They arranged the drip-catchers and watched helplessly as more water poured into their bedroom.
“Well, I guess we’re not sleeping here tonight,” Joshua said, a rueful smile playing on his face. He walked around to the other side of the bed where Melina stood, hair stringy from her dash out to the car for his things. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her damp hair.
“I’m sorry for getting mad. I know you were trying to do something nice for me,” Joshua said.
“I was,” she sniffed. “I hate it when that backfires.”
“I didn’t mean to be so harsh. It’s just that, I loved that sweatshirt. I like the memories it represents. I like that it’s totally comfortable, like I’m just in my own skin when I wear it.”
“I didn’t know,” she said, “and I’m sorry. There’s nothing I really value like that—I just get rid of clothes when they don’t suit me anymore.”
“Except your purse,” Joshua corrected her. “That orange one.”
“The Giustiniano? That’s different,” she said. “That means something to me, and it’s worth a ton of money.”
“Well,” said Joshua, “then we have an understanding. Because my sweatshirt means something to me, and it’s priceless.”
He rummaged around in the box until he came out with it—gray, pilling, cuffs frayed and the hood’s drawstring long gone.
That thing is destined for What Not to Wear, Melina thought.
Joshua pulled it over his head and smiled broadly. He picked up their pillows from the bed, where the bucket and salad bowl plinked and plunked as they collected rainwater.
“Now that we have that settled, let’s figure out where we’re going to sleep. Do you want to camp out in the living room by the fire, or use your old bed in the guest room?”
“Mmm, fire. Does that mean we get wine?”
“Wine and s’mores, if you like. I’ll get all the fixings and we can toast marshmallows in the fireplace.”
“Sold,” Melina said, and turned to the dresser to grab her pajamas. Her fingers skipped past the flannel and cotton knit, landing on something silky, pale peach, and very revealing.
“Can I wear this?” she asked Joshua suggestively.
Immediately, he played along. “For a little while.”
FORTY-THREE
Pursuit Marketing’s annual conference was two days away in Chicago, and Melina anticipated anxiously. She packed, cursing its unpredictable spring weather, placing hosiery and a pair of patent leather flats in the corners of her bag.
So much had changed in a year—her boyfriend had become a husband, her apartment had become a house, and her body now bore the scars of a staggering accident. What will people think of me?
Melina chose her best accessories and wrapped them in a satin pouch. Maybe it won’t be like that. Maybe the conference will just be about work.
She tried to focus on the positive—for the first time, she’d been asked to speak at the conference. She was bringing a handful of new campaigns to share, and she’d relentlessly polished her talk to ensure she made the best impression.
When Pursuit’s speakers did well, invariably they were invited to participate in national accounts. Now that Melina’s senior account executive title was well-established, she’d set her sights on the next rung of the ladder: partnership.
Joshua bounced into the bedroom, Aussie panting and wagging happily behind him, fresh from their run.
“All set to go on Monday?” he asked.
“Mostly,” she said, curling a belt into a tight roll.
Joshua’s adrenaline was still firing from the exercise, so he remained standing, bouncing on the balls of his feet, drinking a bottle of Gatorade.
Melina closed and zipped the suitcase, then pulled it off the bed and stood it on end by the door. She poured the contents of her Giustiniano bag on the bed’s white duvet cover and pawed through it, selecting which items would go with her to Chicago, and which would stay home.
“You sure can get a lot of stuff in that bag,” Joshua commented, trying to keep the conversation going.
“Yeah.” Another one-word answer. Melina was distant, introspective. She kept sorting.
Joshua sat down on his side of the bed and watched her progress. Lipstick case? Yes. Old receipts? No. Mobile phone charger? Yes. Eight pens? Melina put six on her nightstand and packed two.
As Melina picked up a small zippered case containing earbuds for her mobile, Joshua absently flipped open her wallet, which carried the usual credit cards, coin pocket and business cards. He peered at her driver’s license.
“Wow, look at how different you look!” he exclaimed, tipping her license toward her. In the photo, her chin was rounder and her hair more yellow, layered and curled just above her shoulders.
Melina didn’t look much older than that picture, taken just after she moved to Seattle, but her image was far more sophisticated.
“Yuck. I hate that picture,” she said, putting the last few things in her handbag. “When I told them it was a horrible picture, and asked to have it retaken, the lady behind the counter just said, ‘You get what you get, and you don’t throw a fit.’ Like I was in kindergarten,” Melina said, still annoyed by the memory.
“I think they have special lights to make you look stoned,” Joshua agreed, peering at the photo more closely. “Mine’s just as bad.” Then he did a double-take.
“Melina? Your birthday’s wrong on here.”
“What?” She grabbed the wallet from him, snapping it shut and tossing it in her bag. “No, it says August eighteenth. You just saw it wrong.”
The guilty look on her face completely betrayed her.
“That license,” Joshua said slowly, “that license has the wrong year on it. It says you’re two years older.” He got up from the bed and paced slowly around it, toward the big, orange handbag where Melina hastily shoved the evidence.
“Let me see that again.”
“No.”
“Melina, what the hell? Why are you playing this game?”
She clutched the handle of the Giustiniano bag, unwilling to show Joshua her driver’s license again.
“I told you. It’s got the right date on it.”
“I thought you were twenty-nine.”
“I am,” she said, then realized the lie was out already. “I mean, I was. I just don’t like to talk about my age.”
“Your age? That’s silly,” Joshua snorted. “You’re not an old woman. Since when do you lie to me about something as simple as that?”
“I never lied to you,” she whispered, eyes downcast.
“Like hell you did. You told me twenty-nine candles on your last birthday.”
“I said that’s what I wanted. You just made your assumptions and I … I never corrected them.”
The balance of energy between them swung like a pendulum, with Melina folding into herself and Joshua expanding with frustration.
“Melina, this is a lie. If you let me go around believing that you’re twenty-nine and I’m twenty-nine and you just never correct me, that still counts as lying, Melina!”
Hurt and bewilderment burned in Joshua’s eyes. “If you lied to me about that, something that doesn’t matter, what else have you lied to me about? I promised my whole damn life to you, and you don’t even trust me with this?”
Joshua left the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. The antique glass doorknob flew off as the door crashed, making a hole in the plaster wall. Joshua took the stairs two at a time, still in his running shoes.
Melina heard the front door open and slam; she felt the whole house rattle with the sound.
A little white lie, she thought, back when we were first dating. A little thing I let him believe. And now it is coming back to bite me.
Melina clutched her pillow on the bed and sobbed. What will happen if he finds out the rest?
FORTY-FOUR
It was dark when she woke up, and Melina was disoriented. She was in her house, lying on her bed, s
till in her clothes.
The room was chilly as Melina’s feet touched the cool wood floor. She reached for a sweater and turned to leave the room. The doorknob was missing, so she hooked a finger in the hole it left and pulled open the door. The upstairs hall lights were off, but she could see a faint glow downstairs.
She crept downstairs barefoot, as quietly as possible, as if she was an intruder in her own house.
In the living room, Joshua was parked on the couch staring at the fire, the room’s only light. Aussie took up the rest of the couch, his head in Joshua’s lap as Joshua absently twirled the dog’s ears around his fingers.
Melina hovered at the entrance to the room, shifting uncomfortably, waiting for his acknowledgement. How mad was he? Was he still?
Joshua took a gulp of brown liquid from a glass and looked up at her, too-long hair flopping back.
“I’m sorry,” she started. “But I—”
Joshua folded her in his arms and hushed her. “Don’t ruin a perfectly good apology with an explanation,” he whispered. “We both get to say ‘I’m sorry.’ I shouldn’t have slammed the door. I should have heard you out.”
Reaching inside herself, to the place where she always found energy during a grueling client meeting, Melina stood up straighter and looked at him with puffy, smudged eyes.
“No buts. No excuses. I owe you an apology.” She picked up steam and her voice gained confidence. “I might not have thought it was a big deal at the time, but what matters is that I didn’t tell you the truth. And I’m very, very sorry.”
Joshua nodded and pulled her toward the couch. Aussie raised his head, wagged his bushy tail, and moved to the rug at their feet.
“But there’s more,” Melina said, sitting on the opposite side of the couch from Joshua to put some distance between them. She had to get this out.
“When we met, when we started dating, I didn’t expect we’d last very long. So telling you the whole truth wasn’t a priority,” she said, recalling another one of her maxims: Leave it up to men’s imaginations—their fantasy is always better than the reality.
“Mostly, I just let you believe what you wanted to. I let your assumptions do the work.”
“Like what?”
“Like me having a nice, normal family.”
“Well, I’ve seen them. I get it—they didn’t exactly dote on you, so you’re not super-close to them,” Joshua said. “That’s a truth I can live with.”
“And my work, the way I came to Seattle,” Melina continued.
“I thought you got promoted?”
“I did … but not quiet the way you got promoted,” she felt his eyes search her face but Melina studied her hands, twisting in her lap. “There was a partner back in Indiana, he got me promoted, he pulled some strings….” she trailed off in shame.
“Are you telling me you climbed the corporate ladder by sleeping with the executives?” Joshua was incredulous.
“No—not like that! I had an affair with one of the partners in the office. When it ended, he … encouraged me to transfer.”
“Forced you.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he—because he was afraid his wife might find out.” Melina cringed, knowing Joshua despised cheaters.
“Did she?”
“No. Well, yes. She caught him eventually, but not with me,” Melina said. “She kicked him out of the house.”
“Are you going to see him again? At the conference?”
“Yes, I probably will.” Melina caught his sharp look. “No! It’s not like that. Richard and I ended before I came to Seattle. I’ve hardly talked to him since.”
“There’s more,” she continued, needing to complete her confession. He sat up straighter, his mouth set in a thin line.
“I got to Seattle partly because Richard pushed to get me transferred, but I also got here on my own merit,” Melina said. “I did good work. I earned it—the promotion. The transfer was just Richard’s way of trying to cover up his mess. But you’ve got to know that I earned it. I earned everything I did. Everything I have. My job, my clients, my car…”
“Why is everything a trophy to you?” Joshua asked, perplexed. “This house, the car, your purse. It’s so shallow. Why should that stuff even matter?”
“It matters to me,” Melina rasped, fresh tears stinging her eyes. “Do you know how hard I had to work to get enough money to buy that purse? I used to make four twenty-five an hour at the mall, selling makeup to women who treated me like dirt. Now my handbag is worth hundreds of hours of that time! It’s worth more than some of their cars. And no matter how important they think they are, they aren’t important enough to even be allowed to buy a Giustiniano bag.”
“So you won,” Joshua said quietly. “You sure showed them.”
“It’s not like that…” Melina started, backpedaling.
“No, from here, it looks exactly like that. You’re still working out how you felt about yourself and about them ten years ago. Or twelve. Whatever. The point is, if you die with the most toys, you win.”
“It’s not about toys. It’s about being worthy,” Melina explained. “I was never good enough for my mom, or for my family. Never as good as the customers—that’s how they acted. I knew I could work my ass off and be better than that, be better than them.”
“So that’s your dirty secret?”
“Huh?” Melina’s brows knitted in confusion.
“That’s what you lied about? That you worked your way to where you are now?” Like an attorney questioning a witness, Joshua was establishing the facts of the case.
“Yes, I wanted you to assume I got here the usual way.”
“You mean, not by being the other woman.”
“No—I mean, the usual route. University. Internship. Connections. The way most of the people I work with got jobs.”
“And you didn’t? You didn’t have any of those things? You didn’t go to school?”
“I graduated high school,” she said defensively. “I took some community college classes but when I got hired on as an assistant at a local marketing firm, I quit those.”
“So what’s on your résumé? What college?”
“I told you—I am not trying to lie. I just let people make assumptions. I don’t have an education section on my résumé because I fill the whole page with business I’ve won, awards I’ve won, and client accounts I manage. Most people don’t spend a lot of time looking beyond details like those.”
“So you lied about going to college.”
“Well, to you, it was a lie, because I never gave you the whole truth,” she confessed.
“So, when were you going to tell me the truth? I mean, we’re married. Were you waiting until we’d had kids? Or our anniversary—if we even make it that long? How long did you think you could keep it up?”
Joshua’s comment hit her like a slap in the face, but Melina shoved her hurt feelings aside to confront him. Telling the truth made her feel stronger, bolder.
“I have to say something.”
Joshua was silent.
“You’re right that I lied. And you can be mad. But when you slammed out of our bedroom, that reaction was pretty extreme. What are you afraid of, Joshua? That I’m going to pull the rug out from under you? How old I am, or how I got here, that stuff is just details. It’s history. Why did you explode like that?”
Joshua swallowed hard. “If I don’t know the truth—if I don’t know what’s real—I don’t know what I can trust,” he admitted. “I don’t know what’s permanent, and what might vanish.”
“You hate change.”
Joshua cocked an eyebrow. “You noticed?”
A tiny smile crept onto Melina’s face. “I noticed. But you can’t get stability that way. You can’t force it.”
“I wasn’t trying to—”
“You blew up at me over a little white lie. I’m not saying it was OK that I lied to you, but I’m saying that you’ve got to get a grip on wha
t you can control, and what you have let go.”
Joshua scrubbed his hands across his face. “My whole life, things were out of my control. I’d make new friends, find my groove, and then we’d have to move to a new place. When I got an apartment with Crystal, she kept shifting things, with people coming and going all the time.”
“That’s why you got your apartment. And why you wanted to buy a house.”
“Yes.”
“And why you wanted to get married? To make us permanent?”
“Yes. And I love you. And I wanted us to last.”
“Here’s the thing,” Melina said, taking his hand. “When I promised to be your wife, I promised to be with you permanently. But I didn’t promise not to change, or grow. I’m a different person than I was ten years ago, and I’ll be a different person a decade from now. And you’ve got to accept that.”
Joshua closed his eyes, and for a moment Melina thought she’d lost him. “I can.” He peeked open one eye. “A wise woman once told me, ‘It’s hard to love something you can’t control.’ But I can try.”
Melina smiled, remembering the words she’d uttered at the island cabin. “You’ve got to do better than try. You promised. So what now?” Her stomach gurgled and churned. They’d had no dinner.
“I think we’re OK.” Joshua said, pulling her closer on the couch. “Your age doesn’t matter. The fact that you got here on your own steam, college or no—it’s incredible. I was only angry about the lie. I’ll take you however you are, as long as it’s really you.”
Melina sagged in Joshua’s arms, hearing the words she craved from the first person to give them unconditionally.
“You’re my wife. I love you just as you are. All of you.”
“I love you, too,” she whispered, pressing her lips into his neck and holding him tightly. “Even when you’re mad, you’re still mine. Always.”
“I think this calls for some wine.”
***
“Melina—we’ve got a problem in here!” Joshua’s urgent tone came from the back of the house. Melina jumped off the couch and rushed to see what was wrong in their kitchen. Joshua stood in the center of the checkerboard tile floor.
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