Love is not a word spoken in my family.

My mother says 'I love you, darling', and my father says, 'Are you writing?', which means basically the same thing.

David says 'Hey' and Martin says 'How's things?'.

But only my mother says 'I love you'.

~

G called, and was surprised I was awake. I think he's been intentionally calling late, hoping to get my voicemail.

His voice has been sad lately, longing, alternately berating me for not visiting, and fishing for compliments.

"How are you?" he asks.

"Little drunk," I admit, voice purring with the three ciders I've had.

"Drinking by yourself?" There's a sliver of judgement in his voice, but I can tell he's trying to hide it.

"I know I shouldn't," I admit. I often forget it's not socially acceptable to drink by yourself. "Tomorrow is my last day off for a couple weeks."

"I'd have a few sips if I was there with you," he says, sounding sadder. This surprises me. He's not much of a drinker and, in my memory, has never had liquor without being pressed by somebody else.

I suspect someone he cared about a lot was an alcoholic.

~

I'm laying on the couch, wrapped in a soft brown throw, cradling my last cider and watching Saturday Night Live.

Jay-Z is the musical guest.

Did I ever mention I worked a concert of his once? I set up the very stage he walked upon.

As I'm watching the show, I think about where he is now, and where I am.

I feel like less of a person, always doomed to the shadows, but the fire in me rages at that idea.

Will I ever get my fifteen minutes of fame?

Will I?

~

"I've never felt this was about anyone before," G admits. The more he talks, the sadder he sounds. "It's something unique." I can feel he wants to hang up.

I say something flippant, drunk.

"Rosie--" he begins with a great intake of breath, and the words 'I love you' hang between us like a confused elephant.

"You're not going to admit you're pregnant with my love-child, are you?"

He chuckles, replies, but sounds sadder for my interruption.

"Get some sleep," he says. "I got to, too."

"I'm already *in* bed," I admit, stretching luxuriously. I can hear him smile.

"Rosie," he says. "You are a beautiful woman."

I blush. "Stop that," I say. "You're making me blush."

"Get some sleep," he says. He still sounds so sad, I want to say something to make him happy again, but I don't know what to say, so I just say goodnight and hang up.

What do I do if he tells me he loves me?

What a terrifying word.

.

Rosie.

Before&After