by Kata Čuić
He hands the notebook back for me to read when he’s finished. I wish more than ever I could remember us passing similar notes back and forth that day so long ago in biology class. Maybe having that tangible reminder of us coming full circle would help me overcome the anxiety mounting in my chest that this exercise will turn out like everything else…a dismal failure.
I take a deep breath and read what he does and doesn’t want me to do.
Bad thing: Don’t shut me out.
Good thing: Give me these full eight months
To make it right.
Then, give me a lifetime more.
“I know-” He pauses to clear his throat. “I know you can’t make me that promise right now, but that’s what I would like.”
“Are these supposed to be promises we want each other to make?” I whisper. I’m not sure I can ask him to promise me anything tonight.
I’m still not operating at full capacity, but I can’t help but think he’s changing the very fabric of our deal, right under my nose. And I’m not fully aware of how.
“It can be whatever you want or don’t want, right at this very moment,” he clarifies.
I think I can manage that.
Bad thing: Don’t make me any promises
You can’t keep.
Good thing: Give me a tour of this place
Like you would have if we’d moved in together right after
You bought it.
He pulls me against him, brushing his lips across my hair and holding me tight. “A tour, I can definitely promise you.”
“You bought a kitchen with double ovens for the sole purpose of me baking koulourakia?” Evie’s laughter bounces off the tile.
After so many hours of her dull, almost lifeless personality, it’s a welcome sound. Even if she is laughing at me.
I am a twenty-three-year-old man, with a multi-million-dollar bank account, a penthouse suite, and a resume that includes a Heisman trophy and starting position as an NFL quarterback, but my wife still manages to make me feel like the same bumbling boy I was eight years ago. Desperate for her attention and no good ideas for how to get it.
I’m seriously beginning to think no amount of relationship therapy will make me feel sure of my actions where this woman is concerned.
Embarrassment creeps up my neck until I grasp at it in a futile effort to play it cool. “Well, sort of. I just know you’re a great cook and you love to bake when you have time, so I figured you’d need a really good kitchen.”
Really good kitchen? Jesus. I sound like a grade schooler.
Evie takes her time to explore the space, opening and closing cupboards, testing out the burners on the gas range, eyeing the expensive coffee maker with clear admiration. “It’s a beautiful kitchen, Rob. What else?”
What else?
Oh, right. The rest of the condo. Of course.
I steer her down the hallway with my hand at her back, using any excuse to touch her. The panic that ensued after her phone call this morning hasn’t quite ebbed away. A very real, very intrinsic need to reassure myself of her presence has taken up residence in my chest. I’m not sure how long it’ll take to go away.
We bypass the bathroom I found her puking in. She’s already intimately familiar with that space.
I push open the next door, letting Evie take stock of the mostly empty room. An unused desk sits in the corner without an accompanying chair. Boxes stacked on the top hide the cherry wood from view.
“I, uh…thought we could use this room for an office, eventually. You wanted to go to grad school, so…”
The discomfort I felt in the kitchen changes to something sharper, more tangible. I have no idea if Evie has even applied to any grad schools or what her plans for the future are, other than wanting an irreversible surgery.
And maybe giving me eight months to finally get this right.
She seems unfazed by my comment. “This would make a lovely office space.”
We move onto the next empty room in silence. Does it seem as stifling to her as it does to me?
Evie opens the door without any prompting. “And what was this room supposed to be?”
The tension in my shoulders is not letting up. Not by a long shot. “A guest room for when our moms come to visit.”
There’s no hope of masking the sadness in my voice. All the what-ifs, the missed opportunities, the no second chances come barreling at me like a safety on the field. I close my eyes and remember what it felt like to be alone at my debut game.
A gentle hand on my chest startles me out of my headspace.
“She really misses you.” Evie stares up at me with hopeful eyes. “You’re her only child. Call and apologize. She’ll forgive you, and she’ll be here in a heartbeat if you tell her it’s okay to come.”
Keeping my mom on the no-admittance list isn’t just for my sake. It’s for hers, too. “Since I quit talking to my dad, things are…different. Strained. I don’t want to force her to choose between us. She’s my mom, yeah, but she’s also his wife. I put her in a really unfair position.”
Evie sighs, but drops her hand. “Yeah. I guess so.”
She doesn’t bother with meaningless platitudes. I guess we’re beyond that now.
Or, she’s thinking about the unfair position she has as my wife.
Evie forcibly brightens her expression, pastes a smile on her face. “Well? Show me the rest, tour guide.”
I can’t. I can’t do it. This charade hurts more than being denied the real thing. “Don’t.”
She furrows her brow, and inexplicably, that feels right. “Don’t what?”
“You don’t have to do this. Pretend. It’s been a long day. And not a good one at that. I’m sure you’re not in the mood for this, either. So, please. Don’t fake it for me.”
She bites her lip, but suddenly the urge to tug it from her teeth and take it in my own mouth isn’t quite as strong. “You know, it’s odd…you’re both the only person I’ve ever purposely faked it for and the only person I’ve ever let see what’s behind the mask.”
I chew on that for a few moments, but don’t reach a conclusion before Evie grasps my hand in her own.
“This was your idea. And you’re right, it has been a long day. So, I’m not faking. I want to see my room. I want you to show me where I’ll be sleeping…safely.”
A small wisp of relief brushes against my chest. Keeping Evie safe, or at least making her feel like she is, comes as naturally as breathing.
It’s a reflex that requires no thought, no premeditation.
We make our way back to the main living space, bypassing it for the master suite. Renewed shame unfurls in my stomach as Evie peeks into the bathroom, flipping on the light with barely controlled excitement on her face.
“Is that a jacuzzi tub?”
I nod, but have to clear my throat several times before speaking. “I bought all your favorite bath and shower stuff, but…”
I dumped them all out in a drunken rage on our anniversary.
“Guilt.” Evie taps my chest. “Let it go.”
“When did we flip sides on this? Weren’t you the skeptical one in the living room?”
Evie shrugs, and the gesture makes me realize how much of each other’s mannerisms we’ve picked up over the years. “We can’t both be in a funk at the same time.”
“I hate to point it out to you, but I think we’ve already done that.”
“Yeah, and look how well that turned out. Today couldn’t have been easy on you, either. You’re married to a crazy person, after all. If you need to tap out and decompress, I can be the happy, optimistic one for a while.”
I don’t even think she realizes what she’s said, but her words absolutely strike a chord with me.
This is exactly why we have a chance to make it.
Because when one of us falters, the other is willing to pick up the slack.
I once thought touching Evie without lust meant I loved her.
I was wrong.
Love is s
acrifice.
Faking it when you have to because you have nothing left to give, but understand your partner in life has even less.
Love is being on a team, without any desire to tap out. Not permanently, at least.
I take her hand in mine, grateful to have her at my side again. Even if it’s only for eight months, I won’t waste a second. “You’ve already seen the bed, but let me show you the closet.”
She scrunches her nose, but follows where I lead. “What’s so special about a closet?”
I open the door.
She gasps. “This is bigger than our dorm room freshman year!”
“That’s what’s so special about it.” I lean against the doorway as she makes her way inside to explore. “You can comfortably sleep here when I’m on the road.”
She turns toward me with a frown, and I hold my breath.
She doesn’t like it.
“Where are all the clothes?”
I exhale, then confess my latest sin. “I boxed them all up.”
“Why?”
“I was…going to move.”
“You were?” She exits the space, then looks around the room, only now seeming to notice the numerous boxes stacked everywhere. “Your contract isn’t up yet. They’re not going to cut you loose, Rob. The suspension is only three games, then everything will be fine.”
“I, uh…bought this place for you. Since you weren’t going to be here, it seemed stupid to keep it.” Cue the never-ending embarrassment. In hindsight, buying this place without her input seems stupid. Cutting it loose without asking her seems stupid.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
She glances out the doorway into the main living area. “It’s weird. I mean, it’s opulent and everything one would expect an NFL player to afford. On the one hand, it seems like too much for a bachelor, and on the other, not enough for a family. Does that make any sense?”
It makes perfect sense. That’s exactly how I’ve felt about it all along.
“It was never meant to be permanent.”
“No?”
I shake my head and cough up the rest of the confessions I’m willing to part with for the evening. “My contract is only through next year. I didn’t want anything longer because I didn’t know where we’d want to settle down.”
“Rob…”
She says so much with just my name.
We’ll never have a family of our own.
This could all be over in eight short months.
Don’t get your hopes up.
Only, in spite of my exhaustion and souring mood, it’s way too late for that.
“You wanted to go to grad school. I wasn’t sure where you’d get accepted. I wanted to keep our options open.”
Evie folds her arms across herself, her tell-tale mark of discomfort. “I don’t know what to do with my life anymore.”
Hearing that hurts as much as anything she’s said since she crashed back into my life. All I’ve ever wanted was her happiness. “We’re young. There’s still plenty of time to decide. Not everything has to happen tonight.”
Her shoulders slump, but it’s more a sign of exhaustion than anything else. “In that case, can we both tap out for the night? I’m not used to the time change, and I’d really love to use that bed for something more than a nap.”
Her desire to sleep in her bed surprises me. After everything that went down today, I was sure she’d be eager for the safety of the closet. “Yeah. I forgot it must feel like three hours later to you.”
She nods. “It really does.”
Awkwardness settles between us that shouldn’t be here. She glances around the room, clasping and unclasping her hands, her gaze skittering to her bags on the floor.
Rather than force something she isn’t comfortable with, I take my turn at playing the bolstering partner. “I’m gonna go look for something to eat while you get ready for bed.”
Her expression falls further. “I’m sorry. You were talking about dinner when we arrived, and I completely forgot.”
“You want me to make something for you, too?”
“I’m not really very hungry. Just tired.”
“You sure? You said your appetite is back with this new injection therapy, and I’m not gonna lie. I’m really looking forward to seeing you eat again.”
It’s been a hard enough day. As inappropriate as it might be, I don’t want to end the night on a down note. I still have work to do, and Evie needs to be comfortable enough to sleep for that to happen.
Thankfully, my lewd implication doesn’t go unnoticed, judging by her snickers. “You and your food fetish.”
“Only for you, baby. Only for you.”
She laughs, but turns toward her bags to collect her things.
I take my leave and close the door behind me.
Though I haven’t eaten all day, food is the last thing on my mind. The floor gets a good workout as I pace, listening to the running water in the bathroom, the soft sounds of her steps on the floor.
After trying to stay calm, cool, and collected throughout the day, all the anxiety and tension I’ve suppressed ripples through me and there’s no good outlet here for my energy.
I need to burn it off…somehow.
As good as it feels to hear the evidence of Evie here, my patience is wearing thin by the time the sounds of her crawling into her bed float to my ears.
I wait another half hour to be sure before checking my suspicions.
Her dark hair curls all over the white pillowcase. The softest sheets and blanket I always imagined her enjoying are pulled up around her shoulders when I make my way to the bedside. Her eyes are closed, a peaceful expression on her face. Even breathing, no signs of tension.
Still, I have to be sure.
“Baby?”
“Hmm?”
“I’m going to sleep on the couch tonight. I want you to enjoy your bed, so I’ll guard the door. You don’t have to go to the closet unless you want to.”
She mumbles something completely incoherent in return.
Perfect.
As quietly and quickly as I can move, I advance to the living room to find my phone. Then promptly sidetrack into the kitchen.
Evie either didn’t think to question me or didn’t find my hidden stash in the lowermost cupboard near the fridge.
Breaking my promise is the last thing on my mind. After the hell of today, I need the calming burn of tequila. And if it doesn’t calm me, then hopefully, it’ll be a little liquid courage.
Never in a million years did I think I’d have to do what I’m about to.
Or maybe I just didn’t want to think about the inevitable.
The first shot goes down like fire.
The second like an old friend.
By the third, I’m ready.
It’s the middle of the night. Kind of late to put in my request. Oh, well. I don’t give a damn.
“Hello?” She picks up on the second ring. Her voice is laced with sleep, but there’s a wary quality to it, like she’s been waiting for my call.
“Do you remember when I told you there would come a time to prove where your loyalties lie? And that I wouldn’t hesitate to call that in?”
“I remember.” She’s breathless.
I can’t deny a part of me rejoices in imagining her on the edge of her seat, waiting on my word to dredge up the skeletons of our shared past.
I feel as high from that knowledge as I do from the alcohol.
Hell, my dick is raging in my pants with the power currently flooding my body.
“It’s time.”
It’s another beautiful day in Sacramento, California. Sunshine floods through the wall of windows in the living room, giving the space a happy, optimistic feel. Outside, the sky is cloudless and the most appealing shade of blue.
Almost like Rob’s eyes when he’s happy.
I haven’t seen much of that color over the past week.
In fact, I haven’t seen much of Rob at all.
While
I’m grateful he isn’t letting up on his training regimen because of my sudden presence, I get the distinct feeling he’s avoiding me. Most people don’t realize professional athletes have a full-time job to keep their bodies in top physical condition, even in the off-season, but Rob’s been pulling overtime this week. That’s just as dangerous as not training enough.
Without the careful guidance and watchful eyes of the Rushers’ training staff, Rob’s starting to run the very real risk of injuring himself.
But, maybe that’s what he wants. He’s always had a love/hate affair with football.
And that’s a problem.
Shawn’s accusations of Rob committing career assassination aside, I have no idea what Rob wants. What’s going on in his head these days?
Yes, we’re still writing down a fear and some tangible action plans every day, but they’ve become rather generic and stale since that first night. Sure, we’re still giving each other an eight-month timeframe, but…
I’m just not sure how we’re supposed to accomplish anything by sleeping in separate rooms every night and having no real interaction other than the casual, “How was your day?”
Combine the sinking suspicion Rob is experiencing a severe case of buyer’s remorse with the fact these walls close in a little more on me every day, and I’m damn near close to losing my mind.
As if I have any sanity left to spare.
The telltale sound of a key in the lock to the front door heralds my daily visitor.
I literally rise to the challenge from my perch on the world’s heavenliest couch.
Every day Shawn shows up, unannounced, to check in on Rob’s broken little wife.
Which is bullshit.
Not only am I acutely aware Shawn has business all over the country, but he was never interested in playing a “marriage counselor,” as he so often told me.
He seems to have no trouble with being a jail warden, seemingly blowing off his commitments elsewhere.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Falls. It’s a beautiful day.” His cheery demeanor and formal greeting grate on my already raw nerves.
“I wouldn’t know. It’s hard for a bird to enjoy the sky when she’s stuck in a gilded cage.”
He laughs, not seeming offended in the slightest at my jab. “It’s good to see the cabin fever isn’t dulling your sharp wit. Or your appreciation of one of the finest penthouses Sacramento has to offer.”
