled behind a wink.
She smiled now, the same way she had then. Then, she had focused all of her energy on finishing the hat before they got to GoodWill (she had). Now, Effie lay in a heap of appendages like a broken toy; an unravelled ball of yarn. Shapeless, formless, waiting for something to put it back together. Make use of it.
She blinked. The smile falling flat as the conversation started itself all over again crescendoing into darkness. The noise had pushed her over the edge, pulled her down below. Low and guttural, she had snapped at him. Told him to figure it out: their friendship or their relationship, she wasn’t loosing the friendship.
They hadn’t been just friends since — Effie swallowed and blinked. Two gallery shows had passed, plus she had the private collection she did for the big shot CEO and her big shot husband. There was also the private collection she did for that charity event — that had been in the spring. She had designed a nude and floral movement piece for the event. One of her most favorite queens had agreed to create it. Hand sewn, it was beautiful. Both as a piece of moving art and as a dress. Ricky had been her date though he hadn’t been introduced, nor had his presence caused any sort of speculation. Maybe a year ago? Or two?
Effie pulled the soft fleece of her hoodie up, a small cloud of earthy smell released into her nose. She should probably have showered earlier. All of her energy had gone into that stupid remark. They had hung up the phone barely speaking and she hadn’t heard from him since.
Grumbles from Effie’s stomach rumbled below.
“Shhhh,” she whispered.
It didn’t feel right. Her life without Ricky. It was too spacious, too quiet, the air was shiny and taking up too much space between her isolated ball of self and the rest of her apartment. Everything felt cold. The fireplace should be on, but she wouldn’t light it alone.
A roaring rumble violated the space. Effie lifted her head from her hoodie, arranging herself so only her eyes were poking out. The door was moving, she could tell from its orchestra.
Effie sucked in a breath and lowered herself fully into her hoodie. She heard everything. The jingle of the locks, the deadbolt, even the chain… she knew she should have fitted it with barbed wire.
Suddenly it was warm. The footsteps had dropped off into the kitchen and then back toward the living room. Whoever it was had gotten close enough Effie could feel the heat radiating from them.
“Oh my love,” a hoarse voice whispered.
Something wrapped tightly around Effie and lifted her against them. The noise grated the wave of relief she felt. Her eyelashes rubbed against the collar of her hoodie. Through fuzzies and streaks of eyelashes she saw his familiar jawline.
“I’ve been calling you for two days. Your phone must have died. Have you moved since we hung up?”
Her eyes scanned the hand woven rug as if they were calculating the thread count.
“Oh sweet girl,” he breathlessly said.
His face was ragged, deep lines ran across his forehead and under his eyes which were already welled with tears. She felt her eyebrows unfurl — the sound of air rattling around her ear drums dissipating with their tension.
“Let me draw you a bath and we can discuss over some canapé from your favorite restaurant and a nice vat of coffee, yeah?”
She pressed her body against his. Underneath his aftershave he smelled like mixed tobacco, worry and relief.
The warmth from him drifted away as she pulled away and tilted her head back to look up at him. Against a blurred background his eyes were dampened, yet sharp.
“Hi,” she said into his chest.
Her chest swelled as she leaned further forward, the expensive knit catching her own tears.
“I know my sweet girl, I know.”
Effie’s breathing complimented the vibrations of his voice. It all sounded like home.