“What?” She collapses in the chair opposite me. “Why’s it a big deal?”
“Don’t you have other things to do today? Quit using me as a distraction from doing whatever you came to Malibu to do.”
She sits back, mouth agape. “I liked you better this morning. You sure can run hot and cold, can’t you?”
“Don’t turn this on me. Why’s it so hard for you to be alone? If you hadn’t moved in the other week, I’d be managing. Not that I don’t appreciate your help. You’ve been real sweet, but I’m not comfortable with you all up in my business—or in my laundry.”
She folds her hands in her lap and averts her eyes. I notice a subtle slump in her posture. When she finally looks up, her eyes are dewy.
“Jesus, Lindsey, don’t go crying on me.” I inhale and count to ten in my head. “Why are you crying? I said I appreciate your help. Look, I’m not used to taking orders from anyone, or giving anyone free range in my home. You’re coming and going, getting in my drawers and closets. It’s freaking me out a little, okay?”
She nods. “I’m sorry, I’m only trying to help. As you’ve gathered by now, my life’s a mess. Helping you gives me a purpose, and I need a purpose now or I’ll really lose it. But it’s not your problem. I know you’re very private. I’ll back off.”
She’s piqued my curiosity.
“What’d you do in New York?”
“What?”
“Did you have a job, or did you spend your days taking care of your boyfriend or your family or whatever? What was your purpose there?”
Lindsey’s demure expression is almost apologetic. “I wrote fashion magazine articles.”
“So why don’t you do that here and now?”
She shrugs and frowns. “I could, but I’m not inspired. I didn’t care about it very much.”
“What do you care about? What drives you?”
Her forehead creases more deeply. Oh no, more waterworks.
“I don’t know. That’s the problem. I don’t know what I care about—what I want.”
Unfortunately for her, my patience for whining is limited.
“Hey, stop it. If you want to moan and groan about being unfulfilled, take it someplace else. Don’t ask for sympathy from me. You have everything and always had everything. Plenty of people out there got nothing but real problems. They worry about how to feed their kids or overcome an illness or significant loss. Don’t sit around wallowing in self-pity. You have an education, money, parents who care, a boyfriend who wants you back, and friends. Stop analyzing everything and quit trying to please everyone else. Just take a step, and then another. Eventually you’ll be walking on your own.”
Her face stills in shock. “Gee, Levi, don’t hold back. How do you really feel?”
“Go ahead and deflect. But I’m not the one who doesn’t know what I want in my life.” As I say the words, I’m struck by the hypocrisy, considering, only two weeks ago, I’d begun to wrestle my own feelings of boredom and dissatisfaction. “I’m not perfect, God knows, but I don’t let other people dictate the terms of my life, dictate what I should do or how I live my life. Consider what you enjoy and then build your purpose around that pleasure. No one else can determine it for you.”
She’s staring through me now. My sharp tongue probably wasn’t the most effective approach, especially today, when she’s vulnerable because of the wedding that wasn’t. I’m about to apologize when she snaps out of her funk.
I brace for more tears, but her eyes are dry.
“You have a point, Levi. Something to consider. For now, however, I’m doing your laundry. I’ll continue taking care of you until you can fend for yourself. I’m good at it and it makes me happy to be helpful. So, for now, you’re my temporary purpose.”
She nods in affirmation of her own statement, stands up, and stalks out of the room. Ten minutes later, she informs me she’s leaving and will stop back later with dinner.
I surrender to her will. “Okay, Nurse Ratched.”
Lindsey stops short and shoots me a wry look, one brow raised. “Interesting reference. If you’d prefer Nurse Nightingale to Nurse Ratched, then adjust your sour attitude. See you at dinner. Try to stay flat on your back for most of the afternoon, please.”
She tilts her head slightly, awaiting my retort, but I leave her hanging. She smiles, pleased by my silence. I shake my head and wave her off.
Her emotional spectrum exhausts me. Today I’ve played counselor twice to her tears. Sandwiched in between those events, I endured an arousing sponge bath that left me horny and frustrated. Ultimately, no matter what I say, she does whatever she wants anyway. I may as well not talk, because it makes no difference to her. Jesus, she’s challenging.