What We Talk About When We Talk About Love: Stories

sunshine inside the room was different now, changing, getting thinner. But the leaves outside the window were still shimmering, and I stared at the pattern they made on the panes and on the Formica counter. They weren't the same patterns, of course.
    "What about the old couple?" I said.
    "Older but wiser," Terri said.
    Mel stared at her.
    Terri said, "Go on with your story, hon. I was only kidding. Then what happened?"
    "Terri, sometimes," Mel said.
    "Please, Mel," Terri said. "Don't always be so serious, sweetie. Can't you take a joke?"
    "Where's the joke?" Mel said.
    He held his glass and gazed steadily at his wife.
    "What happened?" Laura said.
    Mel fastened his eyes on Laura. He said, "Laura, if I didn't have Terri and if I didn't love her so much, and if Nick
    What We Talk About When We Talk About Love
    wasn't my best friend, I'd fall in love with you. Pd carry you off, honey," he said.
    "Tell your story," Terri said. "Then well go to that new place, okay?"
    "Okay," Mel said. "Where was I?" he said. He stared at the table and then he began again.
    "I dropped in to see each of them every day, sometimes twice a day if I was up doing other calls anyway. Casts and bandages, head to foot, the both of them. You know, you've seen it in the movies. That's just the way they looked, just like in the movies. Little eye-holes and nose-holes and mouth-holes. And she had to have her legs slung up on top of it. Well, the husband was very depressed for the longest while. Even after he found out that his wife was going to pull through, he was still very depressed. Not about the accident, though. I mean, the accident was one thing, but it wasn't everything. I'd get up to his mouth-hole, you know, and he'd say no, it wasn't the accident exactly but it was because he couldn't see her through his eye-holes. He said that was what was making him feel so bad. Can you imagine? I'm telling you, the man's heart was breaking because he couldn't turn his goddamn head and see his goddamn wife."
    Mel looked around the table and shook his head at what he was going to say.
    "I mean, it was killing the old fart just because he couldn't look at the fucking woman."
    We all looked at Mel.
    "Do you see what I'm saying?" he said.
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    MAYBE we were a little drunk by then. I know it was hard keeping things in focus. The light was draining out of the room, going back through the window where it had come from. Yet nobody made a move to get up from the table to turn on the overhead light.
    "Listen," Mel said. "Let's finish this fucking gin. There's about enough left here for one shooter alL around. Then let's go eat. Let's go to the new place."
    "He's depressed," Terri said. "Mel, why don't you take a pill?"
    Mel shook his head. "I've taken everything there is."
    "We all need a pill now and then," I said.
    "Some people are born needing them," Terri said.
    She was using her finger to rub at something on the table. Then she stopped rubbing.
    "I think I want to call my kids," Mel said. "Is that all right with everybody? I'll call my kids," he said.
    Terri said, "What if Marjorie answers the phone? You guys, you've heard us on the subject of Marjorie? Honey, you know you don't want to talk to Marjorie. It'll make you feel even worse."
    "I don't want to talk to Marjorie," Mel said. "But I want to talk to my kids."
    "There isn't a day goes by that Mel doesn't say he wishes she'd get married again. Or else die," Terri said. "For one thing," Terri said, "she's bankrupting us. Mel says it's just to spite him that she won't get married again. She has a boyfriend who lives with her and the kids, so Mel is supporting the boyfriend too."
    "She's allergic to bees," Mel said. "If I'm not praying she'll
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    get married again, I'm praying shell get herself stung to death by a swarm of fucking bees."
    "Shame on you," Laura said.
    "Bzzzzzzz," Mel said, turning his fingers into bees and buzzing them at Terri's throat. Then he let his hands drop all the way to his sides.
    "She's vicious," Mel said. "Sometimes I think 111 go up there dressed like a beekeeper. You know, that hat that's like a helmet with the plate that comes down over your face, the big gloves, and the padded coat? Ill knock on the door and let loose a hive of bees in the house. But first I'd make sure the kids were out, of course."
    He crossed one leg over the other. It seemed to take him a lot of time to do it. Then he put both