‘When?’ My stomach jumped around.
‘Last week.’ Philip took my hands. ‘I just…I think you could get it. I don’t think you give yourself enough credit. You want to do something in science, right? Why not try for it?’
‘Jesus.’ I shot off the bed and walked across the room to the closet.
‘I’m sorry,’ Philip said. ‘I thought…I don’t know. I thought you’d be happy.’
‘Why?’ I didn’t turn around. ‘I’ve been telling you over and over again that I don’t want to apply for something like that. And you didn’t even listen to me! You just…just did it anyway!’
‘I just wanted to give you a push.’
‘You should’ve asked.’
‘What are you so afraid of?’
‘I’m not afraid,’ I spat.
‘You know what I think?’ Philip said quietly. ‘I think you don’t want to apply for it because it’s easier just to have the job at Chow’s. Because you can quit it at the drop of a hat, and it won’t really…I don’t know, affect anything. It’s not like it’s going to go on your résumé. It’s not like you’re making big connections there. It’s easier not to commit to something real, because then you’d have to admit to wanting something, to feeling something.’
I whirled around. ‘That’s not true.’ But I could feel the blood creeping into my cheeks.
‘You’ve been like this for months now,’ Philip said. He was still sitting on the bed, saying this so calmly, rationally. ‘Maybe the whole time we’ve been together. If you just want to leave, then leave. Don’t make me keep wondering.’
‘What are you talking about?’
He curled his hands around his knees. ‘Tell me how you feel about me. Right now.’
I laughed uncomfortably. ‘You know how I feel about you.’
‘No. I don’t know if you’ve ever said it.’
‘Of course I’ve said it.’
‘So say it again, now.’
I opened my mouth, but my eyes got distracted by the crown molding, the old bronze radiator, the heavy plaster windowsill.
‘That time we first met?’ Philip’s eyes shone. ‘Years ago, when your grandmother died? Sometimes I think that was the last time you were truly honest with me. When you told me about…about your dad, and how scared you were.’
‘That’s crazy!’ I exploded. ‘How about everything I tell you every day? None of that matters?’
‘Of course it matters,’ Philip said. ‘But it’s also like, you just get to this point, and then you just…stop. It’s like you have your comfort zone-and if you leave it, you’ve given up too much of yourself.’ He trailed off, but I understood where he was going. ‘Shouldn’t you be able to tell me more? Why can’t you just say it? And why can’t you tell me how you feel? Is it because you feel nothing?’
‘You know that’s not true!’
‘Well, then, why can’t you say it?’
I shook out my hands. What did he want me to say? My relationship with Philip was scarier than caring for my father and Stella combined. I wasn’t here just to listen to Philip’s problems and to take him to doctor’s appointments. I had no real utilitarian purpose, in fact, besides taking up space in his apartment…and being his girlfriend. What were the requirements for that job? Perhaps I’d entered into this too quickly, after losing Stella. Who knew why I’d entered it at all? I thought about what Stella had said all those years ago at my grandmother’s funeral: relationships could be a bitch, and it was hard for people to be truly happy together. Some people couldn’t take it, and that was all right. I thought she’d been talking about my mother, but maybe she sensed something about me, too.
Only, why was I one of those people who couldn’t take it? Was it because of my parents’ relationship or my mother’s abandonment or my father’s descent into illness, or was it because of something deeper than that? Perhaps the problem was in my blood, right down to the tiny little things I couldn’t see. The little coiled pieces of DNA pulsing inside me that very moment, tracking precisely how I behaved, whether I wanted them to or not, just like crazy Mr Rice had said. It was all neatly spelled out in chemical code-why we waited, why we took care of people, why we always had to be the one who needs taking care of. Our sense of direction, our taste for bland pasta or for Belgian waffles, or why love-real, unconditional love-scared us.