What Jamie Didn't Know

Katie was pacing around the kitchen when the kettle whistled.  “Finally,” she said as she slammed the mugs down and poured the water, steam billowing around her face.  She hastily assembled the tea – throwing leaves in the infuser and dunking them into the water.  

Normally, watching Katie make tea was one of Jamie’s favorite things.  She loved watching the care Katie took in making sure the infusers were filled with the exact grams of tea that were called for and watching her dunk the cute pink thermometer into water.  Katie believed that green tea leaves had to be added at 180 degrees and black tea could be boiled to 212.  Jamie didn’t understand why any of it mattered – hot water was hot water to her.  But she would never admit this to Katie. 

Today, Katie skipped the thermometer and didn’t measure the grams of tea.  Making tea was an excuse to keep her body moving.  Sitting seemed out of the question and she now only stopped pacing long enough to burn her mouth on the tea.   

Both Katie and Jamie knew that this was it.  The first six months together were perfect – both ignored any warning signs that creeped up in the shadows.  The last four were, well, perfect at times, but punctuated by uncomfortable conversations and Katie taking deep breaths so that she didn’t steam like the tea in front of her.   

Jamie always pictured steam billowing out of Katie’s ears like one of the old cartoons she used to watch sitting on the floor in her childhood living room.    Katie never acted mad – she never yelled.  She just paced and took deep breaths.  But in those moments, Jamie could see the imaginary steam coming out of Katie’s ears.  That image somehow made her feel better as she watched Katie pace the frustrations out of her body.   

Today, it felt to Jamie that Katie’s pacing was less out of anger and more out of disappointment.  That was somehow worse.  Jamie wanted her to yell and scream and break things.  But Katie just looked dejected.   

Katie stopped pacing long enough to finally look at Jamie.  They made eye contact for a split second, but not long enough for Jamie to understand the meaning behind the look.  She knew Katie well enough that she could normally tell what Katie was feeling.   

Katie’s green eyes were normally a tell.  They seemed to sparkle when she laughed and gained a dark hue in those moments when Jamie pictured steam billowing out of her ears.  But today, Jamie couldn’t tell.   

“Talk to me,” Jamie said.  

“We were happy,” Katie replied. 

Jamie just nodded.   

Jamie didn’t know it yet, but later, when she finally went to therapy and finally looked at the truth of herself, she would realize that the problem was that they were happy.   

The problem was not that they often fought over Jamie’s reckless spending and lack of 401K.  Financial responsibility was one of those things that Katie demanded out of a partner.  Years of hearing her father talk down on people who had to rely on Medicare to survive made Katie determined to have good savings.  She knew (or at least she told herself) that there was nothing wrong with being poor, but Katie had inherited a bias towards those on government subsidies.  She wished she hadn’t, but in the way that many white people have unconscious biases against African Americans, Katie harbored them against the poor. 

But that was not the problem.  The problem was that Jamie was happy.  She could put up with Katie’s deep breathing and dark hued eyes every time Katie saw a new shopping bag by Jamie’s front door.  She’d later learn though that she somehow could not put up with happiness. 

So the night before, Jamie got drunk and slept with her ex.  Rebecca was everything Katie was not – an abstract artist who somehow got by with a paycheck from Starbucks and a flirty smile that could convince anyone to buy her what she wanted.   

It was sloppy drunk sex.  Jamie didn’t even enjoy it.   

So she “forgot” (she wasn’t sure if it was conscious or unconscious forgetting) that Katie was coming over the next morning to go to brunch.  So when Katie swung open the unlocked door and went to wake up Jamie in bed, she found Rebecca lying there.  

Rebecca stammered something, quickly put on her clothes, and left.   

Katie just stood there for a while.  But after Rebecca slammed the front door, Katie started pacing.  And then she made the tea.   

“I’m sorry,” Jamie said, “Say something.  Anything, please.”   

Katie just bent down under the sink where Jamie kept extra grocery bags and took out a couple.  She started collecting her stuff: her toothbrush on Jamie’s bathroom counter, her sweatpants and underwear in Jamie’s dresser, and her tea in Jamie’s kitchen.   

Jamie followed Katie around as Katie collected her things.  Once they were all collected (except for one sweater which she accidentally left behind and in which Jamie would cry into for weeks), she started to put on her shoes.  

“Wait, you just can’t leave.  Say something.” 

“What is it that you want me to say?  Say that I’m disappointed in you?  Say that thinking about being with you made me watch those stupid shows where women pick out wedding dresses?  I never even thought about weddings before you.  You want me to tell you how you ruined all that?”  

“I want ….”  

“Oh just stop it.  I’m not going to lose my composure over you.  You don’t get to have that power.”  Losing her composure was one of the things Katie liked least.  Hence the pacing.  Pacing was a way to get energy out without actually expressing anything.   

Katie picked up her bags and walked out the door.  She somehow made it home before she started crying.   

Jamie punched the wall - not hard enough to make a hole, but hard enough to hurt her hand.  

Jamie would later learn that she self-sabotaged.  She was happy and scared of being hurt so she fucked things up before something else fucked them up for her.  She ended before Katie could get sick of fighting over money and lecturing about 401Ks.   

But today, Jamie didn’t know that.  Today, Jamie didn’t know why she slept with her ex.  She just knew that the woman she loved walked her front door without so much as a good-bye.