Edified

by Marissa Sail Fike

  “I didn’t say you were a mistake, Grace, I —”

  “But I was!” I retort, “I wasn’t in your plans. Hell, sometimes I wonder if you even want me now. I rarely hear from you, mom. And when I do make time to see you, you aren’t even concerned with normal motherly things!”

  She turns her body toward me, all business now, “What are you talking about, Gracelynn?”

  “I was late today mom. By a few hours. Did you worry? Did you even care? You never even asked what happened!”

  Her jaw sets, “That’s only because I want to respect your privacy.”

  “I could’ve been abducted, mom, and you would never know. Because you’re too busy ‘respecting my privacy’. I don’t have a boyfriend anymore, okay? That’s the fact of the matter. So someone has to look out for me, and I would hope that someone could be my own mother!”

  “Damn it, Grace! That's something my mom never gave me. She was always in my business, trying to make my decisions for me. I’m just trying to give you the freedom to live your life the way you want to. You’re a grown woman — so if you had a reason for being late, that’s no business of mine.”

  “You’re talking about Grandma Jackie?” I say.

  “Yes!” She says, her eyes beginning to glisten.

  I stop short at the sight her tears.

  She gets up, squeezes her eyes shut and sighs.

  “It’s been a long day. Why don’t you stay for the night and I’ll drive you to where you’re parked at the clinic in the morning.”

  “I’m not parked at the clinic,” I snap, “You thought I was kidding about my car acting funny? It quit on the way here. Got it towed back to Gevali. That’s why I was late, thanks for asking.”

  The usual tightness around her eyes and mouth fall. It’s clear that comment hurt.

  “Well, I suppose we’ll figure something out in the morning. You know where everything is … blankets in the closet if you need them.”

  With that, she turns on her heels and walks straight to her bedroom, closing the door behind her.

  Suddenly I feel terrible. Like my situation can’t possibly get any worse.

  I get up from my seat and traipse down the hall to my old room — the one my nineteen-year-old self had decked out with dream catchers and framed book quotes.

  I finally let the tears stream down my face as I go over to my roller desk and pull open the middle drawer. My old iPod lays faithfully in the corner.

  I grab the device, unwrapping the earbuds from around it.

  There’s a playlist I made on here years ago that has only three tracks on it, affectionately titled, “Rainy Days”. Turns out, it’s exactly what I need right now …

  The songs carry me through their melancholy tunes, while my mind remains a dark, empty place. I am burdened by no thoughts, as tears streak down my cheeks.

  When the last track ends, I go back to the beginning of the playlist and listen numbly to the same three songs, over and over again.

  26

  Rae - Saturday

  I hated leaving Adam last night, but being alone in my bed afforded me some time to think about everything. Throughout my whole correspondence with Sam, I felt like I wasn’t doing anything wrong, but if that were the case … why was I feeling so guilty?

  God, give me clarity … where is this feeling of guilt stemming from? Was I out of line? Please … tell me anything I might be missing.

  Moments after I uttered the words, a thought popped in my head:

  I had to justify going to see Sam and Rosie pretty hard before I did it. Then I came up with a game plan of how I would explain my actions to Adam before it was even an issue … which meant I had a pretty good idea that it would be an issue if he found out.

  I didn’t exactly let him know where I was going beforehand … and why didn’t I do that, knowing that it was a sensitive spot for him? Adam probably wouldn’t have had an issue with it if I’d just communicated with him. But the fact is, I wasn’t expecting him to show up at the Café. In fact, I was banking on him not showing up.

  I certainly wasn’t cheating on him, nor did I have any desire to. But I was being secretive … which is something I promised I’d never be towards him.

  Is being secretive a mindset I can reasonably ask Adam to accept from me going into a marriage? It’s certainly not one I’d want from him.

  On top of that, when I saw Sam that first day in the gym and we decided to go to the docks, I’d allowed my mind to wander. Memories of our past relationship surfaced — even of us kissing. Even though they aren’t significant anymore, I never should’ve allowed those thoughts. Sam is another man … significant or not.

  My heart beats loudly. Adam would never do that to me.

  Before I went to bed, I sent up another prayer.

  Lord … I’m sorry for anything I’ve done to hurt my relationship with Adam. I’d been trying to edify it with our new goal to abstain until marriage, but I ended up finding a new wedge instead. I know I am not entitled to a relationship with him, and that he is a gift from you … please help strengthen what we have together to make for a strong marriage. Thank you, Lord, for your clarity.

  I slowly drifted into sleep. A peaceful conclusion to my otherwise crazy day.

  ***

  Early this morning, a text jolted me into consciousness.

  From: Grace

  Sent: 10/12/19

  Time: 7:04 am

  “Hey, would you mind checking on Amity for me? I stayed the night at mom’s, and I guess I forgot to lock up the art room. Of course, the one time I do this, the nanny cam goes off lol. It’s probably nothing — I’m sure her spoiled self is just freaking out because she hasn’t gotten breakfast yet. I owe you.”

  __________

  Awhile back ago, Amity slinked her way into Grace’s art room — the place she makes most of her Hyssop N’ Sage products and occasionally paints a piece. The cat had managed to paw several books off of the bookshelf and knock over a freshly potted plant. After that, the art room became the first officially off-limits area for Amity. The next day, Grace ended up buying a cheap nanny cam for the room. Not only is she able to record herself making products for her business and upload them directly from the cam to her website, but if Amity slips inside again, the cam sends an alert to her phone that there is motion in the room. There’s supposed to be a feature where it sends an image along with the alert, but it’s broken. So she knows something is up when it goes off, just not what exactly.

  I tap out a message, telling her “I’ve got it”, but I find myself pondering what she is doing in Montpelier. Grace spends very little time with her mother, mostly because of how scarcely Corinne seems to have time for her daughter. As I hop in my car to head over there, I make a mental note to ask Grace if everything is okay.

  I walk up to Grace’s sage-green door and twist my key to her house in the lock. It’s quiet inside and Amity is nowhere to be found.

  “Here kitty kitty,” I call.

  No response.

  I pad over to the art room, where the door is slightly ajar.

  I push the squeaky-hinged door wide open to discover somewhat of a horror scene.

  There are several small cans of paint that've been tipped from the desk to the floor. They look as though they’d been re-sealed with plastic wrap, which of course didn’t hold very strong when they fell onto the hard wooden floor. The colors of paint pool together in the middle of the floor, and Amity sits smack in the middle of it, looking both pissed off and pristine at the same time. Her ears are bent back and her tail flicks angrily, while her black coat is covered yellow, blue, and red patches. She looks as though she’s trying to maintain some level of dignity as she raises her front paw to lick the paint off the front.

  My eyes widen and I lunge for her, “No, Amity!”

  This startles her and she jets off past me and out the art room door.

  “Damn it,” I mutter, chasing after her.

  She leaves colorful little paw prin
ts everywhere she scampers.

  I quickly tackle her on the ground and she yowls loudly. I grab her by the scruff of her neck as she bats her paws and hisses wildly.

  I frantically look around, trying to think of what to do next. I make for the sink and plunk her in it. She’s already furious with me for holding her down, but when I turn on the water, she becomes a monster. An all-new rage bellows out of her mouth as she bites my hands and scratches the shit out of my arms.

  I try to keep my cool and get a better grip on her legs so she can’t attack me anymore.

  When the temperature shifts into a warmer, more comfortable temperature, she gradually stops fighting me. I’m able to loosen my death grip on her and gently wipe the paint from her fur with a warm, soapy cloth.

  “You’re a little shit, you know that?” I say as the water washes my blood away along with the paint.

  She glares at me hatefully. I’ve never met a creature more undeserving of their name.

  When all the paint is removed, I pat her dry and she wriggles from my grasp, running from me as quickly as possible into Grace’s room. I roll my eyes and go back into the art room, snapping a picture of the disaster to send Grace before kneeling down to wipe up what I can. The spill is still pretty fresh, so if I work quickly, the damage may not be too bad. The paw prints in the hall came up easily, but after thirty minutes of scrubbing the main spill, I realize there will be some permanently blue spots.

  I eye the paint cans warily. The label says “non-toxic”, so I’m assuming Amity will be okay if she consumed any, but I still head over to the little devil’s food bowls and fill them up just in case. I close the art room door and lock it up tight before heading out, trying to think of the lightest possible way to tell Grace what just happened.

  To: Grace

  Sent: 10/12/19

  Time: 8:33 am

  “So, I am renaming your cat Vincent Van Gogh. Partly because she’s undeserving of a name that means ‘Friendly and Peaceful’, and partly because she took Van Gogh’s analogy about eating yellow paint a little too seriously. Good thing you bought non-toxic. I fixed her up with food and water, but Google says she might have some tummy problems this week — so you have that to look forward to.”

  __________

  I send the picture of the paint mess, along with a one of my battle wounds and one of a very wet, very angry-looking Amity.

  Right after I hit send, another text comes through. This one’s from Zoe, containing a link to the photos from our shoot.

  ***

  “They look amazing,” I say to Adam over the phone, “You should come by after work and pick out your favorites with me.”

  “You can just send them to me real quick, babe.” He says.

  “No.” I pout.

  “No?”

  “I miss you. Come over.”

  He laughs, “Okay, honey. After work, then.”

  I smile.

  I always miss Adam, but especially right now. Maybe that’s unreasonable since I just saw him yesterday, but we’ve just been fighting so much lately. The absence of adoring comments … the lack of physical affection … it’s getting to me. It’s been nine days since we were last intimate, and I’m starting to feel like this goal will only work if we’re making up for that loss by going above and beyond to express our love in other ways. But if we’re going without sex and simple romantics because we’re fighting … there’s no way I’ll be able to keep this up.

  I busy myself with my studies while I wait for him to get here, but I can’t focus for crap. How am I supposed to solve integral equations or whatever they are when all I can think about is Adam.

  There’s no knock at the door, just suddenly his presence in the living room doorway. I jump up from my task without a second thought and wrap my arms around him. He smells like cedar and cinnamon and warmth as I press my lips into his.

  When I pull away, his eyes are smiling. “Well, hey beautiful.”

  “Hi.” I say, smiling back at him.

  “You wanna show me these photos?” He says.

  I smile as I take his hand and drag him over to the couch. I get the laptop and scoot up close to him as we look through them.

  Zoe took so many good ones, I have a hard time picking. Adam, however, is decisive as ever, and picks one from the several that I narrowed it down to. I zoom in on the one he picked. The white fence and the maple tree are glowing in the background and we are pulling a titanic pose: Adam behind me, arms spread wide, holding mine out in front of him, and I am cracking up. I remember it was a genuine laugh, as Adam had just whispered in my ear one of our old inside jokes. It’s a great picture. The only thing is … such a pose, of course, puts my typically bracelet clad arms on full display. Zoe, being the type of person that she is, did not take the liberty of editing out the visible scarring on either arm.

  I stare at it a little longer, trying to decide if I’m okay with this photo going out to everyone I know.

  “That one gonna work?” He says.

  My smile twitches, “Of course it is. This is great.”

  I close my laptop and give him a peck. I’ve got to start treating my scars like they’re not a big deal.

  I stand and hold out my hands to him. He takes them and stands, pulling me into a deeper kiss. I get the overwhelming urge to push him back on the couch and … I pull away, dizzy from the kiss. These thoughts are dangerous.

  “Well, darling,” I swallow, “I should probably get going on these invites. Now that we have a good picture.”

  He closes his eyes and lets out a steady breath from his nose.

  I kiss it.

  When he opens his eyes, they have a certain intensity to them. They convey every bit of desire he has for me.

  Smiling a little, I back away from him, turning to go to my room. He follows me there but stops in the doorway.

  I go over to my mirror and shake out my hair.

  Adam watches me with careful eyes as I begin sliding off each of my bangles onto my dresser.

  “I wish you didn’t feel like you have to wear those.” He says softly. It catches me off guard.

  I lower my bare arms to my sides, purposefully resisting the urge to fold them over my chest.

  “I don’t.”

  He frowns.

  Because we both know me better than that.

  I turn away from him and traipse over to my bed, slightly angry with him for knowing. “Goodnight, Adam.”

  He stares at me a moment longer with unsmiling eyes. He doesn’t appear angry back, just perhaps frustrated in his subdued sort of way.

  He comes over to the bed and sits, watching me.

  He opens his mouth to say something, but then his eyes fall to my freshly bare arms and widen.

  “Good grief, Rae, what is this??”

  He grasps my wrists and scans the new scratches. Some have scabbed over, but some still look fresh.

  I jerk them away from him.

  “Oh my word, Adam, it was Grace’s cat.”

  The muscles in his face relax. He’s clearly relieved, which infuriates me.

  “Sheesh, what’d you do, hold her under water?”

  I squint, “You have no idea. Please flip the light switch when you go.”

  I don’t know why I’m being so snappy with him. The last thing I want to do is start fighting again, but the feeling that’s escaping up through the surface is such a deep, intrinsic hurt that’s been throbbing dully inside me for a long time now … some mixture of shame for my scars, my past, and just being so sick of not having him in my bed with me at night.

  I want nothing more … need nothing more … than for him to take me in his arms and remind me that I’m his flawless girl. I feel hideous … like no one really believes in my growth.

  He shakes his head, “Lacey Rae …”

  “Also, if you could stop doubting me already, that would be solid.”

  “Baby,” He says softly, “I don’t —”

  “You know what? Don’t eve
n act like you weren’t just assuming I did that to myself. Like it hasn’t been over a year since I — whatever.”

  He is silent.

  “Are you ever going to trust me? That I’m a perfectly fine, stable human being? Because anything less than that is entirely unhelpful and not welcome here. I need to spend my life with someone who believes in me, Adam, not someone who carefully approaches me like I might break at any given moment. Otherwise I’m never gonna be able to … I’ll never really …”

  “Rae, honey.” He moves close to me and pulls me into his arms. He knows to take these comments with a grain of salt.

  I stay there, just resting against his chest. Neither of us say anything, because both of us know …

  We miss making love. I miss the security it gives me. I’m snappy when I feel bad about my wrists … and he’s what makes that go away.

  He keeps his arms wrapped around me for a few more minutes, then he pulls away a little.

  His eyes lock with mine, unsmiling … wanting. He kisses me gently, as if asking permission.

  I don’t withhold it from him. Slowly, the kiss intensifies.

  My body feels rhythmic with his … as if all our senses are perfectly in tune with each other.

  But I pull away.

  “We can’t,” I breathe.

  His eyes search mine, longing for me to say it’s okay. But I don’t.

  He squeezes me one last time, kisses my hair, and shifts like he’s going to leave.

  “No.” I say, tightening my grip on his arm.

  “Rae …”

  “Stay.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You can,” I say, “Please.”

  I know I’m asking a lot of him … but I need this. Being the one to stop us is hard for me and I need to take it in baby steps, like Kaya said. After all, I think we can be in the same bed sleeping together without sleeping together.

  He wavers. Then settles back onto the bed with me.

  “Thank you,” I say, kissing his cheek.

  He lifts the blanket beside him up for me to crawl in and I do, sidling closely up against him.