Now I'll Tell You Everything (Alice) (20 page)

“Things will get better,” he told me. “Once we’re living together, it will be easier.”

“You’ll have your actuarial exams,” I said, “and I’ll be doing grad work. If I decide not to do a thesis, I’ll have to take extra courses. I might not be able to get it all done in a year.”

“But we’ll have each other,” he replied.

The point was, we “had” each other now, but we weren’t in it one hundred percent. At least I wasn’t.
What do I want?
I kept asking myself. No two people were exactly alike. Dave was kind, considerate, patient . . . All he wanted in life was to settle down somewhere with me, each of us doing our own thing, raising a family . . . What else was there?

*  *  *

I’d always thought I wanted to be married in my mom’s wedding dress, but for some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to go home and get it from the attic. I liked the dress from the pictures I’d seen of it, but I couldn’t seem to make myself take that step.

Partly, I was working really hard at school. I loved my courses this semester, but the professors expected more of us in our senior year than they ever had. I told myself that I would definitely sit down at Thanksgiving and finish making my wedding plans. In addition to deposits on the hotel and the caterer, Sylvia and I were deciding on a photographer, and there were dozens of other details to work out—the invitations,
the cake, the seating arrangements, the décor, the band, the honeymoon. . . . I had to remind myself that I couldn’t behave like a college girl forever—I would be a married woman soon and had to start thinking like one. But when Thanksgiving came, the wedding stuff just seemed too overwhelming.

Overwhelming, and the truth was that sometimes I just felt bored with Dave. Maybe it was lack of imagination, I thought, but he never seemed able to think of anything to do besides watching movies, having sex, eating out, and checking the stock market. Sometimes hiking, and I liked those things too. But if our life together was going to be “one happy surprise after another,” it seemed they’d have to come from me.

I started going back to church on Sundays simply because I longed for people who talked about the same problems I was interested in—world problems, social problems. It was a whole new bunch, of course. The high school kids I had known had either moved away or were now part of the singles group for twenty-somethings, and I wasn’t sure, being engaged, that I belonged there.

Les and Stacy came for Thanksgiving and were staying till Sunday. Friday morning Dad and Les went shopping for a new computer, and Stacy was still in bed. Sylvia and I were lingering over a late breakfast. I toyed with the sapphire on my finger.

Outside the windows, the tree branches, bearing only a leaf or two, formed a motionless web across the gray sky. Not a twig stirred, as though my inertia were contagious.

“So how are the arrangements coming?” Sylvia asked. “Anything I can do?”

“Not really,” I told her.

We each picked up our cups in unison and sipped quietly, but Sylvia was the first to put hers down. She sat there in her blue robe, studying me with her blue-green eyes, and said finally, “You’re just not sure about this, are you?”

I stared at her in surprise. “Of course I’m sure! We’re engaged. I told him . . . I
love
him . . .” And suddenly I began to cry. “No,” I sobbed. “I’m not sure and I don’t know why. That’s the awful part. I don’t think I’ll ever be sure.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” She reached across the table and put her hand over mine. “Have you told Dave how you feel?”

“No! He’d hate me! He’s a perfectly nice guy, but I just . . .” I looked at Sylvia imploringly. “Were you ever around someone who made you feel lonely? Not all the time. But . . . a lot of the time?”

“I think I know what you mean. Yes, I felt that sometimes with some of the men I dated.”

“It’s like . . . like he’s not really a part of my life. Or maybe I’m not really a part of his. I try, I really do try, but . . . How can you break up with someone just because you don’t like the same things? He’s a such a decent guy, Sylvia, but . . . I don’t feel like I can honestly be myself with him.”

Sylvia looked at me earnestly. “Then don’t do this. Don’t marry him.”

“But . . . but . . . the ring! We’re engaged!”

“Give it back.”

“We’ve already looked at apartments! We’ve already made some plans.”

“Plans can be changed.”

“It’s so unfair to him, Sylvia! Where does it say that a husband has to be interested in the same things his wife is? He’ll be so hurt!” I wept.

“It’s nothing compared to the way he’d feel if he found out he’d married a woman who wished she hadn’t. Give the ring back and tell him you want more time to think about it, if you need to.”

“He’ll hate me,” I said again. “And I really do think I love him.”

“Then you’ll care enough for his feelings not to marry him till you’re sure.”

“But how will I ever
know
?” I sobbed. My face felt hot and swollen. “I don’t think I’ll ever know. What if I’m looking for the perfect man, and he doesn’t exist?”

Sylvia got up and came around the table, and I buried my head against her stomach. I remembered how Sylvia herself had gone to England for a year because she couldn’t make up her mind whether to marry Dad or Jim Sorringer. Maybe I’d have to go to Australia. The Barrier Islands! Somewhere far away where no one could reach me. Maybe I should be psychoanalyzed or hypnotized to see how I really felt.

“When you find the right man,” Sylvia said, combing her hands through my hair, “he won’t be perfect. But you’ll know. You’ll just know. Maybe not right away, but in time.”

I’d stopped crying by then, and she gently pulled away as
my breathing slowed. Then she sat down in the chair next to me, one arm resting on the table, and just listened.

“I certainly admire Dave,” I told her. “He’s going to make a good actuary. He’ll make a good husband . . . for someone. But sometimes I just feel like we’re . . . we’re magnets of the wrong polarity. Instead of sticking together, we sort of . . . repel. No, not exactly. Not all the time.”
Oh, God,
I thought,
she used to be my English teacher.
What kind of a simile was that?

“If Dave’s the right one, you can’t imagine not spending the rest of your life together,” Sylvia said finally. “When you’ve found the right one—when you see him, when you’re with him—you’ll feel like you’re coming home.”

*  *  *

Stacy came down in her robe, a towel around her wet hair, just as Dad and Les walked in. I didn’t even let them take the new computer out of the box, because I knew that once they started setting it up, they probably wouldn’t even hear me. Dad sat down slowly on a chair in the living room when I told him about my decision.

“Al, are you sure about this now? Not just the usual pre-wedding jitters?” he asked.

“No, but it feels more right to break the engagement than it does to go ahead with it,” I said, my nose still clogged. My voice was weak, like all my strength had gone out of me and it took all I had just to make this confession.

“Then you’ve got to call Dave and tell him, and the sooner the better.”

My eyes teared up again. “But . . . we’ve reserved the church,
Dad! You’ve put a deposit on the hotel and the caterers! How can I—?”

“How can you go through with something you’re already feeling might be a mistake? That’s the real question,” said Dad. “I don’t care if we’d already ordered the food and the invitations. I don’t care if you got all the way down to the altar, honey, and then changed your mind. It’s your future we’re talking about here, and if you’re not sure, then now’s the time to say so.”

I could almost feel the relief washing over me. “Dave’s coming to see me tomorrow,” I said. “I want to tell him in person. I owe him that much.”

Dad nodded. “Yes.”

“You and Dave have your whole lives ahead of you,” said Stacy. “Six months from now, you could both be involved with other people. Really.”

But it was Lester I wanted to hear from. So far he hadn’t said anything, just looked thoughtful. After he and Dad had set up the computer in Dad’s office, they discovered they needed another connector cord, and Les offered to drive to RadioShack to get one, so I rode along.

He reached over and put one hand on my knee, giving it a quick squeeze. “It’s tough, isn’t it?” he said.

My chin wobbled a little. “It’s . . . it’s awful, Les! Dave’s driving down from Cumberland—he spent Thanksgiving with his folks—and he’s going to be so sad!”

“You don’t think he might have guessed? It might not be as big a surprise as you imagine.”

I glanced over at him. “Why would he guess?”

Les shrugged. “I don’t know. Some guys are more perceptive than others. It just seems . . . well, to me, anyway, and what do
I
know? . . . that something’s missing between you two—on your part, anyway.”

“That’s exactly how I’ve felt too, but what is it? Dave’s kind, he’s attractive to me . . .”

“Joy,” said Lester.

“What?”

“Do you remember Dad and Sylvia’s wedding ceremony? I do—something the minister said, about the three components of love: passion, tenderness, and joy. I’ve never forgotten.”

I remembered it now and thought about Dave.

“I
do
feel passion for him,” I said. “When we’re—”

“Never mind! You don’t have to spell it out.”

“And I certainly feel tender toward him a lot of the time. . . .” I hesitated. “That’s why I feel so awful now.”

“And joy?” Les prompted.

I thought about it. Could I really say I was joyful? Did I greet Dave with joy? I was always happy to see him. But when I thought of our future together, tried to picture my role in his life . . .

“No,” I said at last. “That’s what’s missing. Joy and anticipation. The feeling that this is the right man for me, that I just can’t wait to be his wife and experience all that’s coming next.”

“Then there you have it,” said Les.

*  *  *

I don’t know how long I stayed in the shower that evening, my refuge from worry and indecision. I stood with my back to the spray, arms hanging motionless at my sides, as I watched the water run down my arms, my hands, and finally, in a thin stream, off the ends of each finger, like claws. As though I were about to inflict pain, was capable of causing injury.

I was back at my dorm room Saturday when Dave drove up. I went right out and got in his car before he could come inside.

“Well, what’s this?” he said, as though I had a surprise for him, and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek.

“I just want to go for a drive—I need to talk,” I said.

He looked over at me uncertainly. “All right,” he said. We drove down into Sligo Creek Park, and he stopped the car along the water. “What’s up?”

I wanted to get out and walk, but he didn’t. He was beginning to look uneasy and said he’d rather stay in the car. I’ll admit it wasn’t exactly walking weather. It was drizzling and the sky was as gray as I felt inside.

I sat hugging my elbows in my bulky green sweater. “This is so hard for me,” I told him, “and it’s going to be even harder for you. I’m just so sorry, Dave, but I have to give your ring back.”

His eyes had a look of disbelief. “Alice!”

“I’ve thought and thought about this, and I do love you, but—”

“Alice, how can you love me and do something like this? What’s the matter?”

I’d been afraid he might gather me in his arms and tell me that he wanted my happiness most of all, and if I wasn’t sure . . . the way I’d imagined my dad behaving when Sylvia first told him she needed time to decide between him and Jim Sorringer. Then I might have waffled, might have ended up keeping his ring after all. But Dave didn’t do that. He just sat there, turned toward me, staring.

“Dave, I just don’t feel we share enough.”

“Come on! We have a good time when we’re together, don’t we? Is this about that play you wanted to see and I didn’t?”

“You have every right not to like the things I do.”

“Then . . . ? I’ll go! I’ll go! Anything to make you happy.”

I shook my head. “That would get old after a while, and it wouldn’t be fair to you. We both know that. Neither of us should have to do so many things we don’t really enjoy. We’d start out okay, but then we’d resent it.”

“What’s happened? You meet another guy?”

“No. This is about us, Dave. I love you, but it doesn’t seem enough. I guess I thought that with time, everything would come together—but it just hasn’t happened. What I’m missing is joy.”

“You expect the moon, that’s what,” he said, his back against the door, arms folded across his chest. “You’ve got some preordained notion of how you’re supposed to feel. You’re in love with an ideal.”

“It’s not just idealistic, but you’re right. I
do
have an idea of
how I should feel, and I don’t feel that way. Not enough of the time, anyway. I . . . I just want to postpone the wedding and think some more about it.” My heart began to pound. I was waffling already. I took the ring off my finger and handed it to him.

“Alice,” he said, taking it reluctantly, and his eyes were pleading. “Don’t do this.”

My eyes filled with tears. “It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life, Dave. Please let me think about it.”

Now he shook his head, staring out the window a brief moment, holding his breath. Then he looked at me again. “No, it just prolongs the sadness. I guess maybe . . .” He looked away. “Maybe I’ve suspected, I don’t know. I’ve seen how you come alive sometimes with other guys when the gang’s all together. . . .”

I started to protest, but he said, “I don’t mean you’re hitting on them, but you enjoy all the talk, all that discussion, all the stuff you think of to do. I can see that . . . in some ways . . . we’re going in different directions. But if you didn’t love me enough when I proposed to you, you shouldn’t have accepted.”

“You’re right,” I said. “I just didn’t know.”

He closed his eyes. “I really thought we were meant for each other.” Opened them again. “That we got along so well.”

“So did I, for a while. And we had some wonderful times together. Really. You’ll find a girl who’s absolutely right for you. But I have to go into marriage with my whole heart, Dave, and I’ve just got too many reservations. Try to forgive me.”