When Silence Speaks Volumes

When I get home, Kayla is sitting on the couch biting her fingernails and staring out into space. I pause at the doorway and watch her.

I have only seen her bite her nails twice since I’ve known her.

Once when her mother died.

The second time was when her father died.

I walk into the living room and she turns her head towards me.

“Hi,” I say.

“Hey,” she responds.

She’s looking at me with narrowed eyes.

I decide to give her time to tell me what she wants to say and go to the kitchen to start putting the groceries I've bought in the fridge.

“You want to go to a party tonight?” she asks.

I pause with a carton of eggs in my hand and turn toward her.

We were supposed to stay in tonight and watch a movie.

It was her idea.

She’d had a really rough couple of weeks at work and said all she wanted was to relax.

Now, she’s looking at the ground.

“Whose party?” I ask.

“Melissa,” she says.

“Who’s Melissa?” I ask.

“A friend,” she says, now looking at the wall behind me.

In the ten years we’ve been together, Kayla has never mentioned a Melissa.

“How’d you meet?” I ask.

“Do you want to go or not?” Kayla snaps.

She immediately blushes, “Sorry, I…it’s just…another bad day.”

“Oh,” I say.

Kayla still isn’t looking at me.

She’s biting her nails again.

I want to question her and ask her what she’s upset about, but something tells me to just let it go. To just give her what she wants and ask questions later.

“Sure,” I say, “Let’s go.”

She looks at me and smiles a bit.

“Ok,” she says, “…thanks.”

An hour later, we’re in an uber, on our way to some party in the Hollywood Hills.

I still don’t know who Melissa is and Kayla was very insistent that I ‘dress sexy.’

My clothing usually consists of jeans and t-shirts.

That’s it.

So now, I’m wearing a strapless dress I haven’t worn in over a decade and heels I’m probably going to take off when we get to this party.

I’ve tried engaging Kayla in conversation, but she won’t give me much.

Just stares out the window.

I watch her, trying to read her mind.

She catches me staring and smiles.

I smile back and reach for her hand, but she pulls away and looks back at the window.

I can feel a tightness forming in the pit of my stomach.

I want to ask her why we’re going to this party.

I want to ask her why she won’t look at me, why she was biting her nails, why she won’t tell me anything at all.

Instead, I turn toward my own window and try to accept the silence.

After thirty minutes of winding roads and feeling like we’re making our way to the top of Los Angeles, we pull up in front of a large metal gate.

Kayla and I get out of the car.

I stumble in my ridiculous heels.

 I watch Kayla go to the call box at the side of the gate and press a button.

We hear a phone ring.

“Hello?” someone answers.

In the background I can hear laughter and loud music.

“Hi, this is Kayla?” Kayla says, her voice high and squeaky.

I look at her with bewilderment on my face.

Her voice is unusually pitchy.

She avoids my eyes.

“Who?” the voice asks.

“Kayla?” she repeats, her tone a question, as if she doesn’t know her own name.

She is fidgeting with her dress and her hair and her earrings.

She is a constant flutter, and I don’t recognize her.

We can hear muttering in the background.

The voice on the box is passing along Kayla’s name.

She continues to fidget, her gaze going from the call box to the gate to the sky.

Everywhere but me.

“Kayla?” comes a different voice from the box.

This voice is deep and sultry and undeniably sexy.

Kayla turns beet red and says, “Melissa?”

“Kayla! Oh, come in, come in,” says Melissa.

The gate opens and we come upon another windy path made of cobblestones with roses and posies lining the side.

The house at the end of the path is a mansion made to look like a cottage.

Vines are growing along the side, and there are wide windows where we can see the party goers dancing and drinking.

I keep stumbling in my heels and Kayla keeps glancing at me and sighing in exasperation.

The tightness in my stomach is spreading to my chest, to my shoulders.

“Did you bring extra shoes?” Kayla asks the ground.

“No,” I say, “I figured I could just take them off at some point.”

She stops and looks at me.

She looks as if I just told her that we should barbecue some puppies.

“What?” I ask.

“Take them off?” she says, “We’re not at some hick party, you know. If you can’t tell, this is a nice place. This is a real party. So why don’t you try walking like a normal person. Ok?”

She glares at me for another moment and then keeps walking.

I stare at her.

I want to scream at her.

I want to grab her by her shoulders and shake her until her head pops off.

I want to attack this body snatcher and ask her what she’s done with Kayla.

Instead, I follow behind, clenching my feet and trying not to trip on the hellish cobblestones.

We get to the giant, red, front door, and it opens before we can knock.

Standing in the doorway is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

Tall, curvy, luscious brown hair, sparkling hazel eyes.

And she is looking at Kayla like she wants to swallow her whole.

And Kayla is glowing, the redness in her cheeks spreading to her neck, to her exposed shoulders.

“Hi Melissa,” Kayla whispers.

I watch as Melissa embraces Kayla.

I watch as Melissa kisses Kayla’s cheek.

“It’s been so long,” Melissa says against Kayla’s neck.

I can feel my hands ball themselves into fists.

I can feel the right side of my head pulsing, pounding.

I clear my throat to announce my presence and they both look at me as if I’m a fly that needs to be swatted.

“Hello,” Melissa says, “I’m Melissa. And you are?”

I start to speak, to introduce myself but Kayla cuts me off.

“This is Ingrid,” she says, “A friend.”

I stare at her.

Friend?

Melissa shakes my hand, but my gaze stays on Kayla.

“Come in,” Melissa says, “Please come in.”

She takes Kayla’s hand and pulls her in.

Kayla doesn’t look at me.

She only looks at Melissa.

It’s as if I’m not there.

I want to leave.

I know I should leave.

I know I don’t deserve to be treated this way.

I hesitate at the doorway.

I start to back out, following my good instincts.

But then Kayla turns.

She sees my face.

She says something to Melissa and then hurries back to me.

“What are you doing?” she asks, her eyes wide.

“I…I’m thinking I should just go,” I say.

I want to say more.

I want to ask her why she’s acting like this.

I want to ask her who Melissa is.

But I stay quiet, my eyes searching her face for answers instead.

“Don’t go,” she croaks, her hand gripping my arm, “Please? Just stay a little longer.”

Her grip on my arm is so tight and maybe it’s because I’ve never seen her this way, maybe it’s because of the strangeness of it all, maybe at the end of it, it’s my morbid curiosity.

“Ok,” I say.

She sighs in relief.

We walk down a long hallway and enter a large living room.

People who look like movie stars fill the space.

They are drinking, dancing, kissing in corners.

The music is loud, and I have to fight the urge to cover my ears.

Melissa offers us martinis and I shake my head.

“Are you sure?” Melissa asks me, “They’re absolutely delicious.”

“No, thanks,” I yell, “Just a beer for me.”

Kayla scoffs at me as if I’m so low class and says that she’ll have a martini.

As Melissa goes to get our drinks, I lean over to Kayla and say, “A martini? Really?”

She says nothing.

She pretends she can’t hear me, even though I know she can.

She hates martinis.

Or so she’s told me.

Melissa returns with the beverages.

“How long has it been?” Melissa asks Kayla.

“14 years,” Kayla says.

“Wow,” Melissa says, “Well, it’s so nice to see you.”

They look deeply into each other’s eyes.

“How did you two meet?” I ask.

Kayla snaps her eyes my way, and I can almost feel the fire shooting out of them.

“College,” Melissa says shortly, “How did you two meet?” she asks with a snide smile.

“Oh,” Kayla says quickly, “We met at a mutual friend’s birthday party. So, what have you been doing with yourself? And is this your house? It’s gorgeous!”

Melissa catches us up on all her activities for the past 14 years.

It’s clear she doesn’t mind monopolizing the conversation.

She’s a world traveler, food connoisseur, social media influencer, and clearly independently wealthy.

Chris Isaak’s Wicked Game starts to play and it’s like everything slows down.

I watch Melissa take Kayla’s hands and pull her into the middle of the floor.

I watch Kayla let herself be led, not throwing a single glance my way.

I watch as they move together, arms wrapped around each other and again I wonder what the hell I’m doing here.

Someone bumps into me, and I spill beer all over the front of my dress.

I decide it’s a sign that I should finally leave.

I go back to the hallway and decide to look for a bathroom before I go.

I walk further into the house and spot one on my right.

There’s a woman in there crying over the sink.

I can’t decide if I should ask her if she’s ok or turn around and pretend like I haven’t seen her.

She sees me in the mirror before I can make a decision.

“Oh, shit,” she says, wiping away her tears, “Sorry.”

“It’s ok,” I tell her, “Please. Take your time.”

She smiles at me and mumbles, “Thanks.”

She grabs some toilet paper and starts to clean her eye make-up.

“Everything, ok?” I ask.

She laughs, “You caught me crying in a bathroom. What do you think?”

“Right,” I say, “Sorry.”

“Relationship drama,” she says.

I nod sympathetically.

“How do you know Melissa?” she asks.

“I don’t,” I say, “My girlfriend does. How do you know Melissa?”

“I’m her girlfriend,” she says with a smirk, “Well, more like her flavor of the week. Melissa doesn’t have girlfriends. And right now, she seems to be quite taken up with her ex.”

“Her ex?” I ask.

“Kayla,” she says, “The one that got away, apparently.”

“The one that got away,” I repeat.

My body suddenly feels heavy.

My feet are screaming.

My head is pounding.

“Yea,” she says, “They had this on and off thing throughout college. Melissa cheated on her a bunch of times until Kayla finally said screw it and stopped going back. Until now, anyway.”

“And Melissa has told you all this?” I ask.

“Yea,” she says, “She talks about Kayla all the time.”

My throat is dry and I’m finding it hard to swallow.

The woman stares at me and understanding comes over her face.

“Oh,” she says, “…I’m so sorry.”

I shake my head but no words come out.

What is there to say?

I turn away from her and start to walk back down the hallway.

“Didn’t you need to use the restroom?” I hear her ask.

I don’t respond.

I just keep walking.

I go back to the living room.

Melissa is dancing with someone else.

Another woman who looks like she’s at least a decade younger.

Kayla isn’t in sight.

“There you are."

I turn.

“I’ve been looking for you,” Kayla says, “Where’d you go?”

“Someone spilled beer on me,” I say.

“Oh,” she says, “Well, did you want to go?”

I stare at her.

“I’m kinda over this party,” she says, “The music is way too loud.”

I watch her look behind me toward the living room.

I know she’s watching Melissa dance with that young woman.

“Well,” she says, finally looking at me, “Do you want to go?”

The woman from the bathroom is walking toward us.

She sees me and smiles.

I smile back automatically. Politely.

Kayla follows my gaze and narrows her eyes.

“Who’s that?” she asks, her tone tight and sharp and accusatory.

The tightness in my body expands, it widens, it overwhelms.

My hands start to shake.

Kayla must notice the change in me because she quickly says, “Let’s just go, ok? Let’s just go home. Please?”

Her eyes are wide and pleading and she’s gripping my arms and I want to ask her a million questions, I want to tell her that the only reason she’s standing with me is because Melissa saw that she could still manipulate her and then dumped her for a younger model.

I want to say that in the ten years we’ve been together, I never thought she’d be so careless with me, so dismissive, so ugly.

I want to say that she’s ruined my opinion of her.

My trust in her.

But instead I just nod.

“Ok,” I say, “Let’s go home.”

Relief floods her face.

She leans in and kisses me.

“Thank you,” she says.

I don’t respond.

I just walk back toward the front door.

Once outside, I take off my heels.

I hear Kayla laugh behind me.

“You never should have worn those things,” she says.

“You wanted me to,” I say without looking at her, “You wanted me to ‘dress sexy,’ remember?”

Silence.

I walk barefoot along the cobblestone path.

I get to the end, push open the metal gate and pull out my phone to call the uber.

I can feel Kayla standing right behind me.

“Ingrid?” she asks.

“What?” I say, still not looking at her, my gaze laser-focused on my phone.

Silence.

“Nothing,” she says quietly.