Fight For It

by Jessie Harper

  And today is Friday so not only is it my day off, but it's my day to see Julia. I shouldn't be this excited. This hour with her is becoming the highlight of my week even though I would never admit that. Especially to my sisters who have been relentless about my "friendship" with Julia. It amazes me that the word "friend" can be so misused in my conversations with them. And that I still can't seem to convince them there really isn't anything else going on between us. Maybe I can eventually convince myself too if I keep saying it enough. Still, it feels like all's right with the world.

  But a few steps more and I'm face-to-face with the worst mood killer ever. In front of me in the parking lot leaning against a shiny silver Range Rover is my ex-wife.

  When she sees me she gives a little wave. She's got her cell phone out, probably from trying to reach me a few seconds ago, and two disposable coffee cups positioned on the hood of the car. I slow down to a walk but there's no way to avoid Abbey other than turning around and running the other direction. I consider this, but I'm here to open the gym and get ready for Julia so fleeing the scene isn't an option. And Abbey's positioned herself directly in front of the door, her new car angled to take up two parking spaces. She reaches for the cups and motions for me to come over. I advance warily because not only do I know she might bite, I'm pretty sure that's the only reason she's here.

  "I brought coffee," Abbey calls out and waves one of the cups at me. She's wearing her ridiculous oversized sunglasses and one of her yoga outfits. My brain shoots straight to Julia and the way her calves flex when she leans into a punch. "I tried to call but you didn't pick up."

  "I was running."

  "I figured. I tried to call before. Did you get my messages?" Abbey's tilting her head, questioning me. I can't see behind her glasses to get a good look at her eyes. She doesn't sound angry, but I'm hesitant.

  "I got them." I keep my voice flat. I just never responded. If she wasn't angry before she will be now. "What do you want? If this is about the gym you should send whatever you need to say in an email."

  "I wanted to talk to you in person." She's still holding the coffee cup out to me and she shoves it closer as she speaks. "Take this."

  Abbey has never brought me coffee, not even when we were married. I eye the cup and her long fingers wrapped around it. Her nails are perfectly manicured, the dark polish contrasting with the white of the cup. I anticipate some sort of trick like those electric buzzers they used to advertise in the back of MAD Magazine. Maybe she's waiting for me to get close enough to throw the scalding liquid at me. With our history I wouldn't put anything past her.

  Best case scenario, she’s spit in it.

  "Here. A peace offering," Abbey says as she all but forces the cup into my hand. "I thought I should apologize for the way I acted when I came to see you about the car."

  I’m shocked. Abbey never apologizes. Not for maxing out the credit cards or forgetting to pick up the dry cleaning. Not for sleeping with someone else or ruining my life.

  "I shouldn't have barged in and been so rude to you," she continues, picking up her own cup and taking a sip. The coffee burns her lips and she pulls back with a hiss. "I should've blown on that first, I guess." Her tongue slips out to soothe the angry red spot and I notice her lips seem thin compared with the lushness of Julia's mouth. Everything about Abbey seems diminished when I think about her next to Julia. Which I'm sure my sisters would remind me isn't a very friendly way to think about either of them.

  "Okay." There's no way I'm going to tell Abbey everything's alright or that I forgive her. She's right that she was rude, but I don't trust this apology. Don't trust her coffee either. There's nothing for free where Abbey is concerned.

  "So, can I come in? Can we talk for a while?" Abbey's moving toward the door, expecting me to unlock it and usher her in.

  "No." I don't move.

  "No?" She laughs. We both know she's got her own key, but she doesn't threaten to use it. "Seriously? You're going to make me stand out in the parking lot to drink my coffee?"

  "You could drink it in your car. I bet it has cup holders and everything."

  "Do you like the Range Rover? We could go for a ride. It still has that new car smell and you should hear the sound system. You'd like it."

  "No thanks." Right now the only thing I'd like is for her to leave. "I need to get inside and get organized."

  "I could come in with you." Abbey puts her hand on my forearm. "I could help."

  I pull my arm back like I've been burned. I can feel the places where her fingers settled against my skin and I want nothing more than to wipe the sensation away. "I don't need any help. You said what you wanted to say, right? So you can go."

  Abbey's mouth pulls into a frown. "I wanted to apologize, but I also wanted to see if we could, I don't know, bury the hatchet, maybe? Be friends?"

  I grunt. Normally the only hatchet that Abbey would like to bury would end up between my shoulder blades. "Friends?" I want to laugh. "Why would we be friends?"

  "We were best friends, remember that? We still have this business to run together. We could talk about the place you want me to look at. Discuss that second location. And I've missed so much lately in your life. I've missed you." She's giving me the most sincere smile she can manage, one that makes the whole lower half of her face into a saccharine display most people would believe. Not me. I doubt that Abbey's missed anything other than the rush she gets from tormenting me. And she's been more than happy to let things proceed without her for a while now. So why's she standing out in the parking lot trying to worm her way back into my life?

  Julia. Because of Julia.

  "You can email me to set up a time to talk business, but we can’t be friends." I sound like an eight-year-old, but I don't even care. If acting like we're on the playground will make Abbey get in her fancy new car and drive away then I'm more than happy to keep doing it. "So, you can leave."

  "Give me a break, Zach. I'm trying to be nice here. You could meet me halfway."

  "Meet you halfway? Why? We're divorced, Abbey, and it wasn't the kind of divorce that makes friends." I'm not swearing at her—I’m barely even yelling—but she reacts as if I've hit her. She sputters and slams her coffee down on the hood of the car. The plastic top comes loose from the cup and sugary brown liquid streams down the side to the tire. Abbey hardly notices as she spins back toward me.

  "I was hoping you'd be able to be a grown up for once, but obviously I gave you too much credit." She reaches for the door handle, pausing only long enough to hurl a few more insults at me. "I tried, but as usual, you can't see an opportunity unless it punches you in the face. You're welcome for the coffee. Not that you said thank you." She slams the door and puts her car in reverse, her own coffee sliding off the hood and onto the pavement. I wait until I see her turn the corner at the stop sign before I bend down to pick up her cup. As soon as I get the door open and I'm inside the studio, I exhale and immediately toss the coffee Abbey gave me into the nearest trash can.

  17

  Julia

  My hands are shaking as I dial the number, but I force myself to hit the call button and wait through the three agonizing rings. When David picks up he's cheerful as always, making me dread what I am about to ask. "Hey, hey. Look who's finally giving Uncle David a call. Those nephews of mine driving you crazy?"

  I don't waste time with small talk, afraid I’ll lose my nerve. "Tell me about Kelly."

  Silence.

  It tells me everything I need to know. I hear David suck in sharply before letting the air back out in a long sigh. I can feel the tears welling up, but I manage not to make a sound.

  "What do you want to know?"

  "Everything."

  "It would kill him to know that you ever found out about this."

  "Lucky for him he's already dead." I want to laugh, but I shake my head instead. Everything I've been holding onto is a lie, a complete fabrication of the perfect marriage, the perfect little nuclear family. "I want you to tell me ev
erything you know."

  "I don't think you really want that, Jules. Trust me, you don't. I think it would be better to just let it go. He's gone and you don't want this stuff to be the thing you have rattling around in your head."

  "Maybe not, but I think he owes me the truth, don't you? He's not here to give it, but I'll be damned if I'm going to spend another day grieving for someone I didn't even know at all." Hot tears are streaming down my face now and I wipe my nose on my sleeve. This is only the beginning, of course, and after all the tears I've cried, all the sorrow and hurt of losing Paul and trying to hold it together for the boys, this feels like the most unfair part of all. But I can't back down now, not now that I know this secret affair wasn't so secret. David knows and most likely he isn't the only one. How many people have spent time holding my hand, listening to me mourn my perfect husband all the while knowing what he had been up to?

  "Just so you know, I told him to end it. I did. I told him it wasn't worth what he would lose, what he was risking. It was over. He was in love with you. He wanted you and the boys, not some twenty-two-year-old."

  "Twenty-two?" I croak, realizing that my voice is becoming angrier by the second. "She was twenty-two?" At least she was legal drinking age and not the babysitter.

  I can tell that David is measuring his words carefully. He would rather keep me in the dark than give out too many details. But I'm not letting him off that easy. I've been wasting time on a cheater and he's let me.

  "How did you find out?" he asks, and I know that I can't tell him. When he realizes how much I actually know he'll clam up and I'll never get to the bottom of things. He'll make it sound like less than I know it was and I need to know the unvarnished truth. I need to know what the reality of the last few years has been.

  "It doesn't matter how I found out. The point is I know and now that I know, I need you to tell me what was really going on. You owe me that, David."

  He's silent on the other end of the line.

  "Where did they meet?"

  "She's the receptionist at the Houston office."

  The pieces begin to slide into place. Paul had spent considerable time working out of Houston and now I know why. I'd been sorry he had missed Noah's soccer games and Charlie's preschool picnic. He'd seemed to regret the weekends away. Fake, fake, fake. All fake.

  "How long?"

  "How long?" David doesn't seem to understand the question.

  "How long had you known? How long, David? Six months? A year? How long did you know my supposedly perfect husband was sneaking off to Houston to fuck the receptionist?" I'm yelling now and even if it's at the wrong person, it feels good to raise my voice. It feels good to get some of this emotion out.

  I wait for what seems like an eternity before David answers. "We shouldn't be talking about this over the phone. I can get in the car now and be at your place before dinner. We can talk about this then, in person. I can tell you what I know and you can calm down. It will give you time to process a little."

  And give him time to figure out how to tell me the rest. Give him time to find a way to sugar coat things and make his brother all shiny and heroic again.

  "I can't let you do that. I don't need to calm down. I need to know what happened. I need to know how much of my marriage was real and how much was all in my head. I need to know if this was the only woman. You need to tell me." I'm surprised at how reasonable I sound. The tears have stopped and in their place is something much colder, much harder.

  I can almost hear the wheels turning on the other end of the phone. I know that while David might not have the whole story, he has more than enough to paint me a picture. He sighs again and then gives in. "A year. I found out about it when I surprised him in Houston one weekend after Mom and Dad's anniversary party."

  I do some mental calculations in my head, trying to place the date on the calendar.

  "I thought he would like having someone to hang out with after all the complaining he had done about his work travel. I just flew to Houston and showed up unannounced. He was surprised, obviously."

  Obviously. I find myself secretly relieved that I had never planned the same sort of Houston surprise. Of course, then I would have had the chance to confront Paul myself instead of putting it all together like some sort of ill-equipped Magnum P.I. Then I wouldn't have this pang of regret or the feeling that I want to kill my already dead husband.

  "You didn't think I might have wanted to know this information? You didn't think..." I let the rest of my thought dangle there. I know what David was thinking. He was thinking that Paul was his brother; his first loyalty had been to him, not me. He was most likely thinking that now as he tried to salvage what was left of my memories of a loving husband and father and keep them from being replaced by everything I was imagining Paul had been doing to some nubile young receptionist. "God, David. This is completely insane. How could I not have realized this was happening? How could Paul have done this?" I massage my temples, feeling one gigantic headache coming on.

  "I'm so sorry, Julia. I never wanted you to know. He was supposedly ending it. Maybe he did. And then he had the heart attack and I thought maybe you would never, ever find out."

  I know David is holding back. He knows more than he's telling me—more than he will ever willingly tell me about his brother's extracurricular activities. But I can also sense that even telling me this much hurts. He loved his brother and shouldn't be the one who has to deal with the fallout from Paul's mistakes. And I'm sure there is a part of him that thought closing his eyes and wishing it away might just work. I'd considered trying that myself.

  But it's time to deal with the facts. I loved Paul and he loved me, until he didn't or until he loved me less. And I need to get off the phone because I am about to let my brother-in-law get all the fury that should have been directed at his older brother.

  "Dave, I have to go."

  "Jules, he would never have wanted to hurt you, you have to know that."

  "But he did, David. He has. He ruined everything and I didn't even know. How's that for a hilarious joke? I've been angry at the universe when I could have just been recognizing it had done me a favor."

  "That's pretty harsh, don't you think?" David genuinely sounds horrified and I’m a little horrified myself that I've said that out loud.

  "Look, I need time to deal with this on my own. I'll call you later once I feel less like strangling you."

  "Understood. I am sorry, Julia. I would have taken this to the grave. I would walk over glass before I would hurt you or the boys. I thought I was protecting you. I was trying to, at least."

  "I know." I'm whispering now. Knowing that David has been carrying around this secret for Paul is making me feel sick. "I'll call if I need you."

  "Whenever. You know that, right?"

  "Right. Goodbye, David."

  I hang up and head straight for the fridge. I pop the cork on a cold bottle of sauvignon blanc and pour myself the biggest glass in history.

  I am two glasses in before I remember it's Friday and I have my standing appointment with Zach at the gym. Now I’m definitely off-balance and I'm going to be late. I run upstairs and change into my workout gear on autopilot, lacing up my shoes and pulling my hair back in a tight ponytail. It isn't until I'm in the car that I think about canceling. It probably isn't the best idea to be with other people right now and wine before exercising seems like something that should be avoided. But I keep driving, all of the horrible images of Paul and his girlfriend running through my head.

  She was twenty-two so she was probably perfect—no stretch marks from two pregnancies, no worry lines starting to show on her face. I imagine her like a supermodel with shiny hair and blazing white teeth. Every secret self-conscious fear about my body or my personality becomes fodder for this nightmarish daydream. And then an even worse thought hits me: What if she isn't beautiful at all? Would that make things better or worse? Would it be better if she had plenty of flaws for me to pick apart?

  I imag
ine plenty of dirty, dirty sex. I convince myself that this Kelly was extremely limber, acrobatic even. I hate her. I hate him. Was he taking her out in public? Was he buying her things? Oh God, was he wearing a condom? Please, please, please do not add an STD onto this already horrible situation. Did she love him? Did he love her?

  I come in on two wheels to the parking lot. I slam the door hard once I'm out of the car and then open it again just to be able to slam it one more time. A customer coming out of the florist next door gives me a look. I shoot daggers right back at him, not even concerned about how adolescent my behavior must look. Today is not a good day to mess with me; I have apparently been shot right back to middle school. Rejected by a boy and I become thirteen years old. But this isn't just some simple rejection, I remind myself. This is my husband having an affair. Or was my husband having an affair. And I'm not even sure what to do with my fury.

  Once I pull the door open to the studio, I know that this was a horrible idea. The lights are off in the front since Friday isn't technically a regular workday for Zach. He's coming in on his day off to work with me, something that brings a fresh wave of guilt. There's no way I'm backing out of our appointment now. He's leaning against the back wall and he looks up when he hears the door open, a slow smile spreading over his face.

  "Hey," he calls out, "I thought maybe you weren't going to show. I was thinking..." He trails off, the smile slowly disappearing. "Are you okay? You look..."