Chapter 11: The Stories We Tell Ourselves

Sunday, August 1, 1982

We got to Mike’s around 2pm, as usual. Rita was waiting outside and greeted us both with hugs.

“Steve! Angie! It’s been too long! How’s your summer been?”

“Busy and really good,” Angie said. “Family vacation, and then a workshop at the University of Indiana.”

“That,” I said, chuckling. “Busy, good, all of that. How about you?”

She chuckled. “We had a nice family trip. Aside from that, it’s been too quiet!”

“We’ll have to change that,” I said.

“In good ways, only!” Rita said.

“That is the plan,” I said.

We headed downstairs. Mike and Sarah were waiting. More hugs and handshakes followed.

Jimmy and Connie followed shortly, then Mel and Cammie.

Mel raised her voice a little right after the hugs. “Um ... everyone ... it’s. Um. My beloved brothers won’t be here. It’s ... not time to get into it. Just ... expect Emily. And ... don’t ask.”

That didn’t sound good, and everyone knew it.

Jasmine arrived next, followed by Emily, who arrived while Jasmine was still getting hugged. Andy and Cal came in a just a few minutes later.

Jasmine caught something in my face. “I’m sorry about last night. I...”

I shook my head. “Nah. I’m more wondering about what Mel said. You missed it. She said her brothers won’t be here, but Emily will be, and ... don’t ask.”

“Uh oh. That’s...”

“Yeah.”

A few minutes later I saw Andy grimace, and heard “Should I kick their...?” It was pretty obvious what word I’d missed. Mel was shaking her head no, firmly.

Sue arrived late, Gene arrived a bit later. I’m sure people caught them up.

After that, and with the injunction not to ask, it started out as a normal summer study group. We played games, talked, swam, talked, danced, and talked some more.

An hour in, Sue came over. Blushing a bit. “Um ... hi ... um...”

Jasmine smiled. “You can borrow him. It’s fine.”

“Not today, but ... Tuesday? It’s ... um. Over a month!” She got a bit redder.

“Today is fine. I...”

Sue shook her head. “No, not today. Tuesday.”

“Tuesday, then.”

I gave Sue a hug, then she headed off.

“I guess it’s going around,” Jasmine said, sighing.

“Seems like.”

“I’m ... I’m really ... I shouldn’t have...” she said, sighing more deeply.

“You were tired. That happens. I’m not upset.”

“Maybe you should be,” she said. “Maybe you should be.”

“I’m ... not sure I follow.”

“I wore myself out saying goodbye to Blue,” she said, starting to sniffle. “Now I feel ... awful. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“She was special to you. I’d have done that.”

“I ... guess. I think it was dumb and selfish. Mostly dumb.”

“We’re all entitled to be dumb, sometimes.”

“Maybe so. Okay ... besides me, and remember I’m out of commission, what’s on your agenda?”

“I don’t know. I checked with Paige and Mikayla; nothing yet.” She smirked a bit at that. “I have a lot of debate to do. Jessica said she wants to wait a while. She was exhausted, too, and maybe depressed. I figure it’s the same thing.”

A little ... flicker ... went across her face about Jessica. If I’d had to guess, annoyance, then relief. Interesting, and not in a good way. And ... surprising. We’d have to figure this out. Carefully.

“So, you’re in withdrawal, and I am, too. At least I had Blue. You should have jumped Gail.” She waved off my reply. “Oh, I get it, bad timing, all that, blah blah blah. I’d still ... I mean, it’d still have been good for you. Finding someone on your own, all that. Sucks that it didn’t work with her.”

I nodded, while pondering that statement. She meant she would’ve preferred it. That meant it mattered to her that I fucked ... someone. Someone outside our orbit? I’d certainly spent plenty of time with girls in our orbit. This was ... odd.

“It does. If we’d had more time, it might have been good for both of us. But ... we had less than a week, she was rebounding, and ... well, combine that with it having to be just a fuck, and no real feelings for each other besides, you know, her being ‘cute’, and me presumably being ‘hot’...”

“You’re definitely hot.”

“Thanks, honey.” We smooched, quickly. “Anyway, I know a lot of guys would think that was more than enough, but...”

“But that’s not you. Yeah. Sucks.”

“Anyway ... So. I need time with my girlfriend. That’s the biggest priority.” She smiled at that. “Then ... we have debate stuff to do, I need another shopping trip, there’s Tuesday study group ... um ... Jessica, eventually...” Another flicker. Definitely something. “ ... Drama girls. I don’t know. We’ve got over two weeks. I also need to decide what cutting I’m going to start with.”

That got a little bounce. “You’re definitely doing Humorous?”

“Yeah. I’m certain of it.”

“Yay! I’m glad. You’ll kick ass.”

“Northbrook was a good ego boost, but that was against people who weren’t the cream of the crop.”

“You’ll kick ass. You can bank on it.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

She leaned in and kissed me. “I love you. I really do. I know you can do anything you put your mind to. You’re an amazing guy, Steve Marshall. Any girl would be lucky to have you.”

“And, you do.”

She smiled softly. “And I do.”

9:30pm

Angie smooched me and rubbed noses.

“So?” I said.

“Huh?”

“Grapevine!”

“Oh. That.” She frowned. “Nothing. I’m certain those two fucked something up. One or both. Emily seemed fine, but she was pissed, under the surface. I know her well enough. Maybe they’ll fix it, maybe not.”

“Damn. I liked them together.”

“Everyone liked them together, starting with them. But, remember, teenage boys are idiots.”

“I have ample evidence of that.”

“Teenage girls are also idiots. Speaking of ... how’s Jasmine?”

“That’s my girlfriend you’re talking about!” I said.

She snickered a little.

“Something about Jessica is upsetting her. Something about Blue is upsetting her, too. I don’t know what, for either. She’s still not dropping the ... disagreement ... about Gail, either. She agrees that I couldn’t, but it actually pisses her off that I didn’t. I don’t know why.”

“I ... don’t get it, either. She knows you’ll fuck other girls. She wants you to be open to fucking other girls. I don’t get why Gail matters.”

A couple of pieces rattled around my mind, almost connecting for a second. Then they were gone.

“I don’t know. I don’t get it.”

“You thought of something.”

“No. I mean, the thought didn’t come together. At least maybe I thought ... well, that there is something to think. But I don’t know what it is.”

She sighed. “Fix it, okay? I can’t believe you two are fighting about Gail, of all people.”

“We’re not fighting about Gail, or anything.”

“First, remember you ‘weren’t dating’ Laura. That’s how you’re ‘not fighting.’ Compare this to your marriage, then tell me I’m wrong. Second, no, you’re not fighting about Gail. Gail is just a proxy for something else. She doesn’t know enough about Gail for it to be about her at all.”

I hesitated a second, thinking furiously. “You’re saying that my ex and I fought all the time, not just the times I thought we were fighting? Right?”

“Bingo. You think she picked fights. You’re wrong. There was just one long fight. That’s what I hear, when you tell me how things were.”

“I ... really need to think on that a lot.”

“You do that. I’m right.”

“I’ll discuss it with Jane.”

“She’ll tell you I’m right.”

“She probably will.”

Angie yawned. “Okay. I’m staying here. You need me.”

“I ... am fine with that.”

“Smart boy.” She rubbed noses. “I love you. I will always love you.”

“I love you, too. And I will always love you.”

She sighed. “And that’s the biggest piece of magic of our whole magical existence.” She hopped up, hit the lights, then slipped back into bed.

Monday, August 2, 1982

After checking with Jasmine, who wanted a quiet day at home catching up with Camille and Francis, I opted for much the same. I started out with some time playing on the computer. My skills were coming back, though computers in 1982 are frustrating for someone familiar with the state of the art in 2021.

After that, I curled up in bed and thought through what Angie had said. Had my whole marriage been one giant twenty-five-year-long fight? I ... could make myself see it that way, now that she’d opened the door to it. Things came up that made no sense, unless you envisioned it as all one unending fight. The timings made more sense. It all made more sense.

And it was depressing as hell. I had been an idiot. As much as I was now convinced that there was no way to have salvaged things, apparently I should have known that twenty-four years earlier than I did.

What else was I being an idiot about? And what was I carrying from that marriage that I didn’t realize I was carrying? My mind seized on my endless ability to make excuses for others. Some of that was just me, but ... well. Responding to my ex almost certainly had honed that ability to perfection.

I made excuses for her about everything. She ditched a party because she was pissed at me? ‘Oh, she’s just not feeling well.’ Well, that’s literally true. She was feeling awful — about me, about us, about our relationship, but yes, she wasn’t feeling well. And on and on it went. To avoid embarrassing her, I’d dissembled, obfuscated, and just plain outright lied, sometimes embarrassing myself so she would seem just fine.

Jane and I were going to be busy. Quite busy.

Angie came by after dinner. Mom and Dad were watching TV.

“Whatcha been doing?”

“Thinking.”

“About?”

I sighed. “My ex-wife.”

“Put this off until bedtime?”

“I think they’re busy. It’s probably okay.”

She scooted over to the door and peeked out. “I’m feeling paranoid, I guess, but ... they can’t have missed everything. I think we should wait.”

“They could listen in at bedtime, too.”

“Don’t you start with me! I don’t need those thoughts.”

“Sorry, Sis.”

“It’s fine. We’ll table it.”

9:30pm

“Okay, spill,” Angie said, scooting into bed.

“I thought about what you said.”

“Of course you did.”

I let out a deep sigh. “And ... you’re probably right. That means I missed an enormous piece of the puzzle for twenty-five years. Even now, it still ... well. I was going to say it still feels like a hundred different fights.”

“But it wasn’t, to her.”

“I think you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. On this one, I mean. I’m a girl. I get how she thinks. There was just one fight. The fight was to put you in the box she wanted you in. You didn’t go in the box. That’s the whole thing. Don’t think I’m blaming you; I’m not. I tried to put Max in the ‘good boyfriend’ box and he just doesn’t fit. Octagonal hole, twisty swirly pentagonal peg. No one ever fits quite in the hole girls want them to. That’s the root of the old saw that ‘Men marry women hoping they will never change. Women marry men hoping they will change. Both will be disappointed.’ That second part is more about fitting into their view of the world than it is really changing.”

“But...? I hear a but.”

“But most of us adjust and adapt, finding ways to accommodate our differences. She didn’t. She kept trying to grind your rough edges off, when those rough edges were probably the heart of what she loved about you.”

“This is a lot to think about. I feel like an idiot,” I said.

“The man you are now isn’t an idiot. The old you probably was, or at least oblivious. You’d be out of there like a shot, now. Um ... no, that’s wrong. You’d never make a change that fast. But you’d be out of there. You’d give her some chances and then go. You wouldn’t keep telling yourself over and over that it’s going to get better, because you’ve seen that things don’t just get better.”

“And ... I have to ask ... you?”

“I know I can’t change someone too much beyond their nature. I’ve learned that lesson. Just took me a lifetime plus a year. I didn’t have to change Gene too much. A little, but it’s worked. Whoever the next guy is, if there is one, I won’t have to change them too much. Or the next girl. Whoever. I’m not going to go for the bad boy, or the bad girl.”

“So ... we’re learning.”

“Two chances at this? We’d better be learning,” she said, grinning a little.

“Any idea what’s going on with Jasmine?” I said.

“Nope. I was hoping you’d know.”

“Hopefully it’s just stress.”

“I hope so.”

“Me, too.”

“Okay. Bedtime, back in my bed,” she said, grinning. We rubbed noses, and then she headed out, hitting the lights on her way.

Tuesday, August 3, 1982

The phone rang around one. I wasn’t expecting anyone, so I guessed Jasmine.

“Hello?”

“Um ... Steve?” Not Jasmine, at all, but Mark. Interesting.

“Hey, Mark? What’s up?”

“We ... um. We’re in a world of hurt, man. If anyone can help, you can.”

“What’s wrong?”

Morty, who must’ve been on another phone, came on. “We kinda fucked up. But we didn’t really fuck up. But Emily won’t listen and thinks we really, really fucked up.”

“Explain?”

Mark said, “So, it was um...”

“July 14th,” Morty said. “At the mall. Denise Franks came by and we started talking to her.”

“We didn’t mean anything by it,” Mark said.

“Denise, who looks like Emily but ... hotter?”

“We...” “ ... disagree...” “ ... but yeah,” Morty finished.

“So? Talking to her is nothing.”

“Okay,” Mark said. “There was ... flirting.”

“How much flirting?” I said.

“Not a lot,” Mark said.

“We promise!” Morty said.

“We love Emily!” Mark said.

“It was just harmless fun,” Morty said.

“We didn’t do anything wrong,” Mark said.