Return to Us

by Christy Pastore

  Tinley: We need to spend more than thirty-six hours together.

  Matthew: I know. You want me to come to Toronto?

  Tinley: I’m filming all weekend. We might only get a few hours together.

  Matthew: Okay, well, I’ll hold down the fort while you’re gone.

  Matthew: You there?

  Tinley: Yep.

  Matthew: That Alumni event that I originally turned down, I decided to go.

  Tinley: Well shit, I wished that I would have received this message sooner. I’m standing in our kitchen.

  Matthew: Where?

  Tinley: East Harbour.

  Matthew: But, how? I thought you had to work all weekend?

  Tinley: I told Martin if he didn’t let me shoot my scenes and go home, I would make his set life very difficult.

  Matthew: Ha! I’d like to have seen you try and pull off the diva move.

  Tinley: I attended a charity event with Heather Young once. I picked up some good tips.

  Matthew: Ah yes, Lululamoan. She’s good at the diva role.

  Matthew: I’m so sorry. I should have told you sooner. I should have called.

  Matthew: I’m checking my schedule.

  Matthew: I thought I could come back to East Harbour on Monday, but I have rehearsals for the charity thing in London.

  Matthew: Come to London. I’m staying at the Corinthia.

  Tinley: I’m not going to London so that I can stay in a hotel while you’re working. You know we won’t have any time together.

  Matthew: I’m sorry.

  Tinley: Me too.

  Now I had a week off, and my husband was halfway across the country, and then he’d be halfway across the world. Then I’d be back in Toronto. For a moment, the two of us had it all. Now, it seemed that all I had was loss. Our marriage was on the side of losing time.

  New Year, same difficulties.

  Matthew: The Rough Riders are in the Super Bowl. Beaux Hale gave me tickets. Do you want to go?

  Tinley: When is Super Bowl weekend?

  Matthew: Next weekend.

  Tinley: I can’t, Sweeps Week kicks off that day.

  Matthew: Do you really have to be present for Sweeps Week?

  Matthew: Tinley?

  Matthew: I am assuming that you are ignoring me because you are too busy?

  Matthew: Please pick up your phone.

  Matthew: Tinley, ignoring me isn’t an option

  Tinley: I’m not ignoring you. Busy filming schedule.

  Matthew: Is this about Super Bowl weekend?

  Matthew: It’s been long enough. Pick up your phone.

  Matthew: Tinley, it’s been weeks.

  Matthew: Talk to me.

  Tinley: I can’t do this with you. I’m sorry I need some time.

  I was adrift. Drowning.

  I dragged my body from the bathroom, still clutching the plastic stick in my hand. I’d missed my period and a tiny glimmer of hope had me rushing to the drugstore and purchasing five pregnancy tests. I also purchased the clerk’s silence for five-hundred dollars. It was all worth it, until it wasn’t.

  I’d known exactly what day could have given us our miracle. On that morning, Matthew awoke me the way he used to with his tongue circling my clit and his fingers massaging my most sensitive spots. My body hummed under his touch. It was warm and wonderful, and there we were in our bed and he was pushing into me. Our bodies came together, winding around each other and the pain evaporated and there was only the two of us and our love for one another. We didn’t talk about conceiving again, this was about the two of us.

  “I love you, my wife,” he whispered against my skin. “Forever, I will love you, forever.”

  His arms banded around my body, his lips laced with apologies, remorse, and relief. Our broken hearts trying to mend as his hips rolled pumping into me. He filled me, stretching me and we were as close as we’d been in a long time. And that moment was all we had before my husband had to leave our bed. Leave our home. Leave the country.

  Now, here I was all alone, the heartbreak all rushing back to me. I stood in the doorway of the guest bedroom, what was going to be the nursery, staring at the pink and white blankets. My hands curled into fists at my side and my feet carried me to the closet. Gripping the handles, I flung back the doors. Hidden away in the back of the closet lurked my dark secret—baby clothes, blankets, and toys. Without another thought, I started tearing the clothes from the hangers. A sea of whites, greys, and yellows swirled around the room raining down onto the carpet. My hands shook as I gripped the dresser drawers. My eyes burned with the sting of tears and everything crashed around me.

  A roar of anger expelled from my body as I slammed my fists to the top of the white dresser. All the wooden picture frames, I gathered them up smashing the white wood against the wall. Over and over my hands stung with heat and pain radiated in my chest. My hands tore at the threads of the blanket, pulling and pulling until there was nothing left but a ball of shredded fabric. I slumped onto the carpet, curling into a ball. My body was broken and the one thing I wanted, the one thing I wanted to give my husband was a dying dream.

  I didn’t know how long I lay there, but when my eyes opened the faint glow of yellow and orange light had spread across the floor. My eyes took in the carnage, and sickness swirled in my stomach.

  “Matthew,” I called out his name, sobs rattling my throat. Pushing myself up from the floor, I expelled a deep breath. My head throbbed with ache, and I rubbed at the pain in my chest.

  I trekked down the hall to the laundry room. Numbness settled around me as I pulled garbage bags from the cabinets and as my fingers wrapped around the vacuum cleaner.

  Crossing the threshold, my eyes took in the mess. I was cold, alone, and totally broken.

  I WENT BACK AND forth between the freezer section and the alcohol aisle. As I held a crappy bottle of merlot in my hands, I wasn’t able to hold my tears in any longer.

  “Life is too short to drink cheap wine.”

  I turned my head to see Harlow standing there holding a basket filled with groceries. “Yeah, I know,” I admitted with a heavy sobbing sniff.

  “I can’t let you cry in the middle of the market. Let’s go back to my house, I have many bottles of wine and you can tell me what’s got you so upset.”

  “Okay,” I sighed, placing the bottle of wine back onto the shelf.

  “Do you have junk food? Like really bad food—I was thinking of picking up a couple of Totino’s Party Pizzas or some of those pizza rolls.” I shuffled along the aisle following Harlow to the olive bar. She added some cheeses and stuffed olives to her basket. “You know what would be really good, some Little Debbie cakes. Do you think they still have the Valentine cakes? You know the ones shaped like pink hearts?”

  “We can check on those snacks, whatever you need,” Harlow said, looping her arm with mine.

  “Thank you for taking pity on me in the market,” I said, before taking a sip of my wine. “And, you’re right, this is much better than that swill I was about to purchase.”

  Harlow slid a plate of pizza rolls in front of me. Even though this food was the least healthy thing on the planet, I gave zero fucks.

  “So, what has you so upset?”

  I wiped my fingers on the aqua linen napkin. “I . . . my marriage is falling apart. I don’t know why or how it happened, but my husband and I cannot seem to communicate. Not like we used to anyway.”

  “Is it the tabloids, and all rumors?” Harlow asked, glancing up from chopping jalapenos.

  I waved my hand in front of my face. “Okay, I need to ask—what are you making?”

  She laughed, and her auburn waves cascaded over her shoulders. “Spicy cucumber margaritas, it’s a new recipe for the website. Grady is usually my taste tester, but since you’re here, you get the honor.”

  “You’re working while I’m breaking down about my marriage?”

  “I’m giving you free booze”—she pointed the knife in my direction—“I’m
your bartender and therapist.”

  “Fair point,” I replied, and had a sad bitter laugh into my glass. “The rumors are hard, probably because there’s a hint of truth in some of them.”

  Harlow stopped chopping, leveling her gaze in my direction. “Oh, Tinley, no . . . do you want to talk about those rumors?”

  “When Matthew finally came home for Christmas,” I began, running a hand through my hair. “The pictures of us at the airport bar, we were discussing the fact that he didn’t sleep with Georgina Dupree, but he admitted that he wanted to.”

  Her blue eyes went wide. “No way. Are you serious?”

  “As a heart attack.” I reached for another pizza roll. “I think empanadas or nachos would go better with the margaritas.”

  “You want to order some Mexican food?” Harlow asked, adding tequila and lime juice into her blender.

  “Yeah, that sounds good,” I said, sliding off the barstool to fetch my phone from my purse. “Where’s Grady?”

  “In Los Angeles, he had a campaign shoot and then he and some friends were going out to the Comedy Cellar.” After adding the rest of her ingredients, she hit blend. I perused the menu for Padano’s thinking about some enchiladas and pork tacos. And that was all it took to trigger an avalanche of emotions. Tears slid down my cheeks, and pressed my palm to my mouth.

  “Oh no, not again,” Harlow whispered.

  I pulled a few tissues from the box on the counter. “God, I am so sorry that I am such a blubbering mess.”

  She added the garnish to the drinks and then slid one in front of me. “Put this in your body now.”

  I snort laughed. “Thank you, I might be spending the night on your couch.”

  “Nonsense,” Harlow said, raising her glass to meet mine. “I have a guest bedroom and you can feel free to pass out in there.”

  “I don’t know what to do.” My shoulders slumped as I traced the edge of the glass. “Matthew and I agreed to work on our marriage but our schedules are so packed right now. I feel so empty inside, completely drained. What if I’m losing him?”

  Harlow shook her head. “I don’t believe that, I see the way Matthew looks at you. He adores you.”

  “Yeah, he adores me, but he doesn’t want to fuck me.”

  Harlow squeezed my shoulders. “Matthew is the love of your life and you are his. I heard your wedding vows. Matthew said he promised to always be by your side, or underneath you or on top of you. He loves you.”

  I laughed and studied my drink. “You know Matthew used to write me notes on the chalkboard in the kitchen. One of my favorites said: Today’s Menu, you plus me plus naked equals fun.”

  We’d stopped communicating altogether. I couldn’t even remember the last time I told my husband that I loved him. Each day we were surrounded by a million people who didn’t know us, but told us how much they loved us and our work. Yet, the two of us hadn’t told each other that in a long time. A shiver rolled through my entire body at my revelation.

  “How about the next time Matthew comes home you just jump him?”

  “If he even comes home again, ugh.” I dropped my forehead to the butcher’s block.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I haven’t talked to him in weeks. I sent him a text and told him I couldn’t do it anymore.”

  She sucked in a sharp breath. “Are you thinking separation?”

  Tears welled in my eyes. “I don’t know.”

  Matthew was everything to me. I wanted him. I wanted our life. I didn’t know where to start. I thought I did, but now I felt so completely broken. The constant pain, the emptiness—all of it was swallowing me whole. If I couldn’t give him a child and a family . . . would Matthew still want me?

  “If part of the problem is the media, tune them out or turn the tables on them.”

  “It’s been suggested that we play the game,” I murmured.

  “Georgina Dupree,” Harlow said her name, and a flash of irritation wound through my bones. “Seriously, does she have the golden pussy of Hollywood or something?”

  “No, she’s got that whole single-mom, goodwill ambassador, mysterious beauty thing going for her and she’s a fucking great actress. She’s fucking perfect.”

  “You know”—Harlow leaned her hip against the island—“they say that Georgina is really the beauty queen from Vermont who messed up her question in the final round of that pageant years ago.”

  My shoulders shook with laughter. “What?”

  “Yeah, apparently she had some work done and she’s really a blonde. Rumor has it that she couldn’t leave her house after that, everywhere she went people teased and mocked her, so she became a recluse and then transformed into Georgina Dupree.”

  “Now, I feel bad for her,” I said, before guzzling more of my margarita.

  “Nah,” Harlow replied, waving her hand in the air. “It’s a total conspiracy theory. Like how Katy Perry is really Jon Benet Ramsey and Taylor Swift is a satanic cult leader.”

  “Where do you hear this stuff?”

  “The internet, so you know that it’s all true.” She tugged my arm, nodding towards the couch.

  “Some internet rumors have a hint of truth,” I whispered, keeping my eyes downcast. “I think I’ve been unfair to Matthew. Every time he brings up the subject of having another baby, I shut him down. My little breakdown in the store today may or may not have had something to do with the fact that I thought I might have been pregnant. We did have one amazing morning before he left.”

  “See”—she gestured towards me—“he does want to fuck you.”

  Her words loosened the knot in my throat, or perhaps it was the tequila, that stuff was like truth serum. “I’m afraid of trying again. I’m scared, the loss . . . when I lost our baby it was like losing my mother all over again.” My entire body tensed. Harlow had lost her mother too, the last thing I wanted to do was bring up painful memories.

  She squeezed my hand. “You and I both know the pain never gets easier, and every day the loss takes a different emotion. Fear, anger, sadness, and sometimes there are flashes of joy. In your case, the joy of finding out that you were pregnant becomes overshadowed by the black cloud of losing your baby.”

  I took a long slow drink. The words weren’t easy to hear, but that didn’t mean she was wrong. In fact, she made more sense than anything I’d ever told myself over the last year.

  “Talk to Matthew,” she said, nudging my arm. “Tell him exactly how you are feeling. He will understand. Do it now, as soon as you can, because doing it later becomes never.”

  I squeezed her hand. “Perhaps, you should take that advice too.”

  Harlow let out a long sound that resembled a sighing laugh. “You’re probably right.”

  “I think I hear wedding bells,” I said into my glass.

  MY GRIP TIGHTENED ON the axe handle as I spread my legs shoulder width apart. Swing after swing, my muscles burned and ached. For a moment it seemed like only yesterday that I’d seen her face. Only a heartbeat ago, that we’d exchanged vows, and promised to love one another in good times and bad.

  By hurting her, I’d hurt myself. Some days I felt so completely broken inside, but how could I admit that to her when I’d barely admitted it to myself. If I had one more day, I’d hold her in my arms and take the pain away.

  I steadied my gaze, and then I flung the axe with everything I had. It bounced off the target and landed near my discarded beer bottles.

  “Evening.” The voice belonged to my neighbor, Charles Melby.

  “Charles.” I nodded, as he picked up the hatchet and handed it back to me. “Thanks, can I get you a beer?”

  “Don’t mind if I do.”

  I handed him a bottle from the cooler. He popped the cap off the beer bottle and swallowed a long drink. “Saw the light was on as I was driving by, thought I’d say hello. We haven’t seen much of you or your wife up here lately.”

  I blew out a deep breath as I heaved the axe towards the bullseye. “
Yeah, the two of us haven’t been spending a whole lot of time with one another.”

  He set his bottle on top of my work bench. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  I walked towards the targets and pulled the blade of an earlier axe, one that actually found its mark, from the wood. Tinley and I became addicted to throwing axes thanks to Charles. It was the perfect sport for blowing off steam.

  “I’m not one for keeping up with Hollywood gossip, but when your neighbors happen to be in the news from time to time you tend to pay attention.”

  “Can’t believe everything you read online or in the rack at the grocery store checkout, Charles.” Eying my target, I stepped up to the line this time with my double-sided axe. Careful not to axe myself in the back, I counted to three and then threw it as hard as I could. Nailed it.

  “Nah, I suppose you can’t.”

  My gaze swept to Charles. “Want to throw a few?”

  “Sure.” He grabbed two axes, steadied his posture, and with a flick of his wrists, both axes hit the target at the same time. “You know, when you’re chopping wood, sometimes you get a stubborn piece. If you’ve landed a few hits, there will be at least a few deep cuts in the wood—maybe even a crack. That deep crack is where you can split the wood.” He took in a long heavy breath and let it out. “Now, I know I can’t believe everything I hear, but if any of what they’re saying is true, it would seem your wife has been hit in the same spot a few times over. That can cause a person to split, too.”

  “Well, she’s not the only one that’s hurting here, you know.”

  “I hear that, but her pain is deep, to the soul, and you being hurt won’t help her heal. Put away your pride, and be the glue she needs to mend that chasm. I know it might be difficult, but the best things in life are.”

  Charles stepped behind the line again, took aim, and just like his words, hit the bullseye once more.