Shisha Tragedy

My hands are full of strawberry flavored shisha, three coals, a piece of foil and a bottle of water.  The man at the shop insisted I buy their brand of distilled water, but now I’m sure anything would’ve worked just fine. 

“How long has it been since we’ve shared a hookah, Kate?”

Julie’s words cut. She’s right.

“Seems like ages since it’s just been you and me.  You’re always wanting to entertain, to have guests and events and themes.” 

She doesn’t understand my need to entertain comes not from wanting distance with her but from needing to pretend like I have connection with others. I pretend not to notice and start preparing the pipe.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve had a dinner party for just us, Julie.  Probably the last one was when we had the superhero themed buffet.  You remember that?  Neither of us told each other what we were going to wear and we both ended up as the Scarlet Avenger!  How fun was that night?”

A sidelong glance to Julie shows me that she’s started crying again, but this time with more measure and control.  I stop preparing the hookah and put my arm around her.

“Honey, what’s wrong?  Just tell me what’s going on so I know how to help you.  We’ve been through enough, you know you can tell me anything.”

“Tom told me he’s gay.”

Five words, six if you’re counting the contraction of the word is; either way, the totality of the statement is more impacting than I anticipated. I resist the urge to reel back. I’d been expecting Julie to say Tom had an affair, or had been fired. But gay? Tom?

“How could Tom be gay?” It’s a silly sounding question, and I know it. I don’t know what to do with my hands. Julie has tucked herself into a ball. We’re sitting on the floor of my house like we’re back in college. I pack the hookah, trying to be useful. The coal catches and begins to burn well. An ember glow in the center of the brass chamber, it looks like an all-knowing eye. I offer the first hit to Julie. She inhales, long and slow, and the water bubbles in the base of the pipe.  I watch the coal grow brighter and brighter. As she exhales, Julie coughs. The cough turns into another sob and before I know it, she’s outright balling again.

“How the hell should I know? You don’t think I’ve been asking myself that all fucking day?”

I know she doesn’t mean to sound like a bitch, but that’s all I can think. I nod encouraging her to continue, because I know if I open my mouth, I’m going to say something rude.

“I guess there were signs. Maybe there weren’t. I don’t know.” Julie’s voice is deadpan.

Now it’s my turn to taste the strawberry flavored shisha. I’d seen the signs since they started dating our junior year at U of M, and I never said a damn thing. Twenty years later, I’m wishing I had.