36. What I Want

Laura - Bucharest’s suburbs
Paul already had a letter of resignation on his desk awaiting my signature. But all the other paperwork had to be made as well. He preferred to keep me in his office and go back and forth between me and HR for all the formalities.
I took it all in and kept silent all day, even in the car as he drove me to the city’s outskirts. Nice suburbs stretch at the borders of Bucharest, with fancy houses mixed with old ones in a combination of colors and styles.
For a second, I want to be able to read his mind as easily as I do with humans. Upon realizing my wishes are pointless, I force myself to focus on the details of my surroundings.
Paul stops his car in front of a one-story home with brown roof tiles. My childhood house was razed many years ago, and this reminds me of it. My new house stands in a large garden surrounded by a fence.
He opens the car’s door for me while I gaze at the structure. He extends his hand to assist me, but I dash by him. A wooden gate opens into a large courtyard. Even though I went ahead, now I have to wait for him to open the door. To my surprise, he doesn’t say anything about my reactions as his gaze saddens with each passing moment. I follow him inside, intrigued by this place's history.
The entire house has an old vibe despite the fresh paint. White walls, handmade woolen rugs, old upholstery on the sofa and chairs, and a wooden lacquered table and bookshelves remind me more and more of my childhood home.
Paul walks forward, his fingertips lightly touching the furniture and walls as he goes. His heart beats with an irregular rhythm, like a broken clock that sometimes lingers too long when a certain cog is reached.
He stops in a corner where the floor is slightly higher than the rest of the room. His broad shoulders cave in as he touches the empty wall and his head lowers.
"Here used to be the heating stove..." he mumbles under his breath, his voice breaking. Then he coughs, presumably realizing he isn't alone. "I guess you're not used to being accommodated in this way. It's possible you won't like it–"
“Like it? I love it!”
He looks over his shoulder at me, most probably to check if I’m serious or not. His gaze is sad, but twinkles of hope shimmer on the surface of that dark-gray sea.
I hurry over to the bookcases and press my fingers against the bindings. "This place is filled with books, especially old ones."
“Yes, my mother loved to read.” He leans against the wall in the corner and crosses his arms over his chest. “There are mostly romance novels if you like the genre. When I was little, the bookshelves were triple stacked. I bought only the ones I could remember.”
“I don’t understand…”
"This is the house I grew up in, my parents’ house. They sold it when they divorced. Back then, I swore I’d buy it back, and last week I did. It took great effort to try to make it resemble my memories as much as I could."
The way he looks at the old carpet sprawled over the wooden floor and the sadness in his voice makes me want to go next to him, to hug him, to give him some comfort. But our relationship is far from the point where I would be able to do something like this. Going to touch him now when he is pushing me away and trying to cut off all ties with me is out of the question. All I can do is try to lighten the mood.
“It looks good and feels cozy. Like home.”
His lips curl into a small smile.
“Oh, there’s a veranda too!” I hurry and open the door to the backyard. “It’s gorgeous! A garden swing too!”
I dash to the swinging bench and begin rocking like a kid. Only if I can cheer him up. He’s just moved to the threshold, his arms still crossed and his gaze just as sad. He doesn't say anything and simply stares at me.
“A penny for your thoughts!” I say from the swing.
(Laura uses “banut” instead of “penny”, which is the diminutive of the lowest division of the Romanian currency)
He stares at me for a while before answering, “I can’t decide if I paid triple the market price for this house because I’m a fool or a masochist.”
“You’re just treasuring your past. There’s nothing wrong with that.” I pat on the bench next to me. “Come.”
He steps closer but doesn’t come as near as I want him to be. “There are some things in life that we can’t have no matter how hard we try to hold onto them. It’s better to set them free.”
“Are you still talking about the house?”
I should have let him continue instead of asking this stupid question. He’s shutting me off and I don’t know why, but I feel how one of the few things I care about in this pointless life slips through my fingers.
“It’s late. I have to go.” He turns around and walks toward the side of the house. He’s going around it, maybe his memories too painful to want to wander through his childhood home once more.
A sudden chill creeps through my body. Frowning, I gulp, sensing the overwhelming emptiness that will come once he’s gone. I don’t want him to leave.
I stand up from the swing and rush after him. “Wait!”
He stops as I take the opportunity to reach behind him, wrapping both arms around his waist. He immediately stiffens.
"Paul, that night in the alley, you said you wanted to make amends and to tell you what I wanted. I want you to stay with me tonight."
He sighs so deep that I shudder along with him. His warm hands settle over mine.
“Why are you making things even harder?” he murmurs without turning around.
No words come to mind except ‘Because I need you.' Though I can’t find the strength to say them aloud. I press my cheek against his back. If nothing else comes from our encounter, I'm beyond pleased to sense his warmth one last time.