Affairytale : A Memoir

by C. J. English

  A tear rolled down my cheek. I was about to lose him forever and he didn’t even care.

  I’d been so duped, how could I have been so stupid?

  I sat at the edge of the seat looking at him, “Tell me you never want to see me again. Please, just do me that favor and make this easy for me.”

  He was silent, vacant.

  I bowed my head, wiped a single tear from my chin and felt a slice of the crushing pain that would hit me as soon as he pulled out of my driveway. I’d cry for weeks, maybe years, maybe another decade.

  “I get it, I get the hint,” I said. “You don’t need to say anything.” Then with a fake strength I said, “I’m sorry it had to be this way……I’m sorry you had to see me like this. We can’t be friends, I can’t be friends. You won’t see me again I promise. I won’t put myself in this situation ever again, I’ll make this easy for both of us.”

  I shifted in my seat, getting ready to step out but waiting for a brief moment, giving him one last chance to stop me.

  Please stop me. Please! It hurts so badly.

  Then I turned to him to say a final goodbye. With tears in my eyes I said, “I wish we could have been together in a different lifetime, I have a feeling we would have been really amazing. You are the most incredible man I’ve ever known and I meant everything I’ve said. Goodbye.”

  I opened the passenger door and stepped out into the freezing cold.

  Chapter 20

  “THESE VIOLENT DELIGHTS HAVE VIOLENT ENDS.”

  ―WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, ROMEO AND JULIET, 2.6.9

  A bitter wind sent snow blustering into the car as I stepped outside, and a damp trail of tears across my cheek turned instantly to ice. Whatever this was, it was over. I would keep my promise.

  The driveway was polished into a slick skating rink from the fierce winds. I gripped my hands around the frozen roof so I wouldn’t fall, then just as I was about to slam the car door and complete my grand tragedy, I felt his warm hand wrap around my inner thigh and tug me back.

  Grant leaned over the passenger seat. “C.J.,” his voice cracked. “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you—I don’t want to lose you. Please, come back in here.” He tugged me toward the seat and I fell back into the warm leather. I shut the door and sobbed with my face in my hands.

  “Don’t cry, please I’m sorry…I’m so sorry.” His consoling arms surrounded me and he buried his head into the nook of my neck. He stayed there, gripping me tight until I had no more tears to cry. Without saying another word he clicked through the gears and headed toward the other side of town.

  We crept into the darkness of his double stall garage.

  “I’m sorry for my rant,” I said. “I’m so embarrassed. I just…”

  “You don’t need to apologize or explain anything. I should apologize for not telling you how I felt sooner.” He slid his hand into my hair, “I want you to stay with me. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I wasn’t lying, I meant everything I said too, I meant everything I have ever said.”

  I stepped out of his car and stumbled through the darkness until he found my hand. He led me through a maze of unfamiliar belongings then through a doorway. I slipped off my shoes and followed him up a narrow stairway…to heaven? I thought, or is this the ascent before a fatal fall into my own personal hell?

  He didn’t show me around or offer me wine—instead he splayed his hands around my hips, pulled me into him then crushed me against the wall. He lavished me with exactly what I needed—him. Our lips moved in sync, tangling soft and deep, ravenous and sensual in just the right moments. Then his strong, forceful grip lifted me from the floor.

  I wrapped my legs around his lean waist and slid my hands through his hair, tugging and clenching as he carried me to his bedroom. I was trembling as he set me on the edge of his bed—then, as if I was as light as a silk scarf, he slid me into place gently guiding my head onto his cool sateen pillow.

  The insecure girl in me allowed a fleeing jealous thought, or two.

  I wonder how many women he’s had in this bed. Stop it, C.J.! Don’t ruin this, you’ve probably had more.

  I wonder if he still loves any of them? Stop it!

  He hovered over me, kissing my bare neck, moving slow, and taking in the contours of my female form. With feather light fingertips and impressive restraint, he respectfully caressed my breasts. He was cherishing me like I was an exquisite silk, careful and attentive, his touch gentle and considerate. He was a mature, sensual man who lingered over my exposed body with his eyes open, taking me in, savoring the moment. In my most desperate hour he bathed me in adoration and desire. He filled my empty well.

  A warm glow enveloped me and I laid motionless when he pressed his palm to my chest, holding it there over my heart. He felt it too. He had evolved specifically for me, and apparently I was created only for him and this amorous gesture affirmed those fateful facts.

  Streaks of moonlight shone through his bedroom window illuminating our silhouettes as we explored each other deep into the night. Captivated by his masculinity, I was fatally attracted to every part of him—the smell of his skin, the stubble on his face, his sweet breath.

  I drug my hands across the landscape of his sinewy back and stroked his flawless bare skin for hours. He joyously teased me, tugging my black-cotton-spandex down below the peaks of my hips, exposing a trim bikini line, then he stopped. He enjoyed watching me wanting him and exerted his dominance just enough to let me know he was enjoying himself as he devoured my female form.

  My thighs quivered with excitement and disbelief as he moved slow and deliberate, but respectful not to go too far without permission. And although it would have been easy to fully consummate our affair, we instinctively understood that it could wait. That it would be better if we waited.

  Through a long and enchanted night, we laid side by side, our warm bodies intertwined in as many places as possible. I drifted in and out of sublime consciousness until the honey glow of the morning sun peeked into the room. I had to go, before the town woke up, before Dylan saw my car, before we got caught.

  ***

  There was no crossing the center console that morning for a goodbye kiss, no—I’ll call you later, no—what should we do now? There was just silence. But it was not a confusing and cold silence like before. This time it was a peaceful silence, filled with calm and certainty and warmth. A warmth from his hand that stayed on me without breaking contact, and a certainty that came from his eyes as he glanced at me from the driver’s seat.

  There was no going back to our old lives.

  When the car stopped, I stared at his blue, blood shot eyes. “Goodbye,” I said with a pout and pushed out my lip. He brushed it lightly with his fingertip.

  “Not goodbye,” He said. “See you later.”

  I took a deep breath and stepped out into a whirl of blinding snow. As I turned to close the door and look at him one last time, he leaned over the passenger seat and puckered his lips with an audible smack.

  “Mwah!”

  The moment my Volkswagen gasped to life, Grant waved good-bye, then was gone. I sat on my hands, shivering and watching my breath fog the windows, shaking inside, but not from the cold. My mouth was dry, my hair and clothes were rumpled and my clumped eyelashes from yesterday’s mascara irritated my eyes.

  I hope to God Levi isn’t home.

  ***

  Ur all I ever want. :)

  Chapter 21

  “HONEST PEOPLE DON’T HIDE THEIR DEEDS.”

  ―EMILY BRONTË, WUTHERING HEIGHTS

  Grant’s fingerprints covered my skin and I smelled like the masculine scent of his sheets. I stripped off my dirty clothes and stuffed them into the washing machine. A foreign, giddy smile gleaned across my face as I stood naked in the laundry room trying to fully comprehend what had just happened.

  I impulsively searched for and collected any and all out of place hairs or fibers, any speck of forensic evidence that might have clung to my skin, clothes, or hair. Th
en I frenzied through a mental check list of what I needed to do to not get caught.

  I wiped away fingerprints from the piano and door knobs; I lifted the toilet seat and checked for evidence of over-spray. On my hands and knees I wiped the bathroom floor clean of any hairs or sloughed off skin cells, then scrubbed my own skin until it was raw and sterile.

  Wash my clothes—check. Shower—check. Shave, brush my teeth, and examine my skin for scratches or bruises—check, check, check. Search my house for anything he might have dropped—check. Vacuum the carpet, wipe the foyer floor, shovel away the tire tracks and footprints in the driveway—check. Call Dylan to see if it sounds like he suspects anything—check.

  Thank God Bodi can’t talk!

  When my checklist was complete to an OCD level of satisfaction, I collapsed into bed, physically and mentally exhausted. I felt as if I’d been awake for days. My head throbbed as it sunk into my familiar pillow and my body shivered under the cold sheets in my bed of lies. Heavy eyelids forced me into darkness, but restful sleep was not on the menu. A million images of him flashed through my mind, preventing me from slipping into the unconscious world. I’d only been resting for a short time when the vibration and loud ring of my phone jolted me back to reality. It was Dani.

  “Hi baby, how are you? Did you have a fun time?” I tried to sound normal, like I wasn’t still in bed at noon on a Saturday after an all-night scandalous affair.

  “It was fun,” Dani said, her voice virtuous.

  “When will you be home?”

  “I don’t know,” she moved the phone away from her mouth. “Dad—when will we be home? Dad says we’ll be home about three o’clock. I gotta go mom, we’re playin’ a game.”

  I hung up then looked at the clock on my phone. I had three hours to figure out how to hide the love struck elation and simultaneous guilt that was surely apparent on my face. First, I scrolled through my contacts just to look at his name. My pulse raced at the sight of it, Grant E.

  I changed his name to Adam G, held it up, looked at the white lettering with the unfamiliar name and felt as if I had desecrated something sacred. I changed it back, needing to feel connected to some tiny shred of him and I vowed I wouldn’t change it again unless I needed to.

  The shades were pulled tight, making my bedroom a dark cold den. Huddled in my king size bed with the covers pulled up to my chin, my mind replayed every single moment of what happened the night before. My emotions swung from ecstasy to remorse and I tried to rationalize why what I had done is justifiable.

  Married women cheat when they aren’t getting what they need at home.

  It’s just as much Levi’s fault as it is mine. I tried to tell him how unhappy I was, I tried to make it work. It takes two people to have an affair.

  Although I did feel horrible for cheating on Levi, I wasn’t going to let him find out what I had done. Some things are just better left unsaid, right?

  As three o’clock approached something prodded me to do a triple check for contamination. When I was satisfied that there was no physical evidence of my marital breach, I devoured and entire box of mac n cheese, and then half a tin of Altoids.

  “Mommy!” Dani yelled from the foyer.

  “Hi sweetheart,” I ran to her and knelt down, then glanced up at Levi with artificially white eyes. “Hi. How was your trip?”

  “Fine. How was your night, enjoy your time alone?”

  “Yeah, I guess,” I shrugged, then quickly took Dani downstairs into her room for a few games of Candyland.

  The rest of the evening I avoided Levi, terrified that he’d see the thrill of passion hidden just behind my eyes. I stayed silent to conceal the thick layer of lies on my tongue. At bedtime I made my nightly wall of pillows between us, wiggled in my ear buds, and clicked play on “C.J’s wooby”—a playlist of dreary songs that could make me cry or put me to sleep.

  I felt Levi crawl into bed on the other side of the wall and I knew it would only be a matter of time before he created a fissure in my defensive barrier. I could feel his frustration seeping through the pillow wall then I felt the first unwelcome touch. He gently slid his hands over my skin then rocked me, trying to wake me. I groaned, pretending to be in a deep and grumpy sleep.

  Levi punched the bed with his fists, enraged by yet another rejection. Then stormed out of our room mumbling something like, “God! You never want to be with me. You fucking hate me!”

  I didn’t react, I played dead. He was right. I didn’t want to be with him, not sexually or otherwise, and I was making both of us miserable. He didn’t deserve a cheating, abusive, neglectful wife, but as hard as I tried, I couldn’t be anything but those things for him.

  My continual rejection must have been devastating to his self-esteem and I felt terrible for the anguish I caused him, but I couldn’t change. I couldn’t force myself to love him and desire him like a wife should love and desire her husband. I couldn’t force myself to overflow with respect for him where there was only an empty well.

  ***

  Sunday

  When is he going to contact me? Am I supposed to contact him? How does this affair thing work? Do I get a divorce right away? How will I afford to live on my own? Who will get the house? Will I have to pay Levi? What about Dani?

  Within a few hours, I drove myself nuts asking what-if questions that could not be answered. In an attempt to clear my head, I walked until my back couldn’t hold me upright any longer. With Bodi by my side, I stayed on the bike path near main roads hoping that by some miraculous chance Grant would drive by and see me, so we could talk.

  I didn’t hear from Grant on Sunday and the frightening prospect that maybe, just maybe he’d changed his mind, hit me like a tightly packed snowball to the face. I cried in bed that night.

  Monday

  It was Monday, and to get to Monday I had to go through agonizing Sunday and he still hadn’t contacted me. We didn’t have an excuse to see each other, or call each other. I had to talk to him, I had to see him, I could hardly breathe. I was obsessed at a whole new level of mentally ill. I’d become that crazy-girlfriend-stalker that was convinced it would be okay to show up at his work, or wait outside his house for him to come home. I mean, after all, I had earned those privileges after what we’d done, right?

  After two irrational and compulsive days I’d already driven myself berserk, so I made a decision, a conviction really, so I wouldn’t have to contemplate whether or not I should contact him.

  Since I was not thinking clearly or rationally, I would not contact him. If the things he said to me were true, then he would find a way to me.

  Tuesday

  It was Tuesday! And to get to Tuesday, I had already gone through agonizing Sunday and discombobulated Monday. Drinking Rex Goliath Syrah at three o’clock on a Tuesday was not something I normally did, but on this particular Tuesday it seemed like a perfectly acceptable thing to do.

  As I was waiting for a white Owl to fly through my window and deliver my secret letter from my mister, I sat at the dinner table with my laptop and Rex. I decided to Google him but I found nothing. Nothing. It was like he didn’t even exist. Then I Googled my own unpopular self and found a dozen links—not one of them important or exciting, but at least I existed. Why was he a cyber ghost? I wondered. And, When IS HE Going TO Contact ME!

  Wednesday

  By Wednesday at nine o’clock p.m., I was nearly water boarding myself with Cabernet. Dani was in bed, and Levi lay comatose on the couch downstairs. With my arms draped over the tall mahogany kitchen table and my cheek squished against the cool wood, I over-dramatically felt sorry for myself, moaning and rolling my eyes ad nauseam.

  When IS HE Going TO Call ME!

  Since I couldn’t tell or talk to anyone about my quandary, pent up frustration and impatience manifested itself in the form of over-exaggerated body movements and odd compulsive dance moves in the kitchen.

  I checked my e-mail for the fourteenth time in three hours.

  That’s when I
saw it! Holy shit it’s him! It’s him!

  To: summerscj2256@gmail.com

  From: grant@spyonyou.com

  I opened the e-mail that had arrived from heaven. With nothing in the subject line it read…

  Dear C.J.,

  I am wondering if you sell gift certificates? I would like to get my mom some private sessions with you for her birthday. Maybe pilates or yoga personal training? Let me know what you have available, you can e-mail me or call me on my cell phone 212-555-0975.

  Thank you!

  Grant

  I took a very long pull straight from the narrow opening of the wine bottle, read it again, took another swig, then hit reply. I typed “I spy you” in the subject line.

  Dear Grant,

  I would love to have your mom as a client. Yes, I do have gift certificates available. I will call you on Saturday so we can discuss.

  Looking forward to it, thank you,

  C.J.

  He replied to my e-mail that night but took “I spy you” out of the subject line.

  C.J.

  That would be great, I’ll keep my phone on me. Call when you get freed up.

  Grant

  From that Wednesday night through Saturday morning I lapsed into a state of transient global amnesia. I remember nothing. It was like my mind had left the country on sabbatical. When I woke up on Saturday morning I was four pounds lighter, couldn’t remember where I had been, and was miraculously, pain free.

  Saturday

  I circled the Target parking lot like a dog sniffing for the perfect spot to do my deed. Heat blasted through the dashboard slots, drying my eyes and mouth and as I pulled out my phone, pangs of anxiety swirled in my stomach. My heart raced like a champion thoroughbred as I scrolled through my contacts.

  Grant E. Just the sight of his name in my palm made me sweat.

  He answered on the second ring. “Hello, this is Grant.” He sounded scrumptious.

  “Hi, it’s me.”

  “What are you doing?” he asked in an all-business voice that was unfamiliar and aloof and I didn’t like it.