Avery and His Series of Desperate Acts

All thoughts of the New York trip and my subsequent conversation with Jack vanished as I prepared to face him for the first time since he told me our relationship was over. I placed the silver Promise Box back on side table and sheepishly entered the bedroom, where Jack laid watching a bad science fiction series. He glanced upon my entrance.

“Hey,” he said and then turned back to his program. Hey? Hey? That’s the best you can do? I’ve been unable to function all day after you drop a bomb over breakfast, and all you can say is, “Hey?” I took a deep breath and asked him to turn off the television. A serious talk was in order.

Reluctantly, he complied. He followed me into the living room and took a seat on the sofa. I proceeded immediately to the bar and poured us each a glass of American Honey. We clinked glasses, took a sip and sat for a moment in silence. It was as if neither of us had nerve to start the conversation. I think he may have been more afraid than I was.

I once attended a nursing administration conference where management expert Tom Peters was quoted as saying, “Communication is everyone's panacea for everything.” I only hoped that by opening a dialogue—even at this late stage—Jack and I could cure the cancer that had formed between us. Maybe, just maybe, we could find that shred of what was once so great between us.  

“I don’t understand,” I told him, “I thought we were in a good place. We’d both agreed—in fact, it was your suggestion—to press the reset button. Everything that happened before I left for New York was to be considered the past. What’s changed?

Jack took another long sip of his whiskey. He didn’t (couldn’t?) look me in the eye. This was new to both of us. I’d never before been so direct with him. Perhaps it was too little too late.

Jack continued to nurse his drink in stony silence. Undaunted, I pressed him. What could I do to make things right? What could I say to make him look at me with the affection that he once did? I told him I loved him. I didn’t want to lose him.

In retrospect, it all sounds very desperate. In retrospect, it wasn’t the first time I’d behaved so desperately. That pattern began, in fact, on the night I met his fathers.