RPF: our therapist does the crossword from people
our therapist does the crossword from people
“You used to leave the toilet seat up.” a response to the GQ interview. shut up. i’m still in denial.
rpf. mcgosling.
1189 words; g.
The cameras catch her at the coffee shop before she’s vaguely aware and informed by her friend, then her mother, and a plethora of condolences that there’s an article and that she should sort of read it.
But here’s the thing; she didn’t plan the break up, Ryan didn’t plan the break up, and commitments rise and manipulate every other aspect of her life anyway, so blaming that stays coincidental. It’s not like she can put everything back together again, she wants to tell them, and it’s more than unfair that people understate and assume otherwise.
Ryan’s a jerk, you know. Or don’t.
She sighs.
Call it morbid curiosity, or rather, grocery shopping, and Rachel’s ignoring careful and obvious glances as she slides past greeting cards and M&Ms to the magazine aisle. She shouldn’t. She wouldn’t. She promisedcome on - everybody suffers from the occasional, mild flashback to their teenage years.
Rachel barely waits for a hello, spitting it out like it’s imperative that he functions the rest of his time around this. “You’re staring at me.”
There’s a long pause, but she picks the thick bewilderment. No hi, no hello because they really didn’t do those things. Television, maybe a little, and too many books for arguments. He bought her a broken record player once, if that counts
He clears his throat. “Am I glossy?”
“Fantastically so.”
She’s dry and he laughs, the sound faint. She steps to the side, the excuse to pull away from the magazines and that large push of curiosity. She won’t do it. She won’t do it. No, she’s not.
“Did you read the article?”
She steps back. Shame, she thinks and ducks around a woman and her screaming kid. She skims Home and Living instead. “No.”
“Rachel,” he murmurs. His amusement is too clear and she’s, here, going to hate him on some sort of fundamental principle. The ex-factor is far from good enough and she doesn’t even know why she called him.
Mindless, yes. Absolute mindlessness .
“I want to shop for groceries,” she half-snaps.
And then there’s that nervous energy, the shifting of semantics between them uncovers too much, always too much; it’s possible that they were never meant to handle a subsequent amount of time beyond, really, what they have - had.
He sighing. She feels like a little girl. He does that, you know. Used it in their arguments, time and time again, the back and forth repertoire of trying to exceed her point with his own. He’s good with words, too quiet, and it seems to hurt more, in the end.
“I know you’re angry.”
She snorts. “You used to leave the toilet seat up.”
“You took the dog.” It’s a biting accusation and she barely flinches, listening to rustle on the other line. He sighs and the low murmur of a television passes, opening up the room that he’s clearly in.
She doesn’t ask where he is, but he’s never been big on television. “You’ll kill a goldfish.”
He sighs. “Rachel.”
She peeks at the magazine again, off from the side. There he is. There he is still and it’s annoying. It’s annoying on all accounts, the sudden murmurs from co-stars and passing interviews; it’s none of your business, she had passed too quietly.
“I want to shop for groceries and I can’t,” she ignores him, grasping at what she’s always had; this is a deflection, their exchange of everything else, “I can’t because you’re staring at me and there are old ladies coming up to me.”
“Seriously?”
Rachel snorts. “No. But you’re still staring.”
His amusement surfaces again and something closes; she winces, her ears starting to ring as she moves to another magazine category. Teen Bop! Oh god, she thinks and shakes her head.
“Am I handsome?” He’s passive.
She rolls her eyes, “You’re an ass.”
But he cuts her off, “You make me neurotic” and the dryness fluctuating away from his control. There’s a sliver of annoyance in his voice and she hears the door. There’s a slam over him saying something else.
“Now, that’s really funny.” She’s misplaced, but still continues.
He says nothing.
There’s a silence, stretching too much for her liking. She thinks of kitchen conversations; there was a mess of dishes, pooling, and the dog ate the flowers and somehow, of course, it was her fault.
But really, thinking about this puts her in an end that faces everything that was too good, what she missed and lost. It hurts more than she’d admit and of course, this becomes an accidental indulgence, the exact fact that she stepped away from.
Still though, her admission surfaces and she’s serious, more serious because she fought too hard in the end, at the end and he was gone. He was always gone. Sometimes, she wonders if she was ever made to catch up.
“I miss you,” she says quietly.
And he’s smoky and detaches, playing the role, and the words are splitting what she really wants to hear. He’s too quick. “I missed your birthday.”
“Deflecting.” She half-asses back.
“You called me.”
She shrugs and really has nothing to say that hasn’t already been said. She shifts and moves to the row of magazines hosting his cover, brushing her fingers against his face. She rolls her eyes and almost flips to the article.
“You’re disturbingly handsome.” She steps back, “Still, according to my mother.”
He laughs. “Socially awkward is a better way of putting it.”
She snorts and the silence returns as she slips the distance between her and the aisle, her and the curiosity, and the expectation of what to find. It still - well, it sucks. Plain and simple. She doesn’t want to miss him and her coming to terms isn’t as fast as his or maybe, really, he just hides things better. She doesn’t want to think that he was faster.
“Well, okay.” She’s got to stop this.
He lingers too, a quick and quiet okay fading off. The television is back again and she’s glancing at the cereal prices.
One of them hangs up first. There’s no remember why. If there needs to be, they’ve exceeded that limitation. But she misses him most with that awkward, superficial silence, between gigs and people, jobs and traveling. She misses him. It’ s a lot hard than people think.
But still, still somebody will say they’re still talking; just friends.
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