the world outside that room
i. don't ever say you've tried to leave me in this life
He is covered in mud. She has a purplish mark on her (hideously expensive) silk blouse. The door is open; he walks inside. Neither wants to be the first to speak (to give in, to lose), so they stand in silence as he drips on her carpet. And then she laughs.
ii. just look at me and say honestly that i'm all you want, not what you need
The Red Sox win the ALCS, and Toby buries himself inside her (in the kitchen, the bathroom, anywhere but her bed). He is still more than half in love with his ex-wife. She has to remind herself to care. The Red Sox win the pennant, the Yankees go home, and Toby drinks the last of the good scotch from under her sink.
"It was a fluke," he declares, halfway through his second(third?) drink, "it was against the natural order of things and wrong and it was hubris. I mean, what they hell were they thinking, having Dent throw out the first pitch like that? It was tempting fate, it was-"
"-hubris, yes," she chimes in. "But the thing is, and please don't, you know, shout or act like even more of a crazy man or implode or something over this, but it was nice. Seeing the underdog win, I mean, it was nice." She pauses, rubbing her thumb across his knuckles, and adds, "you know?"
His wedding ring is cool against the warmth of his skin, and she shivers. Her definition of him: balding, too smart, the saddest eyes. A wedding ring. Sometimes she is afraid that she defines him by the things he lacks (hair, freedom, ignorance). The way he orbits her life.
"It's just- Derek fucking Lowe!" His fist against her new tile counter, a drop of scotch near his thumb. "Fucking Red Sox!"
His wedding ring is a contrast against the pallor of his skin, and C.J. tries to remember that he's in love with Andi(the twins).
iii. i was lost and i was found, but i was alive and now i've drowned.
She keeps time by the places she's been: Dayton, Berkeley, New York, LA, DC, LA again. (New York again, Paris, Napa.) She defines herself by where she is: a politico in Washington, a chain-smoker in Paris, a sycophant, even, in LA. C.J. will never be a mother, never be a wife, but she has a goldfish, a cactus, and this bushy plant that's miraculously still alive, even though she routinely forgets to water it. She has been the tallest woman in the world, and the loudest. She's been a daughter, a lover, and a friend. And if she spends her days reading Hemingway instead of Seuss, well, she's never really wanted children anyway.
Toby's in her foyer. C.J. starts, stops, starts again. "You're covered in mud," she says. "Why are you covered in mud?"
iv. tell me you fell 'cos of my grace and not to help you erase her face
He's still in love with his ex-wife, but that doesn't stop them from fucking against his kitchen counter after scrambled eggs and coffee. In the background, Bill Hemmer reminds them that there are suicide bombers in Israel and famine in the Sudan. Toby's children hate her, Andi has cornered her on more than one occasion to ask her intentions ("so, C.J., what are you going to be to my children?"), and she can already feel the beginnings of a bruise where she slammed into the refrigerator handle.
Last night, the Red Sox won the World Series. Toby hasn't quite forgiven her for that, for cheering the last out. For not caring that it wasn't the Yankees; for wearing the Boston tee-shirt she found in a box of her brother's old clothes. Her head hurts. She's thirsty. Her right leg is cramping, and it's a relief when Toby finally shudders and comes("Ceejeh- fuh"). She doesn't even try to fake it.
And then she tries to push him away, tries to pick the damp strands of hair from her cheeks and forehead. "Toby, just, I need a glass of water, so if you could maybe move," she says, mumbling a quick "thanks" when he shuffles a few steps to the left and drops into a chair.
"You didn't," he starts.
"It doesn't matter," she finishes. "I'm going back to sleep."
v. we'll get a house where the trees hang low and pretty little flowers on our window sill will grow
Glass of merlot in one hand and dog-eared paperback in the other, she sits in her favorite chair and reads: "'You started it,' the girl said. 'I was being amused. I was having a fine time.'" Trying out the lines in her head. The wine is good, the leather soft, and she smiles and continues her book. The door shakes, and she jumps. Spills the wine on her (decadently expensive) silk blouse. Swallows a curse.
When she opens the door, Toby looks back at her. Toby who disappeared and never called; Toby with the sad eyes under his (new) glasses, fidgeting as he waits for her to invite him inside. To slam the door in his face.