by Auden Dar
In my most serious tone, I ask, “Look at me, please.”
Andrew is surprised by my tone.
I exhale. “Andrew, I’m at a place I never thought I would be.” I exhale again. “Waiting for something that obviously will never happen.”
“For goodness sake, I just got home. What are you talking about?” He remains planted a few feet away. I pat the space next to me, but he doesn’t make any effort to move.
“I’m talking about us,” I say as I gesture my hands, pointing back and forth between us.
“What do you mean ‘about us’?” And now he’s mocking me, using his fingers to make the quotation marks.
I can do this. If I don’t do something soon, there won’t be anything to fix. As I peer at Andrew, he’s not even interested in what I have to say. Rather than sit next to me, he turns his back, walking away from a conversation that has barely started. I am alone even when I am with him. From where I am seated, it’s obvious he’s heading to a place where he can shut himself away from me … his haven, his home office. Rather than let him off the hook, which is something I always do, I follow him, with my heels as a soundtrack.
I catch up to my fiancé when he is about to close his office door. Standing between the door and Andrew, he turns around, annoyed. “What are you doing, Lina? I don’t have time for this nonsense. I have work to do. I’ve spent all morning dealing with students. My papers need to be attended to.”
How about me, Andrew? I need to be attended to.
I shut my eyes briefly and try to find the courage. Opening them, I see there is some light that passes through the hallway. Rather than look at him, I stare at the white door. The door reminds me of my heart. It has been an open door to Andrew for years. And for the first time since our first kiss, I might close it.
“Please, I just need a few minutes of your time.” My voice quivers.
Who am I?
Have I become one of his college students?
“All right, just give me a few minutes to organize this.” I turn my head and stare at Andrew. What? What the hell is he doing? As I wait for him to ‘organize’ his desk, I try to formulate my thoughts. Can I hold on to something that may not be there anymore? Could I take something that’s been broken for so long and fix it? Is there any hope for us?
Finally, he snaps his fingers, interrupting my thoughts. “Lina, I’m listening. What has gotten into you? You’ve been so out of sorts. You’re reading way too many romance novels. Wait. Are you reading … what’s that term? Mommy Porn?” God, Andrew, if you only knew the kind of porn I’m into. He pauses and raises his right hand to stop me. “Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. I don’t understand what happened last night? It wasn’t Wednesday night. Couldn’t you tell that I was deep into my Malcolm Gladwell book? Really, what has gotten into you?”
I wanted you to want me the way you used to, I think to myself.
I could apologize, or I could just be honest with him. I am a woman with real, desperate physical needs. I am a woman who longs for a man to make love to her more than once a week and to be fucked into oblivion once in a while. I want to make love without having to schedule it. I want a man to tell me that he loves me every single minute of the day. Okay, that might be too much. But I want a man to profess his love daily, physically and verbally. I want a man who makes me feel like I’m the reason he’s living, and I’m the reason he needs to breathe. And corny as this may sound, I would love for him to call me ‘baby’ at least once, just once in this lifetime.
Most of all, I have this intense need for Andrew to want to be with me. I long for him to listen to me, to talk to me, to be with me.
As I consider all these revelations, I don’t have the guts to tell him how I feel. I’m a coward. I’m afraid of losing the man I gave my heart to years ago. And most of all, I need to be honest with myself. The biggest truth is, I wanted another man last night. If Andrew were to fight for me passionately, my obsession with Julian would surely disappear. Right? Instead, I apologize as I usually do.
“I’m sorry, Andrew. I don’t know what came over me.”
“Well, you know how I feel about sex. There’s always a time and place for that and last night wasn’t the right time. I thought you were happy with our Wednesday night routine. It’s perfect for where we are in our lives. We’re older now and we have more things to concern ourselves with.” Umm. I don’t agree with that. At. All. I glare at him. I still can’t believe he’s the man who used to hunger for my touch. He was the man who used to wake me up in the middle of the night with soft kisses, desperate to make love to me. And although we have always had sex in bed and in the same missionary style position, we nevertheless had sex … lots of it … years ago.
I try not to think about the incident from a few weeks ago. The night when I simply suggested we do something different. I wanted to give him a blowjob. A blowjob. It’s not like I asked Andrew to perform acrobatic maneuvers in bed. Although, with his daily yoga exercises, I’ve no doubt he would be able to perform them without any problems.
My fiancé doesn’t even look at me. His head is buried among his papers and I’ve become a nuisance in Andrew Nielsen’s world. How could he possibly believe that I’m happy with having scheduled sex once a week? I should have shot down that idea a long time ago. I’m disappointed, hurt, and without consideration, I blurt out, “Andrew, I’m going back to New York. I need some time away. I don’t know what’s happening between us but I need to know if you still love me.”
He finally places the paper he’s reading down. He doesn’t even get up from his dark brown office chair but rather just spins it around. After taking his eyeglasses off, our eyes finally meet. Even when he makes me feel unloved, I still love him. Even when he makes me feel neglected, I still want his company. I’ve become someone I don’t know anymore. Rubbing his temples, he says, “Don’t be silly. You’re just getting your period. Of course, I love you. You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved. I loved you when I was a teenager, and I’ll love you when I am a hundred years old. I can’t imagine ever loving another woman. Would I be here listening to this nonsense if I didn’t?”
“Andrew, how could you even think this conversation is nonsense? We’ve somehow lost something in our relationship, and I’m trying. I am here giving you my all. Is this why you haven’t married me? Do you even want to marry me anymore?” I’m afraid of the answer but need to hear the words so desperately.
“Well, things got out of hand. With my tenure and my book. Unfortunately, that book is taking longer to finish. And with my colleague on maternity leave, my work schedule has been more demanding.” He pauses. “It’s been difficult to plan a wedding.”
It’s more than just planning a wedding.
“I’ve never wanted a big wedding. I don’t even want a wedding. I told you city hall was fine. Don’t you get it? I just want you.” My eyes remain focused solely on him, and a pang hits me. I just want you. I don’t know if that’s true anymore.
Do I want to marry this man even though I have been fantasizing about another man?
Julian is just a fantasy. Andrew is real. He is the man who I have loved for so long.
He sounds exasperated when he utters, “I know, I know.” Rising from his seat, and rather than try to comfort me, he walks over to his brown, tattered briefcase that can easily date back to the 1960’s. What is he doing? Finally opening it, his attention is spent on searching for something obviously much more important than our relationship. With his eyes still focused on the contents of his briefcase, he sighs. “Do you really need to find drama in what we have?”
To Andrew, I have become an afternoon soap opera.
How do I respond to that when anger along with my hurt escalates? Clenching my fists, I am not a violent woman, but that may change. Glancing up and looking directly at my fists, Andrew shakes his head. I finally release my fists and cross my arms, hoping to defend what I know will break my heart. I wait and wait for the pain. The truth will
inevitably bring heartbreak. Andrew remains planted in front of me, only a few feet away before he makes his confession. “We don’t need to get married. I see no reason we should change anything. Why can’t we just leave it as it is? We’re happy with our lives. It’s crazy right now, but in a few months, we’ll have more time together. We can’t have kids and I don’t want to adopt. What’s the point?” he asks as if it’s not the most painful conversation we’ve ever had in our almost sixteen years together.
“What’s the point? What’s the point, Andrew?” I slowly walk backward.
Really, Lina, what is the point?
I stare at the man I have loved all my life a moment longer, wondering if he’s going to offer me anything. A word. A sign. Any sort of acknowledgment that he has broken my heart.
My eyes moisten. Seconds seem like an eternity when you’re waiting for something that will not come. That will never come.
He’s not going to reply, I finally admit to myself. I turn and make my ineffective exit. I wanted an answer, and I got a handful. Rather than stop me, Andrew returns to his tattered briefcase as I slam the door.
I head to our master bedroom and plop myself on our sad, barely used bed. I survey the room, and although I have lived here for so many years, it still doesn’t feel like home. I turn to my nightstand and pick up the framed photo of me with my dad. What would he tell me if here were here?
Run, Lina, run as fast as you can.
I thought I would be a mess right now, crying. And even though my eyes are moist, I’m unable to form any tears. I close my eyes and wait for the tears to flow but … nothing. Sadness sweeps over me, but at the same time, I’m relieved the conversation with Andrew finally happened. The clock at the far end of the room reads 1:13 p.m. Usually, I would make my fiancé lunch but fuck him. My body doesn’t have the energy to do anything but leave this house. Go. Go. Go. My aching heart screams.
Anyone could see the writing on the wall a long time ago. I had just refused to read it. Why stay with a man who, after all these years, no longer wants to marry me? He doesn’t even want kids anymore. He doesn’t even want to fuck me. Am I a fool? Am I a fool who stays even after realizing that nothing is going to change?
If Andrew were cheating on me, then I would know where to begin. I could scream, throw things at him, ask him if he’s in love with the bitch, whatever. I would actually prefer if he were doing the nasty with someone else. That would explain his lack of interest in our sexual relationship. But the fact that I know deep in my heart Andrew would never cheat on me makes the situation more difficult.
No one is driving a wedge between us but us.
He says it’ll get better in a few months. In spite of everything, I stay with Andrew for all the wrong reasons. I stay for the past we shared and not the present state of our relationship. I love him and always will, but deep down, I need to accept that it’s simply not enough. I want more than this. I deserve more than what Andrew has been giving me these past few years. I’m tired of feeling neglected and a nuisance. I can always adopt a child on my own.
Finally rising from my bed, I head to the tiny walk-in closet. Turning on the light switch, there’s not much that I need. I make my way to the far corner of the closet and a black garment bag taunts me. I exhale and unzip the bag. My beautiful Monique Lhuillier tulle and organza wedding gown that I purchased several years ago stares at me. I guess I won’t need this anymore. I was stupid to purchase a wedding dress when I didn’t even have an engagement ring. After zipping the garment bag, I search the closet for items that I do need.
Retrieving the black carry-on luggage along with some dresses, I search for important documents in our safe. I don’t have a plan except I intend on leaving Andrew. Leaving this life. After pulling up the Lyft app, I drag my luggage, a computer backpack, and a Prada bag and head toward Andrew’s office. I’ll make arrangements for everything else once I return to New York.
My packed belongings remain by his office door. I pause and take a deep breath before knocking loudly. I’m usually a ball of nerves every time I have to go into his haven. But at this moment, there’s strength in me I forgot existed.
“Yes, Lina. Is lunch ready?” he asks without looking up. He’s asking me about lunch after having a heated argument? He’s so clueless as to how much he’s crushed me. I’ve already cast this hurt aside, and slow anger begins to surface.
“No,” I say firmly.
“What is it now?” There’s no mistaking the annoyance in his voice. It takes everything in me not to slap his disinterested face. Instead, I remain calm.
Breathe, Lina. Breathe.
“Andrew, you’ve pushed me too far. You’ve had me for so long you don’t want me anymore. I’m worried that we’ll never be more than this. I don’t want to stay here and wait for this to get better. I’m leaving for New York in a few minutes. I don’t know when I’ll be back or …” Before I can finish my sentence, Andrew rises from his chair, and for the first time in a long time, our eyes meet without hesitation.
He saunters my way as if he has all the time in the world. It takes forever for him to stand only a few inches away from me. Towering over me, I pray he’ll ask me to stay.
Fight for me, Andrew.
Beg me to stay.
Taking my hands in his, there is resignation in his voice. “Lina, I love you, but for the life of me, you need to stop this. I have so much on my plate. Go to New York. Do what you need to do.”
What?
Andrew is not fighting for me. He’s not fighting for us.
Do what I need to do.
It hurts to know I’ve made my decision: I’m leaving him.
I’m so over this sad excuse of a relationship. I’m not going to wait months for this to turn around. I’m not going to beg for his affection. I refuse to feel neglected.
“I’m leaving you,” I say firmly, wondering if he understands the consequences of his actions or rather lack of.
“I know.”
“No, Andrew. I. Am. Leaving. You.”
“I. Know.” He kisses me on the cheek. “I gave you my heart years ago.”
When did you decide to take it back?
I remain silent, trying to formulate words. Words I won’t ever regret saying.
Andrew doesn’t seem affected at all and continues, “I’ll always be here for you. But do what you need to do.” Wow. He kisses my forehead tenderly as if I were a child getting ready for a play date. “There’s no one else for me. You know that, Lina. I really do love you. But I know you want to leave. I can’t make you stay if you’re unhappy, and I don’t know what else to do.” He sighs again. “I’ll let you go and think about what you want. Be safe. Let me know that you have reached New York safely.”
What. The. Fuck?
I just told him that I’m leaving him and he’s … fine … absolutely fine … actually relieved. Oh, my God! He might as well have just pushed me out the door. Before I head out, I turn around once more and notice that Andrew is already seated in his chair, hunched forward and going through papers that are far more important than our relationship.
The hurt sears right through me.
How could he be so nonchalant?
How could he not be hurt?
How could he not have begged me to stay?
How could he not have fought for me?
Am I just not worth it?
Was our relationship that insignificant?
I feel like I’ve just fallen off a cliff when I realize that it’s over. Something that had been an integral part of me for sixteen years is gone.
I walk away from my now former fiancé, schlepping over to the mirror in the living room. “Don’t you know who I am?” I ask the reflection staring back at me. I’ve invested too much into my relationship with Andrew to feel useless … unwanted. The person who stares back at me is no longer the woman I used to be or ever want to be. I used to be proud of the woman in the mirror. Now, all I see is sucker written on her forehead. I’m not going
to be her anymore. Andrew wants me to think about what I want.
What exactly do I want?
Not this life.
While waiting for my Lyft ride, I scan my house again and realize I’ve left the only photo that’s dear to me. I run through the silent hallways, my wedge heels clicking, and open the door to the master bedroom. The framed photo stands on the nightstand. Taking it out of the frame, I stare at it for a few beating seconds before placing it in my purse.
Through it all, heartache sits heavy in my chest.
LAX is less than twenty minutes away, but with traffic it’s a bitch. It takes almost an hour to get there. I call Roger to let him know that I’m on my way to the airport.
“What’s going on, sweetheart?” he asks.
With hesitation, I admit, “I left Andrew.”
I hear him sigh on the other line. “Sweetheart, are you okay? How can I help?”
“I’m trying to process it all. I can’t believe I finally left him.”
He doesn’t immediately respond. “I don’t want to seem heartless but it was about time. What are you going to do now?”
“You don’t sound surprised at all.”
“Sweetheart, this was bound to happen. Andrew is a good guy, and he loves you. But …” He sounds unapologetic. “You haven’t been yourself in a long time. You can’t lead an unhappy life because of a promise you made to him years ago.”
“It’s hard to hear that. I don’t know what I’m doing except leaving for JFK. When will you be returning home?”
“It’s going to be a while. After Nashville, I’ll be heading to Austin for a conference and then back to London. I can try to cancel something.”
Guilt washes over me because my best friend would move heaven and earth to help me get through any hardship.
“I’m a big girl. I’ll be fine. Time alone will be good. Patti will be returning next week, so I’ll be a tourist in a city I grew up in. I want to be the same girl I used to be. I’ll see you before you know it.” Although I have just left the man I have been with for more than a decade, I’m not shaking and I’m not crying. I don’t feel like jumping off a roof. I am actually … fine.
