One More For The Road

by Delilah Blake

  “We’re going to be so happy, Frances. I just know it. I can feel it. Here.” He tapped a finger against his chest, mimicking the beat of his heart. “And I’ll make sure you never want for anything. I’ll provide for you and keep you safe.”

  Why was he talking about our life together like it was a four-door utility vehicle with anti-lock brakes and dual airbags? I suddenly had a vision of Andrew as a used car salesman.

  I shook my head, trying to dispel the image. It was horrible. It wasn’t how I wanted to see him, not today. Not ever. I wanted my Andrew back.

  I twisted in his arms so my head rested on his chest, the steady thump-thump of his heart echoing like a thunderclap against my ears. I clenched my eyes shut wishing it all away, the fear, the anxiety, the gut-wrenching realization that no matter what he said or did or imagined for us… it wasn’t enough.

  A second, familiar face popped through the door.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” Kevin said as he stuck his head around the door frame. Andrew’s best man was wearing an identical tux, albeit with a classic black vest beneath his jacket. “Andrew, your mom said she’d like to speak to you before the ceremony starts.”

  Andrew released my hips and turned to face his friend. “I’ll be right there.”

  Kevin grinned like the devil himself. “What were you guys doing in here?”

  “Nothing, Kevin,” I answered quickly.

  “Doesn’t look like nothing. It looks like you guys were getting ready to f—”

  “Bye, Kevin!”

  Kevin shrugged disappointedly and left.

  “I don’t know why I’m friends with him.” Andrew laughed before lifting my chin with a crook of his finger. He kissed me quickly, his lips like a whisper, like a void I was noticing for the first time. Or had it always been there?

  “Here we go,” he whispered, taking his mouth from mine. He smoothed down the front of his jacket with his hands. “I’ll see you in there.”

  I watched as he walked to the door, his footsteps drumming out a painful rhythm, each step slower and more torturous than the one before.

  Thud…. thud…. thud… thud…

  He turned back to smile an “I love you”.

  Then he was gone.

  I couldn’t stop myself from falling, the floor rushing up to meet me as my knees buckled underneath me and my legs gave way. My dress ballooned up around me like a mushroom cloud of taffeta and silk as I sank.

  “What am I going to do?”

  I had never in my entire life felt so terrified, so frozen with fear as I did in that horrible moment.

  “What do you mean ‘what are you going to do’?” I looked up at the new voice. It was my own, coming from my collapsed reflection in the mirror. “You’re going to marry him, of course.”

  “I don’t think I can,” I answered her, fighting the urge to cry. It was useless to resist. I knew the tears would come eventually.

  “Marry him! You belong together. You’ve just got cold feet. Get up and get married. Get up!”

  “I can’t!” I yelled at my copy.

  I felt like screaming, like shattering the mirror. I wanted to hurl something through their precious stained-glass window. I wanted to tear the room apart with my bare hands. “It’s not fair!” I sobbed. “It’s not supposed to be like this! I’m supposed to be happy! I’m supposed to love him! I’m supposed to be happy…” My voice broke around words that felt like shards of glass.

  “Then be happy,” came the reply.

  I stared at the girl in the mirror. She didn’t even look like me. She looked sure and strong. She looked ready to fight, ready to…

  I could hardly bring myself to think the words.

  Ready to run.

  I felt the sudden desire slam into my chest. If I weren’t already on my knees, I’m sure I would have collapsed from the sheer force of it. I wanted to be her, to be strong, to be sure about something again. Anything! I wanted to be the Frances I’d forgotten existed. Would I even remember how? Or was she too far gone?

  Why was I trying so hard to convince myself this marriage was the right path for me? Why? Why wasn’t I fighting for what I really wanted? Why could I never tell Andrew how I truly feel?

  Why couldn’t I tell him?

  Why wasn’t I fighting?

  And right then I knew. I knew what I had to do.

  I my parallel in the glass stared back at me with her beautiful curls and glowing skin, watching with red-rimmed eyes as my mouth formed the words I already knew in my heart.

  “I have to go.”

  I got to my feet, pulling handfuls of fabric loose from under my knees.

  “There’s no changing your mind,” my reflection said as I turned toward the door.

  I nodded to myself in the glass. “I know.”

  She smiled.

  I ran…

  Ring…

  Ring…

  I press my cellphone to my ear, willing my fingers to stop trembling.

  Ring…

  Ring…

  Across the room a soft glow of warm mist creeps out from beneath the bathroom door like morning fog, Jesse’s baritone bouncing off the tiles and blending with the gentle rhythm of running water.

  Ring…

  “Hello?”

  It’s his voice. I can tell with just one word, a small, two-syllabic word that makes me revaluate not only my decision to call but every choice that’s brought me to this moment.

  I’m afraid to speak, afraid to breathe, afraid of the next few seconds in time. I feel like I may be sick at any minute. My body feels like it’s on fire, shaking, sitting on the floor with the bed sheets wrapped around me, my knees pulled against my chest.

  The silence stretches for an eternity, minutes, hours, days. It’s impossible to tell.

  “Hello?” he asks again.

  I should call back when I’m in a better state of mind, when I’ve had a chance to clear my head. Maybe after breakfast or a nice, hot shower. I’ll wait for Jesse to come out of the bathroom. He’ll know what to do. He’ll sit beside me and hold my hand and tell me I’m making the right decision…

  No.

  I can’t wait for Jesse. This is something I need do on my own, something I should have done a long time ago. Something I can’t run from any longer.

  “Hi.” My voice is soft, broken, and almost unrecognizable.

  His silence, however, is a sure sign he knows it’s me.

  Finally, I hear him breathe into the phone. “Hi, Frances.”

  I’m not sure what I expected, probably that he’d hang up on me the moment he realized who was calling. Or maybe he’d tell me to go fuck myself, and then hang up. Either way, I’d prepared myself for the worst.

  “Uh… how are you doing?” I know it’s the wrong thing to ask the second the words fly out of my mouth.

  But his answer isn’t the explosive tirade I expect. “I’m okay,” he answers calmly. “Trying to keep busy, you know?”

  “Good,” I chime in, perhaps too eagerly. “That’s… good.”

  There’s another long stretch of quiet. I think of hanging up the phone without another word. But what kind of apology is that? What kind of closure is that?

  Andrew voices what I’m sure we’re both thinking. “Why did you call, Frances?” It’s as much a question as it is an accusation.

  I answer in fumbled words, dropping them like scattered bits of breadcrumbs along a darkened path. “I’m… uh… not sure… really. I just… um… I just… needed to. I needed to… call. I had to know… I had to know… if you’re okay.” I try my best to let my brain catch up with my mouth. “Are you? Okay, I mean? Really?”

  I know I must sound like a lunatic, but I would ramble on forever if it put an end to these terrible silences.

  “No,” he finally answers. “I’m not. Not really.”

  I hear something crash on the other end and Andrew curse under his breath.

  “What was that?” I ask.

  “Nothing. I just d
ropped this stupid box. I’m trying to get all of the moving done by Friday.”

  “Who’s moving?”

  He doesn’t say, but I know the answer anyway.

  “Where are you going?” I mumble at length. It doesn’t even register that it’s none of my business anymore.

  “Virginia. I’m moving in with a friend of mine in Williamsburg.”

  “Oh,” I say stupidly.

  “Yeah,” he goes on. “He’s going to set me up teaching government at one of the local high schools. It’s not quite where I saw myself headed, but I’ve decided to take him up on the offer.”

  “Oh,” I say again. I’m trying hard to sound pleasant, because even though I’m the one who left, even though I’m the one who brought on this mess, it still hurts that I’m no longer a part of his life.

  “I’m just going to try to move on,” he declares with an impressive degree of confidence. “Start over.”

  I feel the grief rise up again. “Well… good. Good for you.”

  “You were good for me, Frances.” His voice breaks and so does my heart.

  The words hit like a physical blow. I wince and draw my knees in closer to my body. “No, I really wasn’t,” I say, trying to convince both him and me.

  “You don’t know what you’re fucking talking about,” he mutters into the receiver.

  He’s swearing. He never swears.

  “You want the truth, Frances? Huh? Is that it?” His voice grows in volume, until it hits me at a dull roar. “I was happy. We were happy! And then you just left. You fucking left and took all of that away from me. No explanation, no goodbye. Nothing! You left me to be humiliated on what was supposed to be the happiest day of my life!”

  He’s had plenty of time to think about what he might say to me if we ever spoke again. Now’s his chance to let me have it. And I know I more than deserve whatever he has ready.

  “All I could think was what did I do wrong? What did I do, Frances? Tell me, please! I’m begging you, just tell me what I did! There has to be reason! Was it me? Were you so unhappy, you couldn’t stand to be around me for another minute? Tell me!”

  A tear runs down my cheek, burning a path on its way down my face. “I didn’t want to hurt you, Andrew. You have to believe it,” I plead. “I didn’t think—”

  “Maybe it’s the problem, Frances. Maybe you just didn’t fucking think. Not about anyone but yourself.”

  I know.

  “I’m sorry, Andrew.” I know my dismal attempt at an apology is nowhere near good enough. There’s nothing I can do to truly fix what I’ve done, to repair what I’ve broken.

  “Don’t be sorry,” he pleads. “Just come home. Come back to me, okay?” It breaks my heart to hear him sound so broken. I can’t bear it.

  “I can’t,” I whisper.

  “Yes, you can, Frances. You can. I’m not mad, I promise. I’ll talk to my mom, get her to drop the lawsuit. It’ll be like nothing changed. I still love you. Come back and we can be together again. Please. I’m begging you. Come back.”

  The tears pour from my eyes, steady and soft. “I can’t,” I say again. I know I sound weak, how broken. “I’m sorry, Andrew, but we’re not right for each other. And I know I handled this horribly. You’re right. I should have talked to you. I should have just told you how I felt. But I was too scared.”

  “What could you possibly have been scared of?” he asks. “Me?”

  “No! You are kind and generous and wonderful. You were everything I might have wanted in another life. But there will always be a piece of me that craves more than you could have given me, more than I could have gotten from staying where I was. Don’t you understand? A piece of me will never be satisfied, and that fucking terrifies me! The idea that I will never be whole, or complete, or happy.”

  “Frances, please. You don’t know what you’re saying. I can make you hap—"

  “I can’t do that to you. It wouldn’t be fair. You deserve someone better than this. Someone better than me. You should be with someone who will be there when you need her, someone who is ready to be married, ready to be your wife. Someone who wants the same things you want.”

  “But I want you!” he screams.

  That’s when I lose what little resolve I have left. I officially break. The air is torn from my lungs as I sob, as if I don’t have enough, can’t get enough air. I cry for him, for me. for what I’ve done to both of us. I cry until my body shakes, until my bones ache, until there’s nothing left in me but guilt and grief.

  The worst part is I can hear his sobs over mine and I know he’s crying too.

  It’s too much. I didn’t want it to be like this. I didn’t know it would be like this. Through the gasps, I manage to control my voice enough to speak.

  “Take care of yourself, Andrew.”

  “No, Frances. Wait, please—”

  I never hear the rest. I end the call before I can change my mind. I stare at my phone in my lap, hating it. Hating myself even more. A tear falls and splashes on the screen.

  I hurl the phone across the room with a shriek where it crashes unceremoniously against the dresser, landing on the floor, a small razor-thin crack running the length of the tear-smudged screen.

  What did I do to him? I hadn’t meant to hurt him.

  But I did. I’d hurt him. How could I have done that? He didn’t deserve it. Not Andrew. Andrew who is so sweet and kind and good, everything I’ve failed to be.

  A good person wouldn’t have left a man at the altar. A good person wouldn’t have paid her last dime to jump on the first bus anywhere. A good person wouldn’t have left everything, everyone, behind without a word. A good person wouldn’t have shattered a good man’s heart into pieces just to end up falling into a five-star bed with a guy she met while running away from her wedding.

  No matter what her heart may have told her.

  Jesse. Jesse who is so strong and caring and challenging and passionate. Will I end up breaking his heart one day, too?

  The thought of it makes my heart seize in my chest. It feels as if it’s been severed, cracked straight down the middle, as if hurting Jesse would quite literally tear my heart in two.

  I can’t do this anymore. I won’t do it anymore. I won’t hurt Jesse like I hurt Andrew. For his sake, I need to give up the ridiculous notion that what we have might work, that we could be together, that I deserve someone as strong and giving and wonderful as him in my life.

  I manage to stand, my legs shaking beneath me like a newborn foal. I dress in a hurry, throwing on whatever clothes and shoes I pull out of the bag first. They don’t match, but I don’t care. I hoist my bag over my shoulder and pick my phone up off the floor.

  I try to reassure myself that this time is nothing like the last time. When I ran out the backdoor of that river-rock church, I was thinking of only myself. Now, I’m thinking of someone else. Now I’m the one protecting him.

  I try my best not to think of the man waiting behind the bathroom door, his optimistic smile, his lips on mine, his eyes that remind me of the most decadent, delicious chocolate I could ever imagine.

  Stop it, Frances.

  Don’t think of him, of how heartbroken he’ll be to find you’ve gone. Don’t think of how you’ll never feel his hands brush your skin again. Don’t think of what you’re giving up, the life you could have together. Don’t think about it. Because none of it is real.

  I take a last look around at the beautiful room. I’m sure this isn’t how Martin planned for his generous gift to go. I say goodbye to the fine curtains, the mini bar, the bed. The room key is lying on the floor by the door, unquestioned and full of potential. I pick it up and place it on one of the pillows, an apology.

  I have no idea where I’ll go or what I’ll do. I have little money, and no resources or friends.

  Still, I can’t stay.

  I open and close the door behind me without a sound, trying to keep my focus on the gold trimmed wallpaper and scarlet carpet as I trudge the long walk of
shame leading to the elevators. The walls seem to stretch into a never-ending march through purgatory. I reach the elevator and press the call-button with unsteady fingers, counting out the pained seconds for it to arrive.

  One Mississippi… two Mississippi… three Mississippi… four Mississippi… five…

  “Frannie!”

  I turn to see Jesse running down the corridor toward me, bare to the waist, blue jeans clinging to damp skin. Soaked footsteps appear on the carpet behind him as he sprints down the hallway, his dark, wet hair sloshing across his brow with each step.

  I press the elevator button again, urging it to move faster.

  “Frannie!” he calls again, reaching my side with a wide smile. My smile. “Wha…What are you doing?”

  I pretend not to hear him.

  “What are you doing?” he asks again, louder this time. “I got out of the shower and you were gone. What’s going on?”

  I order myself to stay focused, to not lose myself in his smile, to hurt him now and stop the bigger hurt that will inevitably come later.

  “I’m leaving,” I answer coldly, lifting my eyes to meet his.

  “Be serious,” he says, though his grin doesn’t reach his eyes this time.

  Maybe if I can get him to hate me, it won’t be so painful. “I am being serious. This was fun.” I shrug. “But I’ve decided to just go my own way. No need to carry around baggage for no reason.”

  “Baggage?” His brow furrows and the smile I love disappears completely. I mourn at the thought of never seeing it again. “What are you talking about, Frances?”

  “I’m talking about you weighing me down.” I know my words must hurt him, because they’re killing me.

  But I can’t let it show. Any sign of weakness will give me away, and I need him to believe me. “You’re holding me back. I told you I was going to California and so far, I’ve managed to visit everywhere except where I actually wanted to go. So, I’m getting back on track. Without you. You’re nothing but a-”