Tangle

There are glow stars on her ceiling. She hadn't put them there. She hasn't moved in what has felt like days, save for trips to the bathroom. Yet somehow, in the five minutes she's been gone, glow stars have been tacked onto the ceiling.

It looks as if they're glued to giant sheets of posterboard, tacked up haphazardly with no particular order. Uriel is still sitting on the couch where she had passed him on her way to the toilet, filling out paperwork. He's hardly moved either all week. He lets her rot in the bedroom, sleeping on the couch. 

Meryl flops back onto the bed, noticing a step ladder in the corner. She knows that the stars didn't magically appear in her absence. Yet he's still there, and she thinks she may be hallucinating from lack of food. When was the last time she had eaten?

She looks at the half of a granola bar still sitting by her phone. Monday. Her sister had come to check in on her. They hadn't seen each other since the funeral two months ago.

There's an ant crawling onto the bar. Her stomach growls, and she brushes him aside.

"Would you prefer some actual food? I was thinking about running out to get some dinner. We could get boo-ritos." She remembers back to their first Halloween together, when they had dressed as Mexican ghosts (white sheets and sombreros on a college kid budget) and made that terrible joke. Her lips twitch.

"I thought you had work to do."

"I do. I have to work on our relationship." He flops down next to her. "I've been focused on work lately, and that's not fair to you."

Meryl turns her head. She knows he can smell her breath, stale as that granola bar. The ant is back again.

He redirects her attention to his face. He's kissing the tip of her nose. It's her favorite thing, because it makes her feel like a kid again. Her daddy used to kiss her on the nose every night when he'd tuck her in. 

Uriel used to do it when he tucked her in too.

"I took off work. One of us has to be the responsible one." They've told her to come back when she's ready. Judging by the knots in her hair, and tissue mountain by her bed, it's not likely it'll be tomorrow.

It's also not likely that she can drag herself out of bed to get boo-ritos.

He scoops her up into his arms. "In that case, I'm holding myself responsible for your happiness."

"I can't go out in public like this!" she whines, body going limp in his arms. He totes her off to the bathroom, turning on the faucet.

"We're going to clean you up first." He strips her down. It's not sexual. It's slow, and caring, his fingers tugging at her pajama pants, flinging them towards the laundry basket.

He misses.

"You have horrible aim."

He lifts her into the tub. "I dunno, I think I hit your heart pretty hard."

She sinks into the water. Admittedly, it feels wonderful to be out of that bed. He grabs her brush from the cupboard and motions for her to sit back up. She doesn't want to. It's going to hurt, getting those knots out. She'd rather shave it all off.

A bottle of detangler spray appears. He must've gotten it when he bought the stars.

"Doesn't feel like it," she wallows. He is doing his best to be gentle, but the knots are bad. He knows that her words mean something beyond the hair. He hasn't been a good husband these past weeks. 

Uriel came from the kind of family that brushes things under the carpet. There's no problem if you pretend it doesn't exist.

Meryl came from a family of hardwood floors. It's gonna break when it hits, but you can't hide it.

She grips the side of the tub as he tugs. He hasn't responded to her statement. A part of her wants to say it again, in case he didn't hear her. She wants him to abandon her, so that she can self destruct until the bed swallows her whole.

She definitely does not want to sit here getting her hair hacked at.

"I love you, you know. Do you want me to tell you why?"

Yes. She doesn't say it out loud, and yet he senses her agreeing, because he starts rattling off reasons.

"I love that you buy cinnamon raisin bagels and pick all of the raisins out before you toast them, because you think hot raisins are weird, and then put them back in, as if cold raisins in hot bagels aren't weird, and how you won't let me just buy you plain bagels and raisins, because those ones taste like a hint of cinnamon, and don't have little raisin holes.

I love that you name all the squirrels in the park, even if they're all named Charlie, because you say it covers all genders, and you don't want to get their names wrong. I love that you worry that they've all found out that they all have the same name, and that they don't feel loved. I love that you wonder if they have a name for you, and if squirrels can pronounce the name Meryl, and if they know that you were named after that woman on the Truman Show, and not the actress. I love that you joke that we're U and Me, because you think our names are so serendipitous.

I love that you can really nail a Donald Duck impression, and don't ever question if you're on speaker phone when I'm at the office. I love how you insisted that you weren't a duck, and were wearing pants, because you too were at work, hiding in your car on your lunch break to call to say you loved me."

Bubbles form around her bottom in the tub.

"I love that you can't deny that."

He laughs, and her mouth twitches again. It's been ages since she smiled. Here he is, pouring his heart out to her, and she breaks all over a fart joke.

"I love when you pretend you don't want to laugh. I love it when you laugh anyway."

He grabs a cup off the ledge and pours water over her hair. Taking a hairtie off his wrist, he ties back half of her hair. It's tangle free now, unlike the other half. 

She flips around so that he can access the other side of her head. 

"I love that you make me sit through the commercials, because someone paid for them to be seen, and you're still hoping to see that one with that song that you like, that you insist goes 'do do do,' so you can finally ask Siri what the song is.

I love that you always hide notes in library books so that someone else can find them. I love that you keep a list, and check on them to see if the notes are still there, and if anybody has added to them. I love that you asked the librarian to leave a note for the girl who did respond, and that you took her out for coffee, only to find out you both hate coffee, and ordered hot chocolate, with extra whip, so that you could pretend your Santa beard was accidental before snapping a selfie to send me."

He rinses her hair again, taking the last knot in his hands.

"I love that even though you've lost yourself, even though you feel like you are dying right now that you are strong and will do these things again. And I love that you let me love you. That you are letting me wash your hair, and love you despite me being an idiot for not jumping in sooner."

He takes the hairtie out and runs the brush through one final time.

A dollop of soap gets squirted onto her loofah, and he takes his time running circles along her body, washing off the dirt and grime. He knows that words only go so far. He knows that he's half of the reason they got into the rough spot they're in.

He knows he's going to ask that someone else take the promotion. He'd rather have his girl in his arms than wads of paperwork. The money means nothing if he has no one to spend it on.

He rinses her off, sending the water spiraling down the drain. Her stomach gurgles again, and he remembers the boo-ritos. 

"Let's get you dressed. I've got a fresh pair of pajamas waiting for you."

"Okay."

He gets her into a new pair of sweats, and more impressively, the backseat of the car. They go through the drive thru, and she holds the sack close to her. For the first time in a while, her heart feels warm.

She can guarantee you it's not the Mexican food.

"Uriel?" 

"Yeah, what's up? You okay back there?"

"I love you too."

And her heart feels a little warmer.