Maria rolled over to look at the back of Fredrick’s head. It had been silent for twenty minutes, but Maria knew he was still awake. “I started feeling nauseous again.” She held the covers tight in her hands. “It’s been like this for two weeks now. I didn’t want to bother you but I can hardly eat.” Fredrick listened but did not move.
“It’s worst in the mornings. It gets a little better in the afternoon but picks back up again at night.” She paused and listened to him breathing. “I’m scared, Fredrick.” She lifted her hand to touch his shoulder, but stopped before making contact.
“I don’t know what to tell you, Maria,” Frederick said. He looked at the painting Maria hung on the wall last week. In it, a mother blue jay fed three chicks. Maria’s friend John had painted it for their fifth anniversary and upon receiving the piece, Frederick hid it in the basement behind his old Red Sox posters. Maria found it while packing away the Christmas lights last week and decided to hang it in their room. It did not match the pale yellow walls.
“What happens?” she paused, “what happens when I lose you?”
“Baby, I’m right here.”
“It’s not the same. It’s different now.”
“I love you. I love you more than anything and I’m not going anywhere.”
“It’s my fault, I know. It’s not you. I’m pushing you away.”
“You’re not. Let’s just try to go to bed, darling. Things will be better in the morning.”
“You go, that’s fine. I hardly sleep nowadays. You should rest. I’m sorry I’m like this. You should sleep.” Maria slipped out of bed and put on the bathrobe Fredrick’s mother had gifted her this Christmas. It was black with blue flowers.
“I’m just going to make myself some tea,” she said at the door. “I love you.” She drummed her fingers on the doorsill, looking around the bedroom before leaving.
In the kitchen, Maria watched the kettle steam fog the side of the refrigerator. She opened a chamomile tea bag and put it in a small mug. The mug had a picture of a sun with sunglasses and a palm tree with a smile. Her mother had purchased it in Florida last year. She grabbed a spoon from the drawer and lined up the clementines in a row on the counter. Before the kettle starting whistling, she decided she’d prefer peppermint tea and tossed the chamomile packet in the trash. She opened the phonebook and dialed the numbers.
“Crisis link, how may I help you?” Maria picked up her mug and walked through the living room. “Hello? Crisis link.”
“One second,” Maria hushed, stepping into the garage. She turned over a blue pail to sit on. “Sorry, hello?”
“Hello. This is crisis link. How may I help you?”
“Hi. Hello, uh, I’m not really looking for that sort of thing. I’m not- .” Maria sipped her tea. “I’m not, you know.”
“Well, we’re here just if you need to talk.”
“I don’t need to talk. I don’t even really -”
“Are you thinking of suicide?”
“What? God, no. No, I’m not calling for that.”
“Have you thought about suicide in the last two months?”
“No. No, I’ve not.”
“Have you ever wanted to kill yourself?”
“No, of course not. I’d never do that. I don’t know. No. I’d say no.”
“Well, how can I help you?”
“I don’t know why I called, really. I couldn’t sleep, I guess. I made some tea and was just going to sit and think. Calling this number was rather impulsive."
“Impulsive?”
“Well, yes. I’m not usually an impulsive person. I just can’t stand being nauseous all the time.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Tell me about your nausea. Are you sick?”
“No, they tell me I’m fine. I’m healthy. I don’t even want to talk about it anymore. I’ve tried everything. It’s all the time now. I can hardly eat.” She paused. “I feel most nauseous in the mornings. Nights are bad, too. I used to have my afternoons but even they’re getting worse.”
“What do you think is causing it?”
“It?”
“The nausea?”
“Oh,” Maria said. “Right.” She slipped her tea. “I don’t know.”
“It never used to be like this,” she continued. “I never used to be afraid of dying, you know? I remember driving at night years ago, thinking I might die.” Maria dragged her fingers against the garage floor. “I was okay with it then. It was just a fact back then. There was nothing in my life worth living for particularly, but there was nothing worth dying over, either.” The dust from the floor coated the tips of Maria’s fingers. She could see her whorls and coils of her fingerprints clearly. “It was just life, breezeless but simple. A life without living.” She wiped her hands on her robe sleeve. “Does that make sense?”
“Yes. Yes, of course. Are you afraid of dying now?”
“I guess. Not actively. Maybe.”
“It is okay to be afraid of dying. Many people find it hard to cope once -”
“It’s not like things weren’t hard before. They were hard, but hard just because you’re so damn bored all the time. Hard in the way you wake up frantic, afraid you’ve slept through your alarm.” Maria stopped to listen to the battering of the plumbing system. “And then you realize you still have six minutes until the buzzer sounds and then you think ‘now what?’”
“I see.”
“Hard in the way you spend those minutes thinking of every imaginable nothing-thing – pay the gas bill, Maria, coat at the cleaners, Maria, call your father, you know? - all those nothing-things in order to avoid thinking the one everything-is-nothing-thing: why, anything? Why anything at all?” The pipes above Maria began pounding periodically, thudding as if trying to shut off every twenty seconds. “Hard in the way things in the dark seem after you turn off light and realize, God, I’m alone. But I’m not alone anymore. I’ve been married for seven years now. I’m thirty-two, God. Thirty-two.”
“That’s good you don’t feel lonely anymore.”
“I didn’t say that. I said I wasn’t alone. That doesn’t mean I’m not lonely. That’s what I’m saying.” The pipes continued thumping and Maria looked up each time the noise sounded. “Maybe that’s what this nausea is - the worst kind of being lonely. Being lonely when you’re not alone.” She traced the pipelines on the ceiling with her eyes. “Being lonely in a crowded room or being lonely lying in bed with someone you love, someone who loves you. God, what’s wrong with me?”
“I’m sorry -”
“My husband loves me, you know? He loves me and I know that but I’m still so damn afraid that he’s going to leave me. I just hate myself for thinking this way. I don’t know what to do. I’m going to lose him. What happens when I lose him?”
“Why do you think you’ll lose you’ll husband?”
“These pipes,” Maria breathed. “These pipes won’t stop clanking.”
“Wait, what about your husband? Why do you think you’ll lose him?”
“It’s not something I think, it’s something that I know,” Maria snapped. “It’s past the point of ‘if.’ It’s ‘when’ I lose him. It’s draining the life out of us. And you know in the back of my mind, all along, I know I’m the one who’s killing it, killing us.” Fredrick stepped into the garage and placed his hand on her shoulder.
“Maria, come back to bed. You have to stop this, darling. Stop doing this. Who are you even talking to?”
“I have to go. I don’t know why I called. I’m sorry. I have to go. My husband’s here now. I’m sorry. Goodbye.”
“Are you okay, miss?”
“What?” Maria said.
“Maria, stop this. Stop this now. Come to bed right now. I love you, but you need to stop this.” Fredrick left the door open as he walked back into the house.
“It’s started,” Maria whispered. She started crying. “It’s already begun.”
“What’s already begun?” the voice on the other line asked. “Talk to me. Are you safe? Has your husband ever hit you?”
“No,” Maria whimpered. “No, no, no, he’s gone. I pushed him away and he’s gone.” Fredrick walked back through the garage door and hugged Maria.
“Come on, darling,” he said. He placed the phone in his pocket and picked her up, carrying her through the house and into their bed. He left the tea mug on the garage floor.
“It’s okay. You’re okay, darling. I love you and you’ll be happy again soon. I promise. Do you want me to sing to you? What about that song your mom used to sing to you?” Maria nodded. When he was finished, Maria said, “again, please,” and Fredrick sang to her once more.
