Chapter 5: Heiders Balance Theory

All things come to an end...even bad ones

“Jo? I think I’m going to go to the store,” Phil addressed the young woman stretched out on the bed, “We are out of cereal and milk and maybe eggs, do you need anything?” Jo shook her head as he began to put on his shoes “It's getting dark, are you sure you don't just want to wait till tomorrow?” Phil thought for a second “Nah, I’d rather just get this done.” The click of the lock and the gentle close of the door and Phil was gone. She waited until she was sure that he was gone and checked through the door. When she didn’t see him she shut the door again. Taking advantage of the opportunity given to her by the universe, Jo called the contact labeled ‘Cell Services’. “Hi, Jo!” Jo lay pushed against the bedroom door “Hey, Clint. How are you?” 

Phil waited till she started talking to emerge from the closet and stand against the door, trying to listen through it. “...I’m calling because I wanted to talk to you, silly.” Phil didn’t even need to hear the name to know who it was that she spoke to. Like Jo, Clint had been on his mind too. “...I know it’s your bedtime but I wanted to tell you that I had a lot of fun last night…Yeah, I guess I might. I don’t know, it's all confusing.”  Bitter ears listened to the sweet talk as Phil stood, back to the door. Every word, phrase and laugh permeated the thin wood into his intent ears. “...Clint, I wish I had met you sooner.” He stepped away and shut his eyes allowing a single drop slip down the bearded surface of his cheek. Enough had been heard. Phil should have known this was coming for a long time but in all of his love the red flags were lost in translation. He stood in the dark apartment and looked at everything he had shared with Jo for so long: the pile of socks, the stained oak table, and even the cat bed. All of it told him that he should move on. He sighed and grappled his old duffle down from the shelves in the closet. After stuffing in as many of his clothes that fit along with his stash of tens and twenties hidden in the sock pile he reentered the living room. Phil set down the bag and stepped toward the desk in the corner and pulled a ballpoint pen and a piece of printer paper out of the top drawer. Setting it on the flat surface of the small desk he began writing ‘Dear Jocelyn…’ he stalled for a second when he heard her laugh again. Gritting his teeth he tore up the paper, stuffed it into his pocket and turned for the door. When the door had finally shut Emily the tabby wandered out wondering what the commotion was. She sniffed the floor and followed her favorite scent. It led to the door.

Alone. She had told herself she would have to get used to the feeling, but still it felt… wrong. Although Phil had only been out for a day, she knew he wasn’t coming back. The sort of intuition that comes with knowing someone for so long, maybe too long. Emily knew it too. She hadn’t stopped sitting at the door since the night Phil didn’t come back. Jo had tried to move her but the tabby still moved back to the same spot every time. To stave off that gnawing and terrible feeling, Jo decided to call Clint. Sure, it helped, but her true solace came from reading as it always had. In the following days she visited the library at Cambry Partiasani more and more often. It felt strange for her to be reading this much, especially romance novels but, as she did, her mind felt more at ease. One day the rain decided to pour from the heavens. The sound of the downpour was interrupted by the sound of a knock at the door. Jo set aside a particularly bad novel titled ‘Swept Away: A Romance Beyond Time’ in order to answer the strange knock. Beyond the foyer, currently trying and failing to close an umbrella, stood Clint. Mouth agape, Jo could only say “Oh!” Clint gave up on the umbrella “Are you doing anything right now?” Jo shifted to lean against the door frame “Um, not at the moment, why?” Clint mimicked the lean “I thought I might take you out tonight. Get an umbrella and coat.” Jo began to gather the items. Wallet in hand, she walked back to the door. “Oh, you don't need that. I’m paying tonight.” Jo looked at the wallet in her hand and began to protest before Clint gently laid his hand on hers and guided it to the table by the door. “What if we are going to drink? It is Friday after all.” Clint shook his head “I’m not much of a drinker.” Once the wallet left her grasp she took hold of the arm that was offered to her. Without another glance at the apartment, save for locking the front door, the pair stepped into the night.

Jo was so used to driving places or biking that she forgot how nice it was just to walk. From under the umbrella she watched Clint splash a bit in puddles and joke about her hoping in because the water felt fine as she laughed. The cold air of the night felt freeing like she had no responsibilities toward anyone. It was the best she felt in a while. They made their approach toward the spot that Clint had promised to take her: La Casa della Pasta di Romeo. It was a large place but not so large that it felt daunting, rather the opposite. Clint held the door, as a true gentleman should as Jo closed her umbrella and stepped onto the soft patterned carpet inside. Within moments, they were seated at a small two person booth at the back of the restaurant. “This is really pleasant, is the food good?” For whatever reason she felt as if to speak louder than a whisper would be to disrupt the serenity of the whole place. “It’s some of the best.” Clint reciprocated the whisper, leaning forward so that they could almost hear each other's thoughts. Jo looked around and felt something was off. “Where are the menus?” Clint shrugged “I already know what you like so I ordered ahead.” Almost as if it was queued by his words, the waitress who had seated them returned with a glass bottle of water and two glasses. Clint poured the water for them and raised his glass. “A toast. To the wonderful Jocelyn and the good times we have together.” Jo raised her glass to his. “May there be so many more.” They both drank from their respective glass, held it in their mouths for a second and forced themselves to swallow. Clint immediately took examining the bottle as Jo puckered in protest. “What the hell was in that water?” Her voice was hoarse but he was somehow worse when he answered “I don't think that was water.” On the label he was able to read ‘Schweppes Tonica’. “Oh,” He cleared his throat, “This is tonic water. Must be an Italian thing.” Now that Jo was able to properly taste it, it wasn't so bad but it was the initial shock after expecting water that caught her off guard. She took another sip. “That isn’t so bad actually, it's kind of lemony.” Shortly after the surprise had passed, the food arrived. For both of them, the waitress brought a plate of a thick yellow sauce overwhich lay a layer of meat and red sauce. When Jo asked what it was, the waitress gave a prompt answer. “This is pork ragu served fresh over polenta.” Jo thanked her, doing her best to hide her distaste. She hated pork but she was too polite to tell Clint that so, for the rest of the night, she choked down little bits of it between conversation. At the end, when Clint asked if she liked it, she said “Yeah, I just wasn’t hungry.” Which was the partial truth, she really wasn’t hungry…any more.

As before, Clint walked her home in the same way they came. Except she wasn’t sure if she was just tired but she didn’t really feel like talking too much. So Clint did the talking on the way back. When he asked how she was feeling she said that she was “Having the time of my life.” Which wasn’t too far off. A far better statement would have been: I am great but something is just off. They reached her door and Clint asked if he could stay the night. Jo said of course and Clint stepped inside. That was the first night that Jo had slept with a different man besides Phil. It was the first night that Clint had ever slept with a woman. Both were happier than they had any right to be. 

Madison felt like she was scrambling. A couple weeks had passed and she was having the worst writers block of her life. Still, she kept writing even though it seemed as if she was making no progress. About five chapters in and her page count was really low. Has her writing gotten shorter? To that she had no answer, only that she had to keep trudging along. So she pulled her hands off her tired face and looked at the clock. 12 AM? It didn’t matter. She had to keep working. Setting her pair of exhausted hands onto the keyboard she typed the words: Chapter 6 and sighed getting ready for yet another long night. Taking a sip of the dark roast next to her, she wrote: The Great Realization, zoned out for a minute and began to write.