Jean saw herself staring back from the steamy sliver of mirror that she’d positioned above the old-fashioned bath taps. She grinned at herself; she had a plastic bath cap with elastic around the crown that left red welts that looked like stitches on her head when she removed it.
She adored the cap; it made her feel safe because it was so incredibly ugly.
The door rattled, and she raised an eyebrow at the jiggling door knob.
"Darling I’ve got candles and wine."
"Oh..." her thoughts drifted. She sank lower; she allowed the water to engulf and embrace her. She silenced the room.
The persistent door rattled; she could see its physical echo even if she couldn’t hear it.
She raised herself. She felt the strings of duty pull at her as if she were a marionette, bound to do the master’s bidding.
"What? Dave, what?" The words were out before she could kill them and put them in the graveyard they belonged to.
"Darling?"
She heard the yearning, the indecision, and the rejection.
"Oh, God…"
"Dave, I’m just having a bath. Relaxing, you know? Enjoying the steam."
Silence fell across the space like an knife onto a slaughtering block.
Silence…
"Hey, Dave?" Her invitation trembled; it waltzed on the shiny white tiles. He heard the jitter of possibility. She waited, and the door knob turned. She felt her heart drown.
"My love, I’d love to comb your hair. I know that you love it when I comb your hair?" The question hung like a giddy gong, ridiculously heavy.
In an instant, she witnessed a Dave-kaleidoscope; he’d made her so happy: he’d completed her sentences, smiled at her silly jokes, and owned an umbrella, which he’d shared when it rained. He was a lovely man.
She didn’t understand the mess that her brain was in; she didn’t understand why she felt the way she did.
She looked up through the steam and saw Dave smiling—all Cheshire Cat.
"Dave..." she heard the echo of her voice reverberate in waves around the tiny room.
"Dave, sometimes, just sometimes, I want to bathe, you know. I want to be on my own and bathe in comfort and solitude. Dave, can you hear me? Do you begin to understand?"
Dave’s cheeks were ruddy, and she hated the way her words drained the excitement from his eyes. He shut the door, leaving the candles behind.
Her heart clenched, but she wondered if it would be enough to encourage him to find the bags he’d arrived with.
