by M. Mabie
In fact, I drank my lunch. My day off turned into my noon-time drunk and afternoon nap.
I had to talk to her, but I needed a little time. I needed to know the truth.
Here we go again.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
“Here we go again,” I said sarcastically, as Reggie told me, for the millionth time, he and Nora were only ever just friends.
“Don’t you have work to do? How long is your lunch break?” he asked steering the topic away from himself.
“Don’t change the subject, Reggie. I liked her. Why don’t you ask her out?”
“I told you she moved. I don’t even see her anymore. Why don’t you drop it?” He grew annoyed with me every time I wanted to talk about Nora and him.
I’d never seen my brother like that with a woman. The way he looked at her and her at him. Their chemistry, from what little I saw, was reminiscent of Casey and me. I wanted that for him. That connection. That spark.
“You said you saw her. You brought it up.”
“She was with someone. Besides, I have a date tonight,” he told me in a clipped tone that implied the discussion was almost closed.
My call waiting beeped and it was Grant, which was unusual. He rarely called before everything fell out, why would he call now?
“Hey Reggie, Grant’s on the other line. I better answer it.”
“Let it go to voicemail. Did you give him the papers yet?”
“No, but I’ve been meaning to. I’m procrastinating,” I answered truthfully, as I continually clicked the retractable button at the top of my pen.
“What does lover-boy think of that?” Lover-boy? That kind of had a nice ring to it, a much better nickname than the robot. I smiled.
“Lover-boy understands.” The line beeped again. “I’ll call you later. Love you.”
“Okay. I love you, too.” I switched over to Grant’s call. “Hello.”
“Hi.”
“Hi,” I said, even though I’d already said hello. I was still dumbfounded and didn’t know what to say.
“Do you have a minute?” Grant asked. There was no distress in his voice and I wished he’d just left a message instead. I didn’t want to talk to him.
Something had changed in me.
Maybe it was having everything out in the open with my family. It might have been the talks I’d had with Dr. Rex. I wasn’t sure, but where my feelings were always conflicted in the past—where I’d felt obligated to Grant—I didn’t feel that anymore.
Sure, he looked like a fool at Micah and Cory’s wedding, but so had I. It had been dirty laundry night at HLS. Still, it wasn’t like he’d done anything majorly wrong. Even when I’d gone to the house, other than getting a little upset—which was understandable—he didn’t yell and scream at me as much as I’d felt I’d deserved at the time.
Yet, there he was calling and I was answering. And it was sad I didn’t care to talk to him anymore, but at the same time I felt like I owed it to him—and myself—to not hide.
“Sure. What’s up?” I said, as nonchalantly as I could, while my heart thumped powerfully in my chest. I sat at my desk and began doodling mindlessly to stave off the anxiety blooming in my stomach.
Was he going to yell now?
Was he calling to let me have it?
I prepared for the worst.
“We need to get together and talk. Get some things settled.”
Things. I had things to settle with him, too. Things like a packet of divorce documents I needed him to sign. It wasn’t going to be easy or pleasant, but I had my eye on the goal. Casey.
“All right. I can come by the house later. Are you going to be there?”
“No. Let’s go out to dinner,” he amended.
I didn’t want to. I drew a breath and let it out slowly to compose myself. It didn’t fucking work, so I did it again. But breathing didn’t calm nerves. It just kept you alive.
Grant didn’t say anything. He simply waited for me to talk.
I yielded. “Where did you want to go?”
“We could go to Michael’s? It a little too cool to sit outside, but you like the food there.”
I liked the food there better when I enjoyed the company. My intuition told me nothing I ordered would taste right and it might never taste good there again.
Michael’s food. Another casualty.
“I don’t know, Grant. Maybe it would be best if I came over and we talked in private,” I said, even though I was certain he wouldn’t cause a scene. At least, the man I married wouldn’t. Who in the hell knew what the one I was divorcing would do?
“You can’t have dinner with me now, or something?” His tone was cold, but I absorbed the frigid bite. I reminded myself he was hurting.
I scrambled to smooth it over. “No, it isn’t that.”
“Are you angry at me for something? Last I checked, it was you who had an affair and didn’t come home.”
Wow.
Being in public wouldn’t be so bad, I decided.
He added, “It’s the least you could do, Blake. It’s just dinner.”
It was just dinner. Well, dinner with a side of divorce.
“What time do you want me to meet you at Michael’s?” I asked, hoping it was sooner than later. I wanted to get it over with and move the hell on.
“I have a showing this evening. Is five too early?”
Perfect.
“Nope, that’s fine with me. I’ll be there at five.”
I finished my work for the day, and since I was the last person in the building to leave, I went through the practice of closing up shop.
I shoved my arms into my coat and searched for my damn keys. I didn’t want to go, but the voice inside my head kept telling me, “You can do this. You’re almost there. Do it for Casey.”
And so I did.
I drove to Michael’s and I sat in the parking lot, until it was almost five on the dot. I said a silent prayer it would go well and I slipped the manila envelope into my bag. Then walked inside.
As predicted, it didn’t smell as good. Or maybe, it was that my appetite went straight home after work. When I approached the hostess I said, hopefully for the last time, “Kelly for two?”
She scanned the list in front of her and looked over her shoulder to confirm, that yes, he was already seated. Grant sat by the big windows which overlooked the water that was growing darker by the minute—just like my attitude.
I didn’t like the way he’d manipulated my emotions, regardless of his right to. The more I’d thought about it all afternoon, the more I should have stood up for myself.
“Right this way,” the hostess instructed and I followed her. After leading me to the table, I was left to seat myself, when she quickly pivoted and returned to her post.
Grant didn’t even bother to look up when I approached.
He wore a dark blue button-down shirt and dark gray trousers, looking much more together than the last time I saw him. That was an improvement.
“So you have a showing later?” I asked. Small talk would be my saving grace. I took my coat off and hung it on the back of my chair, taking a seat across from him at the table set for two. There was a candle lit in the center, and had it not been under those circumstances, it might have been romantic. But as it was, it annoyed me.
“Yeah, showing a condo. I already ordered some appetizers,” he said.
Everything felt forced and difficult, had it always been that way?
When the server arrived, I ordered water with lime; Grant ordered a rum and Coke. I noticed he had an empty one in front of him.
Maybe he was as nervous as me?
I fiddled with the table linen and began, “Grant, I owe you an apology.” I’d get the hard stuff out of the way. If he didn’t respond well to what I had to say, I’d leave. There was no point in waiting for dinner to lay it out there.
The waitress placed the beverages on the table and left without saying a word. The service was awful. I hadn’t noticed before.
> He leaned back and took a sip of his drink.
I continued, “I know what I’ve done to you is unforgivable and wrong. And I’m sorry I hurt you.”
His gray eyes met mine, but the Grant I knew was dim and hard to find inside of the stare. I’d done that. I’d caused that change to him and then my guilt covered everything within reach.
“Why did you do it?” he asked, running a hand over his face and around the back of his neck.
“I don’t know and I know that’s a crappy answer, but it’s the truth.”
“If you’d just tell me what it was that made you go to him, I can give it to you. I can be what you want, if you tell me how, Blake,” he negotiated. Did he really think it was that easy? Like I could rattle off a few things and everything would be fine?
“It isn’t like that. It isn’t something I can describe.”
“You’ve really hurt our marriage and you’ve broken my trust. How am I supposed to trust you now?”
I processed the question, but it was irrelevant. I didn’t want his trust. I wasn’t planning on repairing our marriage.
“Grant, I want a divorce.” I’d already told him at the house. It made me uncomfortable he didn’t acknowledge that was where I saw us headed. He pinched at the bridge of his nose and leaned back farther in his chair. It creaked under his weight and I felt like I was creaking too.
“Just like that? You’re giving up? Just like that?” he alleged, with a snap of his fingers.
“Not just like that. I’ve been trying for a long time. We aren’t what I want.”
“Well, what do you want? Let’s see if we can get you what you want, since your feelings are the only ones that matter here.”
I leaned in to speak quietly. “I didn’t say that. You know I’m not like that, I care about you.” My sweaty hands balled into fists in my lap. “I didn’t love you like I should have. I shouldn’t have married you,” I admitted softly. I didn’t want anyone to overhear our discussion. “Like I said, I care about you and I’m sorry about how I’ve treated you. I’m not proud of it.”
“Then why’d you do it?” he asked indignantly with his teeth clenched. His jaw ticked and his face lost all color.
“Because I love him. You know? I fought it. I fought for us, but it was wrong. When I met him, I felt all of these things I should have been feeling for you. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t expect it, Grant.”
“Well, I’m not just rolling over here. I want to see a couples therapist.”
My heart sank. I didn’t want that. At all. I just wanted out. Out of the conversation. Out of the restaurant. And out of my marriage.
“What? No.” I shook my head and looked out the window. “I don’t want to work on our marriage, Grant. I want out of it.”
“I never pegged you for such a quitter. It turns out I was wrong about a lot of things. But, Blake, I’m not throwing in the towel so easily.”
I reached into my purse to get the envelope. Thinking that if he saw it, saw I was serious enough to have the papers drawn up already, maybe he would relent. I placed it on the table and slid it to him.
“What are those?”
“I saw a lawyer. I’m not asking for anything and I’ll pay for all of it.”
He huffed a fake laugh. “What if I ask for things? What about what I want?” There was an edge in his voice, but it had changed into a more persuading sound when he suggested, “We can work this out. We’re just starting out. We just need some help, that’s all.”
“Help? Grant, I’ve been seeing Casey since before we were married. I’m in love with him.”
We sat there not saying anything when the appetizers arrived. Neither of us touching them or moving to eat. The space between us grew larger and emptier.
“If you want a divorce, then fine. But I want to work on our marriage. We’ll see a marriage counselor, if you still feel like that in a few months, then I’ll sign. But I’m not just giving up.”
Counseling? How much counseling did I need?
I wanted the divorce. I wanted it to happen quickly and with the least amount of resistance, but could I agree to counseling when I was confident it wasn’t going to change anything, at least for me?
But he was right. It wasn’t all about me. I had to consider his feelings.
And Casey’s.
I needed Casey that very second.
Just the thought of him eased me. It wasn’t a decision I should make on my own. I wanted to share myself with him—be partners—and it was a good time to show him I’d meant what I’d said.
Grant reached over the table, offering me his hand, but I pulled back. Touching him felt wrong now, especially with Casey on my mind. I refused to taint my thoughts of him ever again by touching Grant. Especially when Casey’s was the touch I craved.
No substitutions. Not anymore. Not ever again. I got comfort from him and him alone.
“I need to use the ladies’ room,” I said, excusing myself.
His placed his napkin on his lap and went about eating like everything was fine.
Just having dinner. Nothing to see here.
I couldn’t read anything that was going on in his head from his expression. I never could.
With Casey, I saw his emotions. They were conveyed by his body. Even in the past, when his hell-bent mouth would tell me one thing, his truthful body language always told me he cared.
Looking at Grant, as I unhooked my purse from the back of my chair, I saw only superficial things. A handsome face. A man with an expression I couldn’t read.
Had it always been like this? And didn’t he leave out the biggest reason to stay married? What about love?
The second I was away from the table I pulled out my phone. I didn’t have time to wait for a text, and truth be told, I needed to hear his voice.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
I NEEDED TO HEAR it from her lips.
Something about the way he’d said what he did, didn’t sound right. Didn’t add up.
There were many times where Blake and I hadn’t communicated the way we should have. Many times where, if we’d just talked things out, our circumstances could have been different. But it didn’t feel like that.
I woke up to my phone ringing beside me.
“Hello,” I croaked, sleep heavy in my throat.
“Hey,” Blake said hushed. “Can you talk?” Her breathing was labored and her voice warbled.
I sat up on the couch and tried to concentrate through the fog of my nap.
“Yeah, are you okay? What’s going on?” It was evening and the sun had almost set. I’d slept away most of the day.
“I’m fine. I need to tell you what’s going on. I need you to tell me what to do. I never do the right thing. I never make the right decision. I’m tired of hurting us. Just tell me what to do.” She was rambling, and by the sound of it, she was almost in tears. Her tone was high pitched and she spoke in rushed, clipped sentences.
“Hey. Hey. Hey. Shhh. We’ll figure it out. What happened?”
The haze that occupied my mind was blown away. She was shaken. The urgency in her voice wasn’t something I’d heard many times before. In the past, when we’d fight, I’d leave or she would. We weren’t practiced in working through things together.
“Grant called me today. He said that he wanted to talk. And you know how I’ve been trying to get the courage to give him the divorce papers? Well, I thought it was a good time.” She was going so fast, I had to make a real effort to keep up “He wanted to meet for dinner. I offered to meet him at the house, but he insisted on going to dinner.”
She spoke like she was confessing. It must have been such a weird place to be. Explaining things, just so I wouldn’t jump to the wrong conclusions. She really had changed over the past month, it wasn’t all just talk.
Still, feeling like I was missing something, my gut told me I needed more information. I needed to know exactly what he was up to. He’d picked a hell of a time to start fighting for her. Th
at was for sure.
“Okay. Is that where you are? What did he say?”
“Casey, I didn’t want to go to dinner with him. This isn’t a date or whatever. You know that, right?” Her voice cracked and I wished I could touch her. She was having a difficult time talking through her anxiety and even though she was speaking low, I could hear her agony. She must have either gone outside or to the bathroom to be alone.
Flags rose and alert buzzers went off in my head.
“I know. I know. What’s going on?” I sat forward and rested my arms on my knees, running my free hand over the corners of my eyes to rid them of sleep.
“We’re at Michael’s, a restaurant I like. I drove myself.” She just kept confessing. It was painful to hear her sounding so guilty and paranoid. She’d been through a lot for us. Listening to how she was reacting, it killed me I wasn’t there to give her relief.
“Just slow down. It’s okay,” I reassured her.
“Anyway, I gave him the divorce papers and told him I want out of our marriage. I did, Casey. I told him I’m done. I feel bad, but I don’t want him and there’s no sense in sugarcoating it. I’m not being mean, but he just won’t listen. What’s the point in dragging everyone through this? It’s exhausting, you know?”
Did I ever.
I didn’t want Aly, in much the same way, I thought. Good people don’t like hurting people, but often that’s just life.
“What did he say? Did he get angry?”
“I don’t know. Maybe a little, but he said he wants to see a counselor. That if I saw one with him for a while, and still wanted to end things, then he’d sign the papers.”
That sneaky motherfucker.
He’d lied to me. Then called her to make it the truth.
The fact she was talking about it with me, made me want do a victory lap around my living room. Blake, not keeping it a secret from me, inspired me to get a sky-writer to fly “Betty is mine, Fucker” over Seattle.
But the fact he was fighting for her made me realize, he wasn’t going to bow out gracefully. And asking her to tell him to fuck off wasn’t the right move. Not for her. Not for him. And, unfortunately, not for me.
Would she wonder, in the years to come, if she’d made the right decision? And even if I didn’t give a shit what anyone else thought, she did. Her family’s approval meant the world to her and I knew how conflicted she felt telling them she was filing for a divorce.
