CHAPTER 6

Have you ever being married?
Have you ever gone through all those phases? I mean, falling in love, hoping, expecting, fucking a lot, dreaming about how your future should be, quarrelling and then making up, talking and then…
Eventually…
Not talking anymore.
Getting bored.
Bored as hell and almost completely unheard.
Even this last one is a phase.
An ugly phase, but it can be quite benign, if you manage to handle it carefully.
I mean, if you read the signs you can fix it.
And if you can fix it, and you still love your partner, and your partner still loves you, then you step back to phase one, which is good.
But the problem is that sometimes, reading the signs is not as easy as it seems.
And if you just act nonchalant, and you pretend that nothing bad is happening, if you turn your back to the problems, well…
The problems will just get worse.
And worse.
And worse.
And the worse the problems get, the harder you’ll fix them.
Okay?
Got that?
Good.
I’m hinting, you know?
I’m letting you lecture my story a little bit.
Because the more you love a person, the more you’ll be hurt when that particular person lets you down.
There are many ways to let somebody down.
You don’t have to do something huge to disappoint someone, no.
I’m not talking about fighting, or cheating, or stealing, or murdering.
Not at all.
Well, even those, of course.
But there are also little things.
Trivial things.
Apparently insignificant things.
And they can hurt as hell.
The more you do those things, the more you’ll hurt who you love.
I am talking about cold shoulders and little fears and lack of communication and lack of attention.
THAT is killer stuff.

Flashback – Carmen

When I enter the kitchen, Shane is standing with her back against the huge fridge.
Right beside the telephone.
I glance at her, distractedly, heading towards the oven to check my cookies.
“Hi babe”, I murmur.
“Hi honey”.
“Are you expecting a call?”.
She takes a look at the silent telephone on the wall.
“Uh, yeah… Bette Porter said she’d confirm lunch”.
I turn around to face her.
“Bette Porter?”. I frown. “ Do you mean Kit’s sister?”.
Shane nods her head.
“Yeah. I’m trying to land her as a client. You know, she is the artistic director of the Silversand Art Museum and the word around town is she is up for an even bigger post”.
I smile.
“I am sure she will”.
I wrap my arms around her waist, kissing her neck.
“Did you get a chance to look over that contract for me?”, I ask her gently.
Shane’s eyebrows furrow.
“What contract?”.
I blink, perplexed by her complete ignorance about the whole matter.
“On the consulate luncheon I am doing…”, I murmur.
Shane snaps her fingers.
“Oh, yeah! No, but I’ll read it this weekend”.
I sigh, pulling away.
“Okay…”.
Shane grabs my wrist, turning me around and cupping my face with her free hand.
“What’s wrong, Carm?”.
I shake my head slowly.
“Actually I have to sign it tomorrow. I gave it to you last week, but it’s probably fine…”.
I try to smile.
Shane’s eyes widen.
“Oh! No, okay, you’re right honey. I’ll read it now”.
I move her hand away from my wrist.
“Oh no, don’t bother Shane”.
She shakes her head stubbornly.
“No, no. Get it”.
I tilt my head.
“Are you sure?”.
“Sure. Go get it”.
She rapidly pecks my lips. And this is the most intimate contact of the whole week.
“Alright…”, I murmur, going to her studio and searching my contract under the dozens of papers stacked in a pile on her desk.
I come back to the kitchen and hand her the contract.
She starts reading it, attentively and silently, while I’m engrossed in my pots.
Suddenly, she snaps her head.
“What?!”, she exclaims, “What is it?”.
I glance at her, chuckling.
“It’s a fly”.
Her green eyes are moving frantically around the room.
“It’s a fly!” she echoes.
“Where’d go?”.
I point my finger.
“Right there”.
Shane’s eyes stop on the black, tiny insect on the smooth, silver surface of the fridge.
Silently, she moves some steps towards it and then smashes the fly against the door.
…
With my contract.
I stare at her, clenching my jaw.
Shane shows me the little corpse, now plastered on the white bottom page.
“How about that?”, she exclaims proudly, “Not bad, huh?”.
“I admire your technique”, I say, in a flat tone.