But Gayle didn’t want Lendall’s comfort, because she didn’t want it to weaken her resolve, so she hopped up out of the chair and didn’t let him near her.
“Gayle, come on,” Lendall pleaded. “Tell me what is goin’ on?”
“I told you: we’re done.”
“Why do you keep sayin’ that?”
“Because…” Gayle took a moment to collect her thoughts—and herself—and when she and her thoughts were collected, she went on. “Because when I asked you what you thought about us getting married—remember when I asked you that?”
Lendall remembered very well when Gayle asked him what he thought about them getting married. Because the question had confused him. Because Gayle had said a long time ago that she didn’t want to get married. Because her parents hadn’t exactly set the best example of what a marriage could be. And she didn’t feel like she and Lendall needed God or the state to validate their commitment to one another.
But a couple of weeks ago, Gayle had had a change of heart. Maybe because she was watching a lot of her friends—like Sandrine—get married. Or maybe because the anniversary of their first date was coming up. Or maybe because she finally trusted that Lendall wasn’t going to limit her the way so many of her friends’ husbands had limited them.
Whatever the reason, she had decided that she wanted to get married. And when she told Lendall this, he got quiet.
Like he was being just then.
“Lendall!” hollered Gayle, sick of all his quiet.
“What?” asked Lendall, wondering why she was hollering.
“Yes or no: Do you remember me asking you what you thought about us getting married? It was snowing? I made a pizza?” Gayle made very good pizza.
“Yeah,” Lendall finally managed to answer.
“Yeah, well, when I asked you … that, you got so quiet. And I know you’re a quiet guy. But the way you got quiet when I asked you what you thought about us getting married—it was a different kind of quiet. And it made me realize some things. And one of those things is that you don’t love me.”
“What—whoa—wait—no!” Nothing could have been further from the truth. Lendall loved Gayle—her whole heart and mind and body and soul—more than anything or anyone he had ever known. “That’s not why I got quiet!”
Gayle shushed Lendall because she didn’t want to hear what he had to say, and went on. “And I have been trying to fix that, I have been trying to make you love me by giving you every bit of love I ever had—which is so stupid, because I can’t make you love me if you don’t!”
“But, I do!”
“No. You don’t. I’ve decided. And since you don’t, well, then, I think the best thing we can do right now is return the love we gave to each other, and call it…” Gayle looked at the three or four dozen garbage bags that contained all the love that Lendall had given Gayle and then looked at the single small maroon pouch that supposedly contained all the love that she had given Lendall and whimpered, “… even.”