136:The Couch

Jon vigilantly kept his features schooled into a neutral expression as his words sank in with the counselor, because they were visibly sinking.  Like a brick.  The terror in her eyes was a living testimony that filled him with a sense of déjà vu.  It was only a few days ago that he’d last seen it. 

When he proposed. 

Unlike then, though, this wasn’t a knee-jerk reaction on his part.  He’d spent a couple days thinking about the unlikely series of events that had him sleeping alone on the other side of the city and wondering why the two very expensive pieces of jewelry she wore weren’t filling that empty space inside him.  The only conclusion he could come to was that they weren’t enough, so he was taking another step. 

Not only figuratively but literally - to approach the terrified woman who stared at him as though he was some kind of monster.

“Take a deep breath, Chiara.  I’m not asking you to move tonight or even tomorrow.”

The reassurance that was supposed to soothe away the terror worked like a dream.  Now her eyes were spitting fire and the way she balanced on the balls of wide-planted feet may indicate that Jon was about to lose an eye to one of those very sexy high heels.  With her kickboxing training, it was within the realm of possibility, so he continued to cautiously approach until he was within arm’s reach – and too close to get kicked.

“But you are asking me to walk away from a home that I love – that I spent months restoring – so that I can move into an apartment that’s too small for us and all our kids.  Tell me what that’s supposed to prove.  My stupidity?”

“Most of those kids don’t really live with us, but that’s fine.  We’ll buy a bigger place,” Jon compromised smoothly, refusing to acknowledge the rhetorical questions that followed.  They were pits of quicksand waiting to suck him into an argument when all he wanted to do was move in with his girlfriend. 

The counselor’s Italian upbringing shone in the way her hands danced animatedly in the air as she spoke.  “That doesn’t tell me what ‘proof’ this is supposed to provide.  Is it supposed to ensure that I never shut you out again?  Because a million men sleep on the couch in any given year because of communication issues with their wives and girlfriends.  It happens to everybody!   You’re being ridiculous just because you slept in a very comfortable bed across town instead of the couch downstairs.”

Biting the inside of his jaw, he made himself consider what she was saying but he couldn’t buy it. 

“You’re leaving yourself an out whenever you want to run away,” he corrected with confident arms folded over his chest.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!”  Her hands – both curved and ready to choke – came within inches of his neck to shudder in frustration before being tossed helplessly in the air.  “Why are you so focused on my leaving instead of the shit that I’m doing to stay?  Don’t you see this dress and high heels?  I was coming to seduce you because I don’t want to leave.  I quit my job, my kitchen is a battle scene from Attack of the Killer Tomatoes – and look at my ears for crying out loud!”

So she was coming to fuck him.  So what?  He’d already told her it was going to take more than a hard-on to fix this.  The job thing was to her benefit not his and, as for the mess in the kitchen, Jon saw it on his way through but had no idea how it related to this discussion.  If he couldn’t make that connection, he sure as hell wasn’t going to be able to fit ears into the picture.

His eyes flicked up to her earlobes in search of a clue, but there was nothing.  They were bare of anything beyond two sets of piercing holes that revealed she wasn’t wearing earrings.  What was that supposed to mean to him?  He was just a fucking man!

“I’m supposed to know the significance of you not wearing earrings?  Are you fucking kidding me?”

“No, dumbass,” she huffed, throwing her eyes dramatically before flinging both hands in the same direction.  “You’re supposed to know the significance of the only jewelry I’m wearing – your proof of ownership.  The monogamy bracelet that I let you – wanted – you to cuff me with and the ring that sends the universal ‘hands off’ message, according to you.”

Glancing at the white diamonds haloing her right wrist and the canary ones sparkling on her left ring finger, Jon nodded briefly.  He could concede one very small point in her favor now that the gesture was explained.

“What does that have to do with the kitchen?”

There was a deep sigh as she directed her eyes to the Disney mural behind him and folded her arms to mirror his pose.  “I’m learning to cook.”

Okayyy…?

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Brown eyes snapped away from the starry London night, crackling with impatience as they radiated the belief that he really was a dumbass.  “I’m forty-five years old.  Do you think I suddenly got a burning desire to be Rachel Ray?  That would be an emphatic ‘hell no’, in case I actually need to provide an answer.  I’d be perfectly happy with salads and mooching off my brother’s restaurant, but with me not working twelve-hour days anymore… I thought I should maybe be able to make us a nice dinner once in a while.  That you might appreciate it.”

The world is cracked

The sky is torn

So much less

Means so much more

Most days he couldn’t remember the lyrics to anything but his greatest hits without a prompter, but that teaching moment popped out of nowhere with full accompaniment.  He could hear the melancholy guitar chord and the quietly driving beat of the keys as plainly as if he was wearing an ear monitor.  More importantly, he heard the true meaning of the words.

Chiara owned a piece of real estate that she loved, and he’d come up with the symbolism that equated it to an escape hatch.  While he was trying to nail it shut to keep her from escaping, she was busy weaving a spider web of commitment.  There was no grand gesture, but there was an ever-growing network of small ones that were intertwined with a complexity that he’d only just noticed.

When it was deliberately pointed out to him. 

If you give her the time and trust, she might weave a safety net strong enough to support us both. 

True to form, though, he couldn’t simply admit to being wrong.  He had to blame it on lack of information instead of his lack of perception.  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I wanted to surprise you by cooking Christmas dinner for our families,” the counselor spat out bitterly.  “Today was my first lesson, and it clearly didn’t go well, but I made the decision to do this before our Disney trip so I was following through.  Does making plans that far in advance sound like I expect to be going anywhere, Jon?  Honestly?”

His arms slowly unfolded so that Jon could notch his hands on his hips with a frown.  It sometimes took a wrecking ball to get through his thick head but he did eventually get the point.  Chiara was moving forward in their relationship even if the steps she was taking weren’t traditional or the ones he would choose.   She was trying, and he had to accept – and appreciate – that. 

They’d come a long way in a short time and they’d likely go a lot further if he’d open his eyes to see the natural progression instead of trying to force it.

“I’m not going across town again.  Next time I’ll sleep on the fucking couch.”

Her eyes fell shut on a chuckle, and loose tendrils swayed with her head as she muttered under her breath, “And once again, we reach the limits of your patience with anything that involves an emotion other than anger.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing.”  The counselor swung around to snatch up her little pocketbook from the bed.  “I’m not selling my house.  Figure out a way to deal with that while I go pick up dinner.”

God, when was anything with this woman ever going to be easy?  He fucked up and she wanted his goddamn beating heart on a silver platter.  Well, he wasn’t just going to hand it over, but Jon had to give up something unless he really planned to sleep on that fucking couch.

When she would’ve stalked by him, Jon hooked her by the elbow and spoke quietly into her ear.  “I’m sorry.  I was wrong.  Thank you.  That cover everything you wanted to hear?”

Swiveling her head, she lifted resigned eyes to say, “Yes, Jon.  Those platitudes resolve every disagreement in the world.  I’ll be back in about twenty minutes.”

“Goddammit!”  He held tight when she tried to jerk away from him.  “I was wrong!  I’m sorry I wasn’t paying attention to the little stuff, but now that I realize… I understand and appreciate it, so thank you.”

It wasn’t exactly Shakespeare, and it sure as well wasn’t Keats, Dickinson or any of those other romantic poets.  Hell, it wasn’t even Poe.  He knew it without the tight pucker of disapproval on her mouth, but to his surprise she only had one objection. 

“You forgot love.”

Little did she know that it was only love that allowed him to admit he was wrong.  Without love, he wouldn’t give a shit about the little stuff, much less appreciate it.  In yet another random lyrical lesson, “nothing would be nothing without love”.

“No, I didn’t.  There’s no forgetting the way I feel about you – I just wish you’d fucking remember it.”

“It’s hard to remember you love me when you don’t trust me.”

The soft explanation hit him low in the gut, and his head dropped back as he wondered why relationships had to be so frigging complicated.  He loved her and wanted to be with her.  That was pretty much the beginning, middle and end of it all.  Why the fuck did women have to overthink everything?

He lifted his head to zero in on her eyes. 

“Because I want to know you’re coming home to me, I don’t trust you?  Because I want to sleep in the same bed as you, I don’t trust you?  Because I want to reach out and pull you close in the middle of the night, I don’t trust you?  Now you’re the one focusing on the wrong thing.”

“Maybe so,” she conceded after a moment of thought.  “But let me make one thing clear.  As long as this bracelet is on my wrist, I’m coming home to you.  Okay?”

As a guy from Jersey who lived and died by his word, her word meant everything to him.  It wasn’t their names side by side on a deed or a marriage license, but today, it was just as good.  Who knew?  It might even be enough to dissuade thoughts of those more traditional steps.  Jon would have to wait and see.

He leveraged his grip on her arm, using it to haul Chiara close and taking her lips in a kiss that might communicate his feelings in a way she could appreciate.  Slow, sweet and sultry, the melding of their mouths wasn’t meant to convey desire but the emotion she’d twice accused him of avoiding.  He loved her, and someday Jon might give her the flowery words that went with that, but for now he used his lips to tell her everything without saying a word.

There was only one thing that couldn’t be relayed through his kiss, and it was something that he quietly promised afterward.    

“I won’t ask you to sell the house again.”