Black Sheep Pt 04

CHAPTER 4.1: ISHTAR

Going back home was both the best and the worst thing I could have done. Chrissy and I were finally able to reconnect with each other. It was the way it used to be when we first met each other. Maybe it's true what they say, that absence makes the heart grow fonder. We went out of our way to schedule a lengthy skype conversation every day.

I was slowly getting reminded of why I fell in love with him in the first place. He had this playful side he hardly revealed to anyone but me. He could make a joke out of anything.

Every time we watched a horror movie (which was something that always frightened me as a kid) I ended up laughing because Chrissy went out of his way to point out all the clichés. And he did it so beautifully. One time, a character was going through the house asking: "Is anyone there?" Chrissy kept screaming that of course there was no one in the house, why was the girl asking. I swear when he tells it it's so much funnier.

Ugh, my mom always tells me I'm the most unfunny person she's ever known. I guess she was right all along. Anyway, I was finally enjoying what Chrissy and I had and it felt so good.

"How are things going with Mr Rush?" I asked him. I was sitting at his desk and using his home computer (because he was one of those people who owned multiple devices, I didn't even know what some of them were for). If I used mine we'd get nowhere really slowly; I was pretty useless with computers and his was set up nicely.

"Okay, I guess. I didn't realise how extensive the transition was going to be," he said, shrugging. He was leaning back in his father's chair, with his arms raised and folded over his head, and with his feet on the table. When I asked him what that was about he told me, with a mock serious face, that he was finally finding the inner rebel in himself, and for some reason I just couldn't stop laughing. Anyone who knew Chrissy knew he was the most un-rebellious person.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"Don't worry. I'll get through it. The house hunting is going a lot better."

"Please don't forget to send me the links so I can view them too."

"I'll be sure to do that." He then went silent for a while, and I briefly thought I had done something wrong and caused the screen to freeze again. Then suddenly, "You can still change your mind, you know. We don't have to go through with this."

"Change my mind about what?"

"Moving to LA. I know it's not something you wanted from the beginning and now that I see how unhappy you are—"

I interrupted him: "I'm not unhappy. This is what we wanted to do. You want this move. You need it. And I want to be where you are."

"But what to do you want to do?"

"Like I said, I want to be where you want to be."

"That's not what I asked."

"I want to marry you, Chrissy. I love you." I felt like I was suddenly failing at something I couldn't even explain, like the easiness that existed between us was suddenly disappearing right before my eyes, and I didn't even know how it was happening. "I love you, Chrissy," I repeated, trying to end the tension before it grew into something bigger.

"And I love you. But before you tell me another lie, please remember that I know you, Ishtar. This is a sacrifice for you, I know that. What I really want is for you to be happy. You're everything to me. I know I'm not the romantic type who'll sweep you off your feet with sweet little nothings, but I'm the kind of man who'll always put you first and never disappoint you. Sometimes, though, I'm going to need your help with that."

"This isn't a sacrifice for me...wait, wait, let me finish. I've been checking a few sites and from what I've found, someone like me would actually be more comfortable in LA. I've been chatting with a girl who moved from LA to New York, she's a lot like me, and she tells me I'll be a lot more comfortable there. She says she couldn't find enough authentic juice bars here." I smiled widely and spread out my arms, "Freaking juice bars, Chrissy! Freaking juice bars! Can you believe it? And get this, she couldn't find a single good vegetarian pizza here. She says I'll love the pizza there. Pizza, Chrissy, I can finally enjoy pizza!"

He laughed. It was deep and made his face look so completely adorable, so I ended up laughing too until he shook himself out of it. "So we're moving for juice bars and pizza?"

"And, I can finally learn how to drive. Can you imagine me in a car?"

"I can. But I can also imagine that car single-handedly over-polluting the world and plunging us into an apocalypse. They'd make a movie out of it."

"And it would be awesome!"

"I bet it would. Whom would you want to play you in the movie?"

"Ooh that's a good question. Let me think about it for a second." I put on my thinking face and after a little while: "How do you think Rutina Wesley would do?"

"I don't know...I think she'd be too awesome to play you."

"You take that back!"

"Or what?" He had a naughty smile on his face when he said that.

"Or, while you're still in LA I'll have enough time to somehow disrupt your little orderly world over here, you won't know what I did but one day, when you least expect it, you'll find something ruined...or out of order...like a missing file—"

"You wouldn't dare—"

I raised my right eyebrow and gave what I imagined was a wry smile. "Oh yes, I would. You know I would."

"Okay, okay, I take it back. Rutina Wesley would be absolutely perfect to play you."

"Good. Now remove the sarcasm from your voice and say it like you mean it."

He removed his feet from the table, folded his arms over his chest, and wiped off his smile. "The gorgeous Rutina Wesley would be absolutely perfect to play you—the great Ishtar Jordan, in an apocalyptic movie."

"Good, excellent. You're forgiven. I won't disrupt your order."

He saluted me, then unceremoniously went serious again. "Are you sure about this, Ishtar? I feel like you've been slipping away from me and maybe I haven't paid enough attention to you because of this move, I just want you to know I'm not intentionally ignoring you. I don't want you to ever feel like I'm taking you for granted. I want us to be us again."

"I know you've been busy. And to be honest, I've been feeling like I'm taking you for granted too. I guess we can say that without even realising it, or intending to, we've both been neglectful of one another."

"My goodness, why are you suddenly going all deep on me, Miss Jordan?"

"Shut up. You know what I mean. Anyway, how are your parents?"

"They're okay," was all he said. He looked reluctant to say anything more so I blew him a kiss and said: "Please send my regards."

"I will. We'll chat later."

"I love you this much," I stretched out my arms.

"Only that much," he complained, smiling.

"How much do you want it to be?"

"This much," he said, stretching out his arms.

"What? That's the same as me!"

"No it's not. My arms are longer than yours."

"Well, that's not my fault now is it?"

"Yeah it is."

"How?"

He started laughing. "They have this growth hormone now that can make you taller—"

"Before you finish, just remember that while you're gone, I have ways to make your life difficult when you come back. Remember the missing file, Chrissy, remember the missing file, or a phone call made to an important client...it could be anything, really."

That shut him quickly, but only for a moment. "I love you, Ishtar."

"I know. Bye for now."

"Bye for now. And get some rest. You look absolutely terrible."

He signed off and left me staring at the blank window where his face was only seconds ago. In a strange way, I was both glad and unhappy that we had the conversation about moving. It was long overdue, but it was also kind of like we were confirming a lot of the fears I'd had all along. Apparently he'd had them too. But overall, I figured it was good he brought it up. And when I really thought about it, I was genuinely glad to be moving.

I mean yeah sure I'd miss my friends and parents, but I was gaining a whole new family. Plus, I'd finally convinced my parents to get a computer and install Skype so I could see them when we talked, and it would feel like I was right there with them.

We got a few laughs out of it because sometimes they tilted the screen too much (or sat at the wrong spot) and all I could see were their tummies, or sometimes all I saw was the ceiling. In the beginning they could waste half a call just trying to adjust the screen, then bickering about who was right in the matter, then they'd each ask me: "I'm right, aren't I, Ishtar?" It was always best to keep inconspicuously quiet in those moments.

And of course, mom was convinced that she was going to get some kind of cancer from using the thing, or that the government would find them interesting enough to spy on. I suspected that my dad feared those things too but he just didn't want to sound silly by actually saying it out loud. Instead he just sat beside mom and buttoned up his cardigan. I was going to miss little moments like that (whenever we got together and laughed at how silly we were when it came to certain things), but I could always visit.

Besides, I was almost thirty; it was time for me to completely leave the nest, not just by little measures. It would take a while for my parents to get used to the idea of living so far from me, but when they considered moving to LA too, I knew it was time for them to let go of me too.

After Chrissy's call I went back to my dissertation for forty minutes or so, during which I couldn't fully concentrate. I kept editing the same sentence over and over again, until I realised that it was a side-note and I was going to delete it anyway. In fact, the whole paragraph was pretty useless since it added nothing to the topic. So I went back to the original document to check my supervisor's suggestions.

There was a whole section I'd skipped without even realising it. At that rate I figured I was very likely to do more harm than good so I stopped writing and called my mother. She picked up immediately. "You know, I was just telling your father that we needed to come for a visit," she said. She covered the phone a little bit (because the sound became somewhat muted) and shouted to my father, "Dave, wasn't I just saying that we needed to visit Ishtar?"

I heard my dad saying, from some distance, "You were just saying it, darling."

"See," said my mother, returning to me. "I was just saying we needed to come for a visit. Just yesterday, I tell you, I was telling your father that it was too long since we last saw you. Anyway, how have you been, my darling?"

Before I could answer, my father took over the phone. "Did you really hate LA?" Then he turned to my mother: "I told you she would hate it. Didn't I say she would hate it?"

"Guys," I interrupted, because I knew my parents could carry on like that for half an hour, perhaps even more. "I'm doing okay, and I didn't hate it there. It's different, but it's very nice. They have juice bars and vegetarian pizzas. Chrissy's family is really lovely too. It's really great."

"Are they snobs?"

"They're not snobs, mom. They're just people. They're actually a lot like us, just richer."

"If you say so, love. Anyway, are you sure you're alright? You sound absolutely terrible. Doesn't she sound terrible, Dave?" said my mother. I imagined them standing in the middle of the tiny space that was our living room, holding the phone between each other.

"She sounds thinner too," agreed my dad. "Please don't tell us you've developed an eating disorder. You know that's what they do in LA, right, soon you'll have plastic breasts and high cheekbones and you'll be a skeleton, and we won't recognise you anymore."

"Please don't tell us you've developed an eating disorder, Ishtar, you're already thin enough as it is. Listen to her, Dave, listen to how thin and exhausted she sounds."

I did a face palm; sometimes my parents sounded like such hermits—they were afraid of everything that wasn't contained in their little bubble of vegetables they planted in their own backyard, goat milk they got from a neighbour or local market, ineffective protests against gentrification in a few parts in the city, and estimating the emission capacity of every car they saw on the road. They'd built themselves a neat exclusive world and did very little to ever step outside of it; when they did, people thought they were joking because surely, no one over the age of twelve believed half the things my parents did.

I had to interrupt again. "I sound exhausted because I've been packing and I have a draft to hand in and I've been cooking so that I don't develop an eating disorder and I have a wedding to plan. Besides mom, you and I are exactly the same weight. In fact, I think I'm now slightly bigger than you. If anyone here has an eating disorder...well, all I'm saying is that it's not me."

"I'm sensing distress in your voice," said my mother. "Aren't you sensing distress in her voice, Dave?" Naturally, my dad agreed with her and before I knew it, the conversation went back to how they really needed to visit, and how LA was the absolute worst place on the face of the planet and that yes, I definitely sounded much thinner than when they last saw me.

"It's been too long since we've seen you," they both said. So naturally, a day later my mother knocked on my door with her tiny 'fancy' suitcase. I couldn't complain since I missed her and her cooking. Lexi was ridiculously busy with her own dissertation, and most of our friends were either working or they'd transferred, so I barely had anyone I could unwind with. It would be nice to have someone around the apartment while Chrissy was gone.

I didn't live in my tiny studio apartment anymore; Chrissy and I had an extra room and the living area was large enough such that we could convert it into a sleeping space if the need ever arose. My mother complimented everything, all the while asking how much it all cost us every month. We never talked about money unless it was to discuss how much we were short by during some of the tougher months, so she was morbidly intrigued by things she couldn't afford (those were her words, not mine).

"I hope money doesn't change you," my mother kept saying, half joking. We were sitting in the guest bedroom and I was eating popcorn. We were supposed to be watching a romantic comedy on my laptop but somewhere around the sixth minute we started commenting on the lead actress's wardrobe. By the fiftieth minute neither of us knew what the movie was about, but we liked sitting like that and just doing nothing, so we allowed the movie to continue.

Every once in a while we'd point at something else in the movie (like the fact that the lead character could afford a fancy New York apartment from waitressing and nothing else) and comment about how unbelievable it was. My mother was so afraid of breaking something, or staining it, that she refused to touch food when she was around the linen, and she moved so carefully that I just had to laugh at her.

"It will be his money," I said, "not mine. I don't see how it could change me."

"Did he ask for a pre-nup?"

"No, I mean, I've never had money and it's never been something that was very important to me...I don't know, I guess I haven't really thought about it."

"You wouldn't be offended if he asked for a pre-nup?"

"I don't know...I mean, I don't think he would so..." I let the sentence trail because I honestly hadn't thought about any of that stuff.

"If he asked you to sign one, would you do it?"

Before I answered I turned around to see if she was serious; turns out she was. In a few decades I would look exactly like her; with the exception of a few wrinkles and white hairs, we were like carbon copies of one another. At least I knew what I had to look forward to, and that my 'serious face' would look very much like my 'annoyed face.' It annoyed my dad to no end when my mom put on that face. I wondered if Chrissy would be the same.

"Why are you asking, mom?"

"Because he might."

"But he might not."

"Yes, but what if he does?"

I thought about it for a little bit, then looked away from my mother and onto the laptop. "I don't think I'd sign it."

"But you just said that money isn't really important to you. So why wouldn't you do it?"

"It's the principle behind it. Either he doesn't believe that we'll be together until death does...whatever, that 'death do us part shtick.' It's either that or he thinks I'm after his money." I tossed popcorn into my mouth. "Either way, it will mean he doesn't believe in true love and forever with me. I would definitely be offended."

"Would you suggest a pre-nup to him?"

"That just sounds like me making a lot of unnecessary trouble for myself. More importantly, though, why all the questions?"

"Because this is how marriage unfolds, especially to someone like him. Your father and I were both lucky to not have anything to our names. I'm not saying that love is more romantic when you're poor; I'm not even saying there's anything remotely romantic about poverty. We just had the advantage of never having to ask these kinds of questions, but you have to ask them. There are going to be moments when you both realise you come from different worlds and it won't be easy to just brush away these issues. I want you to be prepared."

"I didn't know you could get this serious. It's a bit scary if I'm being honest."

"Don't brush it away, Ishtar. You need to realise that it's not going to be easy, not always. I know you're going to say it's going to be alright because you love each other, but the truth is that so far you've been living away from his world, you've been living in yours. You're going into his world now and you're leaving yours behind. I'm simply trying to make sure you've considered everything." She put her arms around me and rested her head on mine. "I worry for you."

"I know, mom. But Chrissy isn't like that. He knows I'm not like that, either. You don't need to worry. He loves me and I love him too, a lot actually. We're going to be fine."

"I hope you're right, my darling. I hope you're right."

"You know, you don't use his name often."

"Who?"

"Christopher. You don't like him very much do you?"

She was silent for a long while. Just when I thought she wasn't going to answer me, she finally said: "He's taking you away from me, my darling. It's going to take some time to get over that."

Neither of us said anything after that. We went back to watching the movie. I don't think either of us really cared about the plot at that point, it's not like we still followed what was still going on. I just didn't want to pick up the conversation because deep down, I knew my mother was right. In a lot of ways I was spoiled because things somehow always worked out for me.

My parents were always there to make sure everything ended up alright, and now Chrissy was. I never really had to struggle through anything alone and sometimes, I easily brushed off things even when I knew they would come back to bite me in the ass later on.

When the movie was finished my mom insisted on helping me to edit my draft. So I logged on to Chrissy's computer and opened the document with all the red comments made by my supervisor. After an hour it became clear that my mom was so unbelievably slow she was actually going backwards. "I'm so sorry darling," she kept saying. "I just don't understand why the letter keys aren't arranged in alphabetical order."

"I think the most common arrangements in the English language end up making it easier to type from a keypad like this. If arranged alphabetically, people would type slower on average, I think, I'm not sure. Chrissy explained it to me once. I wasn't really listening, though."

"Well, it doesn't make any sense to me."