by Amanda Aksel
I took Daily Meditations for a Broken Heart and its gift receipt to the bookstore during lunch. It was one of those popular bookstore chains with a coffee shop in the center. I waited in line as students and stay-at-home moms lined up to purchase new books. While I waited, I looked through an endless display of bookmarks and stumbled upon one that read Where to Look When with different verses from the Bible. When I made it to the counter, I handed the young cashier my book and receipt.
“I’d like to return this please,” I said.
He studied the book, then looked back at me. “I’m sorry, but this book appears to have been read. It’s no longer returnable.” He handed the book back.
“What! I’ve had this book less than a week.” I pushed the book back across the counter.
“I’m sorry, but the jacket is creased and so are some of the pages. I can’t take it back.” He pushed the book back again, this time with attitude. Despite my better judgment, I wasn’t giving up. I didn’t care about getting Holly’s money back or getting rid of the book, I wanted to make a statement; this book sucks.
“I want to speak to the manager,” I said, and put my hand on my hip. He glared back at me for a moment, his lips puckered and brow furrowed. I raised my eyebrows and motioned him to run along to get his boss. He left without a word. I peered through the piles of discount books at the front of the store. I bet Daily Meditations is in the mound, I thought as I sifted through them to see if any caught my attention. There it was again, the same bookmark I had seen earlier. Where to Look When. Maybe it was some kind of sign to pay attention to, or a sign the store had overstocked the bookmark. I looked over the bookmark again before noticing the words Secret and Men among the book rubble. I moved the books to reveal the full cover, Unspoken: The Secret Lives of Men by John Suomynona. The cover was designed like a top secret FBI file. I picked it up and turned it over to read the jacket description.
Warning: This book contains the truth about the unspoken, secret lives of men. Whatever you thought was real or sacred in your most intimate relationships is false. It is time that the truth is uncovered. You will hear stories from men everywhere and how they live as loyal lovers by day and playboys by night. You won’t believe your eyes in this tell-all, and why would you want to?
The wheels in my brain turned rigorously. My breathing quickened. What was this book?
“Excuse me, Miss, you wanted to see the manager?” a voice came from behind and startled me. I turned and dropped the book at the man’s feet. He wore a blue oxford shirt with a nametag that read Frank Manager.
“Ma’am?” he said.
“Uh, yes, I changed my mind on the return.” I picked Unspoken off the ground and held it close to my chest. “I’ll take this one.”
He nodded and walked away. I took my place back in line and checked out in a flash, avoiding eye contact with the annoying cashier. Armed with both books, I headed out of the store. Daily Meditations for a Broken Heart didn’t make it farther than the store’s trashcan, while Unspoken was tucked safely in my bag.
That night I settled in with a glass of riesling, a few lit candles, and some comfortable clothes. I curled up on the couch and opened Unspoken: The Secret Lives of Men. I held my breath as I read through the first few pages, captivated by the words. It was as if I was discovering a secret no woman had uncovered until that moment. I was Columbus and the book was America. But this discovery wasn’t going to be positive. By page ten, I needed a break. I slammed the book shut and stood at a crossroads.
Was I ready for the truth if it, in fact, could be found in the book? I paced for a few minutes and tossed over whether I should read further or pitch it with Daily Meditations and be none the wiser. Part of me felt it was wrong, but another part of me felt it was right. The book was intriguing to say the least. After years of being an advocate for love and honest relationships, I deserved to know if what I believed was real. I took a deep breath and lifted the book from the table. It was going to be a long night. I opened the cover and began to read.
Unspoken took off like a freight train, with page after page of enthralling stories. In essence, it was a confessional from different men in different situations with one common theme; all men lie and all men cheat, and they will do and say anything so their significant other does not find out. No exceptions. These telling men worked normal jobs, had normal lives, a wife, kids, and a mortgage. It was as if they were living a second, secret life. A life that was commonly understood by their fellow men and kept secret from the women.
My attention was diverted only slightly when I refilled my glass of wine. I heard riesling dripping off of the coffee table from my over-poured wine glass. Shit! Keeping my eyes on the book, I sopped up the spill and took intermittent sips from the brim of my glass.
I read a story about a married pharmaceutical rep in his thirties with two kids. He admitted to cheating on his wife regularly, explaining that men are primal when it comes to sex and women are emotional. His theory . . .
Having sex with your wife is like eating spaghetti. Spaghetti is good, but after a while it gets monotonous and you really just want a steak dinner. If you eat spaghetti every day and all of a sudden someone offers you steak, you’re going to take a bite if not devour the whole thing.
I read on.
In truth, cheating only exists when it’s discovered. When I cheat, I do it in a way that leaves my wife clueless. There’s no way she would ever know. Even if she did find out, I would lie through my teeth to the bitter end. Deny, deny, deny!
I finished the final page, then closed the book. I pushed myself back into the couch, full of information and trying to digest it all. It was true, all men were liars and cheaters. Not just Chad, but every man. I hadn’t been singled out. Chad’s affair wasn’t about me. It wasn’t about something I did or didn’t do. It was his nature, his true nature, and I had uncovered it.
“It all makes sense,” I said. “I get it now.” I stood tall with my arms stretched out and shouted, “It all makes sense. I get it now!”
The affirmation sent me running around to each room to look through drawers, shelves, under the bed, and all over the apartment for anything that reminded me of my ex. Chad paraphernalia piled high on the living room floor. My fireplace blazed and I watched as the flames danced for my new liberation. I blasted my favorite fuck-you break up song, poured another glass of wine, and sang along while I pitched the items into the flames. Old pictures, notes, and clothing wilted in the fire until there was nothing more than ashes and dust.
Amazing. It felt amazing to purge my apartment and my life of anything Chad. Though he had hurt me, I finally understood why. And for that reason I knew I would be able to move on.
CHAPTER FIVE
The Wedding
My rose-colored bubble had burst, but I felt refreshed and exhilarated. Liberated. For the first time since I returned from Las Vegas, I was actually happy. The sun was brighter, my coffee tasted better, and I think my skin glowed.
Now that Chad was out of my life permanently, it was time to cancel all the wedding arrangements. I spent the afternoon on the phone with all of the vendors including, the DJ, the caterer, the florist, and the reception hall, telling them all the same thing, “The wedding is off!” Most of my deposits were gone, but I started to think the whole experience was worth it.
Then, right when I thought nothing could get me down, my phone rang. It was my mother. I slumped down in my chair and remembered I had yet to tell my family about my recent events. It was no accident. Yes, I loved them, but I spent much of my life trying to live up to their high standards. After awhile, it became too much. My oncologist father pushed my brother and me to be excellent at everything we did and somehow I always came up short. Even though I had a PhD and a successful practice, I still paled in comparison to my brother, Michael.
No doubt they would see my breakup as yet another failure. The thought of announcing it to them made my stomach churn, but it had been almost two weeks since the
breakup. I needed to come clean before they heard it from someone else.
“Hi Mom.”
“Oooh, is this my daughter?” Her words were coated with her heavy Chinese accent.
I knew she was fishing about my two-week absence. She would learn soon enough.
“How are you?” I asked.
“Fine. I wanted to let you know your father and I are not going to make it to Rachel’s wedding this weekend.”
“How come?”
“Our Beijing flight cost too much to change.”
My parents had been planning a big three-week trip to China. I guess by the time they learned about Rachel’s wedding, which changed dates a few times, it was too late to cancel. The notion of being spared my parents over the weekend was a relief, but I replied with a disappointed, “Oh, that’s too bad.”
“I know. It would’ve been nice to spend some time with my daughter and my future son-in-law.”
There it was. My cue to tell her the truth, or at least a version of it. I hadn’t thought about what to say, or how to say it, so I gave her the simplest version I could manage.
“I have to tell you something.”
“Okay.”
“Chad and I called off the wedding. We broke up.”
“WHAT!” she shouted, her already loud voice amplified. “What do you mean the wedding is off? Since when? Why did you break up? Marin, answer me!”
“Mom, please calm down.”
“Calm down! How can you be so calm? What happened?” She continued to yell questions at me. It was exactly why I didn’t want to tell her. She had a habit of accusatory reactions to my bad news.
I sighed and rolled my eyes.
“Once he moved in, we decided it wasn’t right, and it would be best to go our separate ways.” I crossed my fingers hoping she would accept my answer as satisfactory. Silence hung on the phone, and I held my breath for her response.
“Did he see you bleach the peach fuzz on the side of your face?” she said. “Is that what happened?”
Figures. Typical that she would think an embarrassing beauty routine would be reason enough to break off our engagement.
“I always tell you not to reveal those kinds of habits to a man. You have to remain mysterious,” she said.
“No, Mom. It’s nothing like that. And I only did that one time! Will you please stop bringing it up?” I raised a fist in the air thinking that it would soon be full of freshly pulled hair.
“Yes, okay. I had to ask.” I shut my mouth and let her go on. “Isn’t there a way to work it out with him? You were getting married. Now it’s over? Just like that?”
“Yeah, Mom, it’s over.”
“Well, I’m sorry to hear that, Marin. I suppose you want me to tell Dad.”
“Yes, please. I really don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
“Okay, but we’ll talk about it when we get back from China.”
“Okay. Have a good trip.”
By the time we said our good-byes I was dying to hang up. It was painful, and that pain turned into self-pity. My own mother thinks I’m incapable of keeping a man. My ability to keep a man wasn’t the problem. Maybe I should’ve told her the whole truth. She probably would have reacted the same way regardless of truth or story. The truth was that I had nothing to do with the end of my engagement. It was all Chad, Chad and his man disease of deceit.
Since discovering the profound truth, I was compelled to share it with everyone, which was why I ordered ten copies of Unspoken: The Secret Lives of Men for overnight delivery. If I wanted to convince other women of the uncovered secret, I’d have to become an expert on the subject.
Over the next couple of days, I spent the sum of my spare time researching facts to support the book, facts I had conveniently ignored before. I diligently researched psychology journals dealing with infidelity and searched the internet for forums, blogs, and classified ads, trying to find other people who knew the same truth. In that short time, I gained a wealth of information and still only scratched the surface. The facts I uncovered were shocking, but nonetheless helpful.
Rachel’s wedding day came quickly, and I couldn’t wait to tell Holly and Telly everything I had learned since I last saw them. I had buried myself in my newfound truth, and I was ready to come up for air and shout it from the rooftops. It was the kind of day that outdoor brides pray for, clear, sunny skies, warm, but not too warm. I took the morning to dress in my spring wedding best, a simple yellow, cap-sleeved dress. When the cab arrived, I grabbed my oversized purse and stuffed a copy of Unspoken: The Secret Lives of Men inside.
I made my way toward the ceremony at the Botanical Garden. Flowers and hedges rounded out the area in the middle of the sunny garden. Tucked away at the far end was an arbor decorated in white lilies and sheer, flowing fabric. There must’ve been over a hundred and fifty guests seated in white chairs. Through the sea of guests, I spotted Telly standing among them in a fitted, sleeveless, midnight blue dress with her long, lush curls and huge dark sunglasses. She waived me over and I scooted in her direction, hoping to avoid seeing any chatty classmates or neighbors from San Jose.
I settled in next to her. She leaned over and said, “The wedding is going to start any minute now.” I looked at my watch to see I had made it just in time. Telly leaned back as if to evaluate me. She stared inquisitively.
“Where’ve you been the last few days?”
“Working on a little project,” I said with a smirk. She lowered her sunglasses to look me in the eye.
“Oh really?”
Before I could say another word, the bridal music began. Telly and I turned to the aisle as David and his four groomsmen sauntered down. The bridesmaids followed one by one. Step and pause, step and pause. Holly was first. The chiffon fabric of her lavender dress flowed in the wind. Her hair was hoisted in a prom-like hairdo with tight curls that framed her face. She looked so lovely, probably the most done-up I had seen her. Ever. Denise, Jaime, and Sonia followed in matching dresses and hairdos, like a uniformed army of beautiful bridesmaids. Everyone stood as Rachel’s father escorted her down the aisle. She was truly stunning in her white A-line princess gown with beading from the sweetheart neckline to her waist, sparkling in the sunlight like a thousand diamonds.
Even though I had just called off my wedding and discovered the unspoken lives of men, I was touched at the sight of Rachel. I had watched her grow from a tiny, curly-haired baby to an exquisite woman. She would eventually have to accept the truth about her very soon to be husband, but in that moment I wanted to believe that somehow she could be immune to it.
The ceremony took no time at all. Rachel and David were married and dancing in a soul train fashion to a cheesy seventies song. We were directed to a large white reception tent on the other side of the gardens. Paper lanterns floated from the tent’s roof, while elegant pale purple flower arrangements sat on freshly pressed white linens. Telly and I drank our cocktails at our assigned table and waited for Holly to finish posing for pictures with the rest of the wedding party. Telly chatted on about clients and idiotic associates and consistently asked if she was hogging the conversation. She was, but I remained patient, waiting to break the news of my discovery.
The DJ announced the wedding party, couple by couple. All were gleaming with smiles. David and Rachel immediately took the floor for their first dance as Mr. and Mrs. It was simple, lovely, and choreographed for our entertainment. Soon after, plates of chicken and fish flooded the tables. As the alcohol flowed, the guests loosened up and started moving to the dance floor. Everyone appeared to be having a fabulous time, celebrating love and new life together.
I felt unsettled amongst all that joy. It seemed so fake in the light of the truth. Just an expensive party to keep up the appearances set down by society, while underneath was a terrible lie. I regretted not tackling Rachel on her way down the aisle and taking her far, far away. Thailand maybe, so we could be with Holly.
“This is sad to watch,” I said under my
breath.
“I know. I hate weddings,” Telly said.
I watched the bride and groom dancing closely, gazing into each other’s eyes. She was having the time of her life.
“She has no idea that he’s going to break her heart one day,” I said.
“Is that bitterness talking?” She called me out.
“No.”
She shook her head unconvinced and looked back at Rachel. “Well, you’re probably right. Men are only good for two things—household maintenance and sex.”
“I completely agree,” I said with my glass raised. We toasted.
Holly waved from across the room and made her way over.
“What are we toasting too?” Holly asked as she sat down next to us.
“Men,” I said.
“Oh, that’s nice.” She picked up a lonely glass of champagne from the table and clinked it against mine.
“You look gorgeous, by the way,” I told her.
She blushed and looked away, giving me a dismissive wave. “Thank you. I’m so glad you came, I wasn’t sure if you felt up to it.”
“Actually, I’ve been doing great.”
She blinked a few times and focused in on me.
“You know, Marin, you look great. Even your skin is glowing. What’s going on?” She stared at me wide-eyed, waiting for my answer, and Telly leaned in.
“Well, I’ve been doing some reading.” I tried to control my excitement. Before I could continue, Holly interrupted.
“Oh, the Daily Meditations book I got you!” She seemed so pleased, but my smile quickly frowned.
“No.”
“Then what?” she asked.
I retrieved my special book from my bag and handed it to her.
“This.” My excited grin returned.
Telly leaned over to get a glimpse. “What is that?”
Holly examined the cover of the book with a puzzled look. “Unspoken: The Secret Lives of Men. Marin, what is this?” She rustled through the pages perplexed.
