Cold Comfort: Thursday, July 4, 2024 – Agatha

Dear Diary,

The girls had lunch together today. That’s what Emily called us: the girls. We’re a set now, and that’s probably a good thing, considering Henry.

I think Jane took pity on him. She didn’t say so, and she didn’t want to talk about it, but the way she looked when Emily said “All men are pigs” makes me think she’s got a man problem, too. Probably not my kind of man problem, but a Henry kind of man problem. He’s like a vampire, especially in the way he tries to hide it.

I guess that rocking chair has his name on it now, which is fine, because if I want to sit on a porch there’s one at my cabin, but Jane was in the one next to him. I think she was trying to watch Edgar and Truman. She didn’t say that part, either, but they were out in the kayaks, and there’s something peaceful about watching the bright colors cut through the water. If Henry wasn’t there, I would’ve joined her.

Maybe it’s unfair, just because Jane’s such a little porcelain doll, but the way he sat was freaking predatory. They’re probably the same age (we’re probably all somewhere in our twenties, maybe early thirties) but he’s a foot taller and twice as broad as she is, and he was sucking her soul out of her eyes.

He always laughs when I say that. I used to think it was endearing, or maybe something to envy: the fact that he doesn’t know what that feels like. How people don’t demand that sort of energy from him, maybe because he’s a man, or maybe just because he’s him. That sort of confidence and poise. But lately, heaven help me, I’ve thought he’s never felt it because you’d have to have a soul in the first place.

Henry’s just so demanding. He’s got the attitude that means he’s only waiting for your mouth to stop moving so he can talk about more important things.

Himself, for the record. That’s Henry’s most important thing.

I could tell just by seeing him there in that rocker, knitting and pretending not to notice he was getting noticed. Alyssa’s seen it, too, because her knitting bag stays tucked away when he’s out. I could tell he’d already gotten dinner last night because she was knitting when I came in, and yeah, it was late, but it was kind of reassuring, since I wasn’t going to cross paths with him.

Not that he could follow a woman home (cabin?) without consequences. Although now I have to wonder why we don’t have emergency whistles or anything. There’s no guarantee someone would hear me scream, and to get to the 911 button on the phone, I’d have to let him in. But come on, Agatha, he didn’t follow you, and Jane could’ve left that porch any time she wanted, so if something happened because she stayed …

What, it would be her fault?

It doesn’t matter. I saw them, and hesitated, but Emily came in right after me, tucked her hand through my elbow, and pulled me out to the porch with her, all confident and with a sparkly smile. “Hey, Jane, you ready?” she asked, like we’d planned it. Like maybe Jane sat to listen to Henry, but she was only waiting for us.

And the look Jane gave us was grateful, but Henry’s not the type of guy to see it. How desperate she was to get away. He’s the kind to get pissed at Emily for saying something, but then she’s the kind to let it roll off her like water off a duck’s back, and it all just circles around and mostly the three of us ended up having a picnic again, and Emily said “All men are pigs,” and I said “Some men are more pigs than others,” and she laughed and toasted me with her Perrier.

And one of the problems with this plan, I’d like to tell Dr. Weber, is that I can’t talk about it with the girls, even if they’re my new friends. I can’t lay it all out from my perspective and get their opinions on it. There’s no one here to argue his point of view and maybe talk me around a little, because hey, he’s the one who agreed I should come here. He’s the one who paid.

I’m supposed to spend this time deciding what I want next, but really, he’s the one who needs the time. Time without me for a month to figure out if he wants life without me for a few decades. But that’s not the way he worded it. “We’ve been through so much,” he told me, holding both my hands. “I don’t want you to pick me because you think you should pick me.”

Meaning, really, that I could still change my mind. Maybe he hopes I’ve changed my mind. Everything I’ve done for us, and I haven’t crossed the point of no return.

He doesn’t understand. He knows what I’ve done for him, and maybe I was an idiot for confessing all that, but he doesn’t understand. Some men are pigs, but they’re our undoing all the same.

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Cold Comfort: Thursday, July 4, 2024 – Alyssa, coming July 12