“How could you not tell me any of this? Holy shit!”
I shoot her a look.
“Oh, yeah, sorry. Gun to the head, I know,” Barrett nods, “you’ve just never been the controversial one, you know? It’s usually me coming to you with stuff only seen on Bravo TV.” After a moment, she looks away, grinning to herself, “Colson fucking Lutz,” she sneers.
“So, I guess wherever I go, he goes. Even after all this time, even after what he did…”
“You talk about this with such pragmatism,” she eyes me from across the table, “like it’s just the way it is.”
I shrug, “That’s what Bowen said when I told him what Colson did with the gun.”
“Can you tell Bowen what happened,” she asks, “I mean, what happened today?”
“No.” It’s such a small but loaded word, and what trails behind it is a litany of reasons I never can. “Bowen warned me about him from the start. He told me I’d see him again, and he was right. Then, after Colson showed up at work, Bowen told me I needed to be careful and not get too close to him. But I blew it off because Colson seemed so mellow, like he grew up. He was nice. And now look...”
“You’re worried Bowen’s going to blame you,” Barrett says.
“Of course, he will! And what would I say to him?” I scrunch up my face and hitch my voice up an octave, “I have this really complicated and fucked up relationship with my stalker who I haven’t seen in three years because he put a gun to my head, but it’s OK because he didn’t really mean it. And today, he came into my office, acted like a psychopath, and his dick accidentally ended up in my mouth.” I furrow my brow at Barrett, who can’t even hide her laughter now, “I can’t tell him.”
“Well, we can debate who decided to do what and under how much duress later,” Barrett rolls her eyes.
Both of us abruptly pause when the server approaches and sets down another glass of wine in front of Barrett.
Once he leaves, Barrett takes a deep breath to compose herself, “Are you afraid Bowen will end the relationship or that he’ll do something else?”
We both know what something else is, that underlying meaning that dwells between the lines that no one wants to admit. But Barrett doesn’t have a problem asking about it. She’s seen people choose violence too often and she’s not naïve enough to believe anyone is an exception. And Bowen is far from an exception.
I see Hildy on the front porch of the country club, telling me about how much Bowen used to fight anyone and everyone. And then I see Hannah and her suspicious bruises, and all of a sudden, I’m not sure what to think. If he chose violence, I’m not sure who would be on the receiving end. And then I realize that in itself should also be concerning.
But still, I’ve never seen him say or do anything hostile except for giving Hannah nasty looks…
Barrett leans across the table, “I want to preface this by saying I’m not going to judge you, but I need to ask you this to get a better idea of where you’re at.”
“You don’t have to preface anything. I know why you’re asking the things you’re asking, so just say it.”
Barrett glances down at the table and then lowers her voice, “Did you like what Colson did today?”
I knew she was bound to ask something like this, it was inevitable. I know the answer, but saying it out loud is a different story. However, if I can’t say it to Barrett—someone who’s trained to respond to the most fucked up shit in the world—who can I say it to?
“Some of it,” I mumble, crinkling a shred of napkin in my fingers.
“I’m not here to kink-shame you, you know that. But it would help me understand why you’re talking about Colson the same way you talk about a flat tire making you late for work instead of curled up in a corner, crying hysterically.”
She’s got a point. Colson Lutz—a pothole in brand-new pavement—here to wreck shit.
“I liked what he did,” I speak slowly and carefully, “But I don’t like that he picked now to do it. And I’m sorry for what happened to his sister, or whatever, but…” I trail off, forgetting where I’m going with this.
Barrett casts me a faint smile, “Are you aware of how much emotional labor you do for this guy?”
“What do you mean?”
“Years ago, you accepted him for all his flaws—and believe me, they’re major flaws—and now, after trying to move on with your life after his…episode, he shows up out of nowhere and you give him a lot of leeway with tamping down your emotions, acting like everything is normal at work, giving him a chance to be a normal person when he finally does speak to you, and now you’re stressing about what you should do to maintain the status quo after he has the audacity to throw a wrench in everything and do this. That’s pretty manipulative of him, don’t you think?”
“Which part?”
Barrett sets down her drink, “All of it! I’m talking about how he only says or does things he knows will upset you when you literally can’t walk away. Like all that stuff he told you in the car, how he chose to chronicle his entire stalking history while he was balls-deep inside you, and then doing whatever the hell that was in your office today.”
“He’s totally manipulative. And what the hell kind of basis is that for any relationship?” I sit back in my chair, twisting my beige hair tie through my fingers, “You know what’s funny? Sometimes I think Bowen and Colson are the same person.”
“Really?” Barrett scrunches up her face, “How?”
“Tangible things like how they both have one sister—now, at least—they both carry guns every day for work, which is maddening, they’re both surly, tatted up, and they both even used to street race.”
Barrett gives a laugh, “I think that just means you have a type.”
“But it’s other things, too,” I continue, “they have the same mannerisms and talk in similar terms, with this decisiveness and hyper loyalty that borders on possessiveness. And it seems like they’re both constantly one step ahead of everyone, like they both live or die by anticipating and planning their next move.”
“OK, well that is fucking weird,” Barrett shrugs, “but after you’ve explained everything, it makes total sense why you’re with Bowen,” Barrett ponders while gazing into the fading sunlight, “you found all the qualities you liked in Colson when you met Bowen. Except Bowen does it better. He’s just unhinged enough not to be boring, but he’s also stable with a career, a house, and a dog on 50 acres he wants to share with you. He buys you a car, he’s supportive of your writing, and he embodies everything you wanted in Colson, except he doesn’t have a history of stalking and hasn’t tried to murder you. And that’s why when Bowen asked you to marry him after only a few months, you said yes because you found a better, socially acceptable version of Colson.”
Her observations hit me like a freight train. I always had the feeling, but I didn’t realize I was on a subconscious search for the uncanny characteristics that embody Colson Lutz.
“You’re right. You’re right about all of it. But here’s the thing,” I hesitate for a moment, deciding whether to even elaborate, “Colson’s honest to a fault.”
“Honest-ish,” Barrett echoes into her wine glass.
“He says and does whatever he’s thinking, even if it’s incredibly inappropriate or downright creepy. Bowen doesn’t do anything like that, but—” I pause and then think better of it, “nothing.”
“It’s never nothing, it’s always something,” Barrett chirps.
