Make Room for Love

Chapter 32

32

“Looks good,” Isabel called down to her new apprentice Carla. “Nice work.”

Isabel was worn down. Just four weekends of working overtime had made her knee pain return with a vengeance. There were good days and bad days, and today was a bad one. This late-winter cold snap was stiffening her joints and making her hobble, and she hadn’t been able to walk it off.

It would be over soon. Mira’s union election was in two days. Win or lose, she’d have more time for Isabel, but Isabel hoped as desperately as she’d ever hoped for anything that the union would win. Maybe Mira would feel safer, then. Maybe they could be close again, without this distance between them that kept growing by the day.

Asking anything of Mira seemed out of reach. Whenever Isabel considered asking for more time together, more promises, she was sickened by the fear that Mira might not feel free to say no. And she hated feeling like a burden, like someone who needed Mira more than Mira needed her.

Over the last two years, she’d pushed everyone away, and now she had nothing left but work. That had never been more painfully obvious. But work wasn’t so bad. She could look at her installations with pride, and she could teach Carla something. She knew how to be useful at work.

Still lost in her thoughts, she took a step back down the ladder. The pain in her knee flared.

A stab of panic, a split-second of useless flailing, and then she was tumbling from six feet off the ground. Her foot smashed into the floor at the wrong angle, and the sharp, throbbing pain in her ankle took over. Even her work boots hadn’t saved her.

Carla rushed over. “Oh, shit, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Isabel tried to stand. A stab of pain forced her back down.

She was setting a bad example for Carla. “Maybe not,” Isabel said, gritting her teeth. “I think there’s something wrong with my ankle.”

When Mira walked through the door, after a grueling day of teaching and phone-banking, Isabel was laid up on the couch with a foot brace. “Oh my god,” Mira said, dropping her messenger bag. “What happened? Did you break your foot?”

“I sprained my ankle at work.” Isabel looked more embarrassed than pained.

Mira rushed over. “And you didn’t tell me?” Isabel hadn’t so much as texted her.

Isabel flinched at her approach, which hurt to see. “I went to urgent care and they said I was fine to go home. I didn’t want to make you worried. You’ve been busy.”

“Obviously that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t tell me if you get hurt,” Mira said, boggled. Was she missing something? She sat down next to Isabel. “What happened?”

Isabel grimaced. “I fell off a step ladder. Dumb mistake. It wasn’t that high up.”

Her glibness was worrying. “Is there anything I can do for you? Is it just the ankle?”

“It’s just the ankle.” Isabel’s posture softened, her defenses lowering. “Thanks. I appreciate it. I’m just embarrassed.”

“For being injured?”

Isabel looked sheepish. “I should have been more careful. Now I can’t work for two weeks.”

Mira winced. “Oh, Isabel. Please don’t blame yourself for this. Will you be okay pay- and insurance-wise?”

“Yeah, that’s not a problem. I have good benefits.” Isabel let out a sigh, tormented by whatever was locked up in her head. “This is going to be the longest amount of time I’ve taken off work in years.”

“Really?” It wasn’t the most surprising news in the world, but it was disturbing. “Well, maybe you don’t want to hear this. But it could be nice to rest for a while, like you’re always telling me to do. And you need to, or else your ankle won’t heal.”

Isabel looked away and said nothing.

Mira’s anxiety spiked. Of course Isabel, more than most people, would be upset by two weeks of mandatory downtime. For one thing, it meant two weeks of having to accept help. But when Mira had lived with Dylan, his bad moods had taken over the entire apartment they’d shared, like a dark cloud that had pushed her into the corners and made her so small she nearly disappeared.

She caught herself about to apologize, and bit it back. “I know you’d rather be working. I know it’s hard. I can swap shifts with someone and do my phone-banking from home?—”

“No,” Isabel said, her impatience breaking through. Mira flinched. Isabel rubbed her face. “It’s fine. Just do your election work.”

“Are you sure?” This new side of Isabel—distant, imperious, patronizing—had emerged during their argument a few weeks ago, and it had never quite gone away. Mira had been walking on eggshells far too often at home. And Isabel’s injury was bringing out this side of her more than ever.

Mira ached for her. But she couldn’t relieve Isabel’s pain, or her sense of powerlessness, or whatever else it was that Mira couldn’t see. Obviously, Isabel hated being injured. But whatever was bothering her seemed far bigger than that.

The honeymoon was over. They couldn’t go on like this. The questions looming on the horizon had always been closer than Mira had thought.

Isabel looked at her foot brace. “It’s my fault. Don’t worry about me.”

After a restless night, Isabel limped to the kitchen for coffee. A pot was waiting for her, still hot in the carafe, along with a note in Mira’s elegant cursive: Please take care of yourself.

Isabel took the note and clutched it for a few seconds. She really didn’t deserve Mira.

She poured herself a cup. Her ankle felt a little better. Or, at least, she would keep telling herself that.

Isabel was used to working ten-hour days in the blazing sun and freezing cold. It was ridiculous that something as minor as falling off a ladder could put her out of commission this badly. Two weeks away from work.

She sat at the table, the dull throbbing from her ankle intruding into her thoughts. Mira would have to cook and clean and run errands for them during her busiest week of the year, all while Isabel sat around uselessly because of a stupid mistake she’d made. She remembered the way she’d lost control of herself last night, letting her frustration with herself spill over into being curt with Mira, and how hurt Mira had looked.

What did she know about being a good partner?

Her phone buzzed. It was a text from Mira. How are you doing? I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.

Isabel was falling apart. She hadn’t been this powerless since the early days after Alexa’s death. At least in those days, she could get lost in the endless rhythm of work. There had always been more conduit to run, miles and miles of it, until Isabel had been too exhausted to stand. Now even that was gone.

She texted back: I’m fine. She had said the same thing to Reina a million times until Reina finally left her.

Isabel was so restless that it was painful to sit still. For the first time in months, she opened up Instagram on her phone.

There was Grace at her bridal shower. Happy and surrounded by friends. Obviously, Grace hadn’t invited her.

Isabel put her face in her hands and groaned, in this empty apartment where there was no one to hear her. She had to do something . She stood up, and her ankle complained, but she would just have to get used to that. She would have to figure out a way to become fine.

The grocery store was a block away. She could stay on her feet for an hour or two. That was enough to shop for groceries and cook a simple dinner, to apologize, to make amends, to put things right. She wanted to do so much more for Mira, but it was better than nothing at all.

Isabel plodded to the coat rack and put on her jacket. She puzzled over what shoes to wear, and settled for running shoes, unlaced on one side to fit over the brace. Her ankle nagged her on every step, but she pressed on.

She was going to be fine. She left the apartment, hobbled down the stairs, and walked into the falling snow.