the fact that he chose not to speak on the signs of physical and emotional disarray that heâs now bearing witness to had been a small amount of comfort. it would come up in their conversation eventually â she knows this, of course, had seen it in the visions of the lines of his face before he even returned to the country to see her â because living in squalor and recluse were justifiable enough reasons to cause alarm. two years of it, however, had caused him to feel worry. now he is here. her apartment big and lonely, so full and yet so empty, like her too.
âdinner.â she repeats, enough of a distraction to put rueâs cryptic career statement on pause, and it occurs to her then that her last meal had been nearly 48 hours ago. (and even that had been at the urging of her housemaid.) âdid you make it?â it gets her to shuffle towards the smell, towards him, and rue has already prepared herself for what the pause in marceloâs words meant. at least he treads carefully. and although rue has come to realize that she finds it very difficult to lie to marcelo, especially while vulnerable like this, she cannot bring herself to describe the heavy toll produced by everything she sees and all that she deals with â premonitions that only subside with merlot and pinot, bells and migraines that ring in her head for days once the build up of visions come to her all at once. she cannot function like this in public. she doesnât have it in her to perform a charade for adoring fans and cameras. but quitting had been an even worse fear to materialize, and this anxiety shows in her face as she stares at marcelo. âiâm notâŚi cannot quit. there is nothing left for me anymore if i donât have this.â
âyes, of course i made it,â he answers softly, though he musters enough energy for subtle indignation. of course i made it. i want you to eat well, and mcdonalds definitely isnât gonna cut it, the quirk of his brow attempts to suggest. âpollo asado con arroz y frijoles,â he adds, knowing that to be one of her favorite meals. âsome dessert, too. but thatâs for later.â
as she closes the distance between them, he goes about setting the table for her, pouring two glasses of fresh water. heâs well at home inside her apartment, knowing where everything is without skipping a beat. heâs back to the table before she knows it.
she looks so tired. he canât get rid of the image of her on the living room floor, surrounded by papers and trash, going at it like a mad scientist with their hopelessly intricate machine. she looks so tired, like he hasnât slept in a long time. once she has food in her stomach, she will think more clearly, or so he hopes.
he rests his hand on top of hers in a soothing gesture when the anxiety on her face deepens. âitâs okay. iâm not telling you to quit,â he clarifies, âiâm just, i mean. youâve been gone all this time. people are worried. i am worried. i just want to know whatâs going on.â
