TRAVELS (and more) WITH CECILIA BRAINARD: Married People by Noelle Q. de Jesus -- Love Stories Series # 9

From Cecilia Brainard: I am proud to share NOELLE Q. DE JESUS's short story, MARRIED PEOPLE. This is part of my Love Stories Series featured in my blog. All articles and photos are copyrighted by the individual authors. All rights reserved. This is featured in my blog with permission from the author.

Noelle Q. de Jesus is the author of two books of short fiction, Cursed and Other Stories (Penguin Random House SEA 2019), and Blood Collected Stories (Ethos Books 2015), which won the Next Generation Indie Book Award for 2016. Her English translation of National Artist Ricky Lee’s first novel, For B or How Love Devastates Four Out Of Every Five Of Us, was published by the Ateneo University Press in 2023. Her fiction has been published widely and she has an MFA from Bowling Green State University. “Married People” is included in the anthology, A View Of Stars: Stories Of Love editors Felix Cheong and Anitha Devi Pillai (Marshall Cavendish International, 2020)

MARRIED PEOPLE

CONNIE COULD NEVER TELL WHEN IT MIGHT ARRIVE, triggered by Sid’s words, Sid’s actions, the very reality of Sid. Rage rose from her gut and careened through her body—projectile vomit seeking an exit. Rage made her gasp. It made her shake and seethe. That word, seethe, was one she recalled reading. Only now did she understand what it meant.

That she never knew it was coming was the worst thing. On an ordinary day, while she sliced up fresh fruit for their breakfast and Sid would be there, making the coffee, because the coffee was his thing. And then he’d say something.

The words struck her (it occurred to her: how convenient) while she brandished a sharp knife for the melon or grapefruit or mango she sliced. Whatever he said took the sweetness out of the fruit, sucked out its juice, its very flavour. Or it happened as they sat on the sofa, the dinner she made still tight and warm in their tummies. Or while they walked the dog—an ageing, malodorous Labrador bitch—he made a remark almost without thought, off the top of his head.

The rage made her weak in her limbs and joints. She had no recourse but, as her son would say, to “go ballistic.” The arguments started with a false calm, and then rapidly escalated into quarrels, until all at once, Connie lost control. She fell out of her depth, hopeless. She was taken down, low and lost in wild woods so dense and deep and dark, she could not see it for the trees.

It might be about black people. Or gun control. It might be about feminism or homosexuality or bi-sexuality, or just sexuality in general. It might involve the rights of women over their bodies. Or about what the President said or did or did not do or did not say. And it wouldn’t even be anything all that objectionable, to begin with. But its implications. Just a phrase…or sometimes, just a pause or a tone. The way he said it. Incensed, Connie would pick and pick and pick at it, like it was an insect bite, till Sid too, lost it, turning sarcastic, cruel and mocking. And all at once, it was late, late at the night, and they settled to sleep in stony silence. Only Connie couldn’t sleep.

Many nights, she placed her pillow across her face, wishing she had not said the regrettable, and sometimes, even wishing she possessed the strength to press down harder so she might stop breathing and halt the rage altogether. Sleep was sweet escape. On too many days of such terrible discord no longer worth words, she forced herself to be silent, to say nothing. She headed downstairs for some orange juice. She’d splash an inch or so of vodka into it. And then, lying next to Sid, relaxed and warm, sleep came for her, seductive, loving, and compassionate. As she drifted off, Connie wondered when it was exactly that Sid had changed, how had it happened that overnight, he had turned into someone she did not even know. The only thought that remained, days after the rage finally seeped out of body, was this. Maybe, she had never really known him at all.

***

Connie could not remember what she was wearing the day they met, but Sid did. He remembered well, and the memory, when he opted to indulge in it, was a pleasant one.

They met on her first day on the job as a visualizer at an ad-shop for a personal products company. This was back in the time when people still used paper and coloured wax crayons to illustrate campaign concepts and collateral. Something touched him about her navy blue pencil skirt and the pale, sleeveless halter-blouse in floral print she tucked snugly into it. She wore her hair long and loose back then, unruly curls down her back, so on that day, they hid her bare shoulders.

She was asked to a meeting to discuss new product packaging, and after introductions, everyone sat. Sid met her eyes and then used her name for the very first time, enjoying it on his lips.

“Connie, do you use Easy panty pads?”

Taken aback, Connie answered, “Excuse me?”

She tried to remember his name. “Sid?”

He liked that, too.

Sid held up the cardboard packaging.

“Easy Panty Pads. Do you use them? If you do, how do you like them?”

The account executive, passed Sid over with a narrowed glance and a sigh but said nothing. She had worked with him for years. Connie felt hot and embarrassed in her cheeks and ears, though there was certainly no earthly reason why he should not have asked her this question, even so pointedly. Later on, over lunch, he confessed he asked everyone that. He had handled the account for two years; it bothered him that this was the only product with which he had no intimacy or direct knowledge.

It would be months before it occurred to Connie that Sid might be attracted to her. One would think, Connie mused, that someone who could ask a woman he just met about the sanitary protection she used would have no trouble making some kind of move, but apparently, this was Sid. There were only looks, held longer than necessary. Occasionally, there was a peculiar compliment, flirtatious but only in an odd way.

Once in the building stairwell, they found themselves climbing from the third floor to the fifth floor meeting room. Connie now wore jeans and t-shirts to work, like the other creatives.

First, Sid was behind her, and then all at once, he took skipped two steps, lunging to get ahead, till he was standing before her, holding the heavy door open that she might walk through it. He cleared his throat and made eye contact.

“Would you permit a candid comment?”

She stared at him, bewildered by the quaint phrase.

“Sorry I had to overtake, but you’re too sexy for me to walk behind.”

It was a little like a mild reprimand. And with his words hanging in the air like a fresh, misted scent, Sid then ushered her onto the floor through the hall to their meeting. He pulled out a seat for her, and then with great deliberation, made his way to the other end of the table, sat down and began talking to someone else entirely.

These were the games Sid played, and that was just one of a motley number of things that slowly, strangely but surely, drew her in.

Decades later, their niece asked Connie what she was wearing the day they met. And Connie could not for the life of her say. She shrugged.

“These details, they’re not important. They have nothing to do with anything.”

Sid happened to overhear their conversation as he walked by. He remembered, but he said nothing. Connie was right. These things had nothing to do with the way they loved each other their entire lives.

***

It was her own fault. Connie knew that. It was a foolish, impulsive decision, one she regretted. And yet also, not entirely. That was also her fault. Her certainty was resolute, a very small, very sharp stone at the bottom of the glass of drinking water that was her heart. She hurt Sid She never wanted to do that, and never in that puerile, wicked, clichéd way.

But she also knew herself. Given the same set of circumstances arising exactly as they had—the work trip out of town, the phone call, the drink and the walk to the hotel, right down to the kiss, it would have happened in just the same way. And that kiss was the point of no return. The kind of kiss that did not signal an end, but was only a promise for the more to come, leading to the leaning in, the pressing, the prolonging.

It did not matter who it was. The short-lived college fling. The pal that was always, just a friend. The relationship that died when she quit one job for another. It would have happened. And unfortunately, for the past year, she was susceptible, in too weak a position to resist.

Sid found out. At first, he said nothing.

She came home to find him sitting in a dark room, watching one of his favourite movies in which an older, no less dazzling Audrey Hepburn is asked by a brusquely appealing Albert Finney, “What kind of people can sit there without a word to say to each other?” And she replies, “Married people.”

Connie hated this movie, at least, she hated the way Sid loved this movie. It was something that pre-dated their connection, shown to him by an ex-girlfriend, and so Connie resented it: what it stood for. Maybe Sid knew that too.

Connie put down her bag, went and knelt before him in his chair.

“I love you,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

Sid did not speak for a long time, and Connie felt like she was falling, the floor sinking beneath her.

Eyes still fixed on the screen, Sid sighed, and after long minutes, he said he loved her, too. But he could not meet her gaze.

“I will not hurt you like this again…” she promised. “…Sid.”

He did not look at her, but he replied.

“Please don’t.”

They sat there in silence until the film ended. She would never see it again. But also, she promised herself she would be better for them both. This forgiveness, so readily given was not easy, she knew. She was not sure it was wholehearted. But it came from a tacit understanding that though in this instance, it was her transgression, it might have just as easily been his. Awkwardly, they held each other, and Connie prayed they would make it through this. Because they did love each other. And staying together, well, that was what they both signed up for.

***

Sid and Connie reached the hospital after more than an hour’s battle with traffic. The contractions were not painful, just disturbingly regular. They became more difficult to tolerate when they finally reached the hospital.

Hours later, Sid sat on the edge of her hospital bed and sighed. He looked dead tired. He had worked all day long and had not even had dinner. When he got to the apartment, she met him at the door with the bag. They had to leave right there and then.

Connie leaned in against him, finding comfort in his nearness, even though she was simultaneously sweating and shivering in the hospital gown she had been wearing the whole night, it felt like. She welcomed his warmth. He woke up from a few seconds’ doze when he felt her. In very uneven intervals, she had to breathe hard from the pain that would overtake her.

Two interns in scrubs walked in. Both were pretty to look in that way that young women were pretty to look at, even masked. Connie couldn’t help but check to see whether her husband thought so, too.

But he looked at the women, and said, “Listen, how long is my wife going to be in this kind of pain.” Connie liked that. The way he said, “my wife’ and liked that he said it.

“It’s not really pain,” Connie murmured, but Sid ignored her. A contraction flashed like lightning, a sharp jolt that made her feel like vomiting. She leaned on him and thought, if only she could just rest awhile, get some kind of break.

One of the interns checked Connie’s chart, and said uselessly.

“She’s still only 6.5 cm dilated.”

“That chart was filled in more than an hour ago.” Sid said, his tone clipped and curt. “I think someone needs to check her again now.”

One of them turned to her finally.

“Ma’am, do you want me to call anaesthetics for an epidural?”

Connie and Sid answered at the same time.

“No.”

“Yes.”

The girls looked at each other, and one said to the other, you check her. At that point, Connie’s doctor came in, and before anyone could say anything, she checked Connie herself.

“So, we’re moving along…up to 7.5 cm now. How do you feel?”

Connie heard Sid say, “Doc, look at her…she can’t go on for much longer…”

She thought, he loves me.

And that was the last thing Connie remembered. Apparently she had passed out from the pain. The doctor did an emergency-c section.

She remembered coming to and seeing Sid holding their son in his arms. She watched Sid smile at him, the way he smiled at her. Then he glanced at her, and reached for her hand. Her joy was instant, comforting, and enduring, even in the remembering.

***

Sid’s seemed fuzzy to Connie. His words. His thoughts. The way he was thinking.

If it were possible, Sid seemed even fuzzier than it had been yesterday, or was it the day before? And certainly, he was more difficult now than in the weeks and months prior. It was happening. This thing that she had feared. That she would be in this terrifying position of being in charge, of taking care of him for the rest of their lives.

Sid reached for her hand and looked in her eyes and lingered there. He squeezed it, tight and affectionate and even leaned in for a kiss. All across the many years, Connie had relied upon that, and it was a warming in her heart. Even though the words Sid was saying were almost unintelligible. The gesture sent her heart into a spasm that threatened to shatter it, as though her heart were made of glass.

Sid grunted repeatedly. Or it could have been a word or a series of words. Connie was not sure.

There were a lot of grunts these days, and it didn’t help that they were the worst kind of days—sections of time that looked similar because nothing really happened, and yet that felt like a very long while they were passing. They went for walks. They watched television. They drank tea and had small, easy meals. These days weighed heavy on her. They had a happy hour twice a week – one glass each, wine, sometimes a light beer. Like a little date night. She’d always looked forward to those. Sid was trying to tell her something.

He was asking for water.

They lived in a house with stairs, stairs she found difficult. She wished that years ago, she had said yes to Sid when he proposed keeping a fridge in their bedroom. She would have to take the stairs slow, protecting her knee, which was crazy, because all day, she had been up and down them, hadn’t she? Or was that the day before? She hadn’t thought about her knee in months. Maybe because she hadn’t felt the pain. And now, all of a sudden, here it was.

She should have stopped running when Sid did. Maybe she wouldn’t have these sudden attacks. And now, she was caring for someone whose knees were fine, but whose movement was…impaired. She had read somewhere that’s what a stroke did: impair people. A stroke made them fuzzy. And now she was taking care of Sid. And so she was going down the stairs, taking them with care, with both feet—first one, then the other on each and every step. Tap, tap. Tap, tap.

She heard the music—a favourite song, a standard they loved that was an oldie even when they were younger. Sid would take her and spin her into a dip. Down Connie went with another two-footed step, her own throat feeling dry. They were not shy. They always used to dance when a good song played. Friends said, there’s Connie and Sid. They will dance. They always danced. But it had to be the right song.

She sat herself down on the stairs all of a sudden to take a breath and rest. She heard the voice of their little boy. He loved to see Mommy and Daddy dance, too. She missed that. And she missed their boy. But right now she needed to get back to Sid with that water. And she needed to get new shoes that wouldn’t hurt her knees when she ran. She was sure as hell not going to quit running, just because Sid quit. Sid could do as he liked, and so would she. And she loved to run.

And all at once, there he was.

“Hey... Connie, what are you doing here? I was getting it for you, and here it is…”

Sid sat by her knee on the step below her. He held out the glass. Connie opened her eyes wide. She looked around. This was not their old house.

“Where are the stairs?” She said, thinking what an odd thing to say.

“Let’s drink your water.”

Sid brushed Connie’s hair from her face, and then held the glass to her lips.

“Just five stairs here,” Connie said.

“Yes…because we moved, remember? Years ago. You chose this place. Too many stairs at the old house. Come on, it’s late.”

Confused, Connie leaned on him. He stood and pulled her to her feet. They headed back to their room. She remembered now; how could she forget? And now, both warm in the bed, she felt Sid spread the blanket over them, still talking, quiet, comforting.

“…and tomorrow, he’s going to bring the grandkids by. You know we like that. So let’s get some sleep...”

Connie felt Sid’s kiss on her forehead. She did like that. She felt Sid squeeze her hand with care even with her eyes shut. She struggled to find a word. Connie felt her brain, fuzzy and slow. Love. After all these years, there was this. It was the only thing that mattered.