by Aidèe Jaimes
Sleep is an elusive bitch tonight, when all I want is the sweet relief of oblivion. I don’t want to think anymore, to remember everything that shouldn’t have been made a memory in the first place.
For hours, I toss and turn in my empty cold bed. I think of calling Owen, but I can’t because no matter what I’ve done, I can still smell Bo on me.
Bo. Damn him, but I can’t get the man out of my head!
Growling in frustration, I throw the covers off and stomp downstairs, straight to the pantry. There is a lovely bottle of vodka calling my name, seducing me with the promise of a blackout. Even with the knowledge that there will be hell to pay in the morning, I simply add it to my list of sins for the night, and reach for the blue bottle.
Adding a some of Mia’s orange/mango juice to the mix, I have nothing else, I throw it back like it’s a shot. Refilling my drink, not once, but twice, I grab a bag of goldfish and head upstairs.
I should go to bed. But instead of making use of the languid feeling that fills my limbs and muddles my mind, I head straight to the linen closet in my bathroom.
Using my little step, I reach my arm through two large plastic bins and move my hand about until I come across the soft bag. I yank it out and swallow back the knot in my throat as I see the red.
As I go from buzzed to outright drunk, I plop onto my bed and back onto my fluffy pillow, opening the bag. I pull out the red dress and am instantly hit with the scent of that night back in November, when I’d been with Bo for the first time. Yes, it is a little musty, it had been drenched in rain at some point. But beyond the wet and beyond the sweat, is Bo. He is still all over it, his clean, masculine scent still lingering.
Closing my eyes, I bring it to my nose and sob. Like a baby I cry, mouth open, so loud I am glad that Mia sleeps like the dead and doesn’t wake up.
“Bo!” I say over and over.
It’s him that I call for, even though I shouldn’t say his name, not anymore.
But I can’t help it. He is ever present in my mind. There is nothing on this Earth that can pry him out of my thoughts. Always he’s there. His scent. His touch. His face.
Pulling out my phone, I go to my pictures and find the hidden screen shots of Bo’s and my conversations, reading them all again. Then, the very last one that came in almost two months ago.
-It’s been a month, Cris, came his text.
-Bo, you know I can’t leave Owen. I love him.
-And me? Do you love me? Either you want me or you don’t.
-You know I do. But it’s not that easy, I say.
-Yes, it is. And if you love me, you should be with me. Do whatever it takes to be with me.
-You can only say that because you’re single, I threw at him.
-I can say that because I love you. You know how I feel about you. I want you. I want to share my life with you. Cris, you’re the one. Everything in my gut tells me. You need to make a choice.
-There is no choice to be made. I am with Owen.
Completely ignoring my words, he ended the conversation with, -Fine. Take all the time you need. Let me know when you’re ready. Till then, you won’t hear from me again.
True to his word, I hadn’t heard from him since. It was torture. But somehow I’d managed to suppress my feelings, to push them back and go on auto pilot. Maybe that’s what Owen meant when he said I wasn’t there. In a way, I wasn’t.
After the visit with Dr. Riker, everything Owen and I had shared, it felt like I was back to normal. Then all it took to bring down the obvious charade, for what else could it be, was one look at Bo. Because really, I lost myself the moment I saw him. The “fucking” had nothing to do with it.
And because I’m a glutton for agony, I look through the music playlist on my phone.
Have you ever been so afraid of a song, your finger hovering over the play button, for fear that the sound of it would evoke all those feelings even now lurking in your throat, and would burst forth with the total annihilating force of a tornado? A hurricane? As if keeping that melody silenced is enough to keep an aching heart away?
But there is nothing strong enough to stop nature’s fury, not tonight. And I listen, letting it kill me time and again. The music pours into me like a poison, and I take that deep breath that precedes an even deeper cry. I miss him.
At some point during my emotional breakdown, I climb onto the elliptical that we have in our room, taking my vodka with me. Placing it in the cup holder, I begin to climb, putting as much energy as anyone with liquor in their veins can. The harder I pump my legs, the harder I cry.
Clarity by Zedd comes on, and I sing it loudly, in full agreement with the words. Bo is my insanity and our love would be tragedy.
Then Taylor Swift’s song Dress reminds me of how Bo had taken my red dress off, not once, but twice.
The images of our sex plays in my head over and over, until like a tumor, I wish to excise all memory of him. It’s a decease, this infatuation I have with him, and little by little it’s taken my sanity.
Song after song comes on, until after a while they don’t even make sense, but I still find a way to relate them to Bo. Anaconda makes me think of him for obvious reasons. Red, Red Wine, because if I drank wine, that’s what I would be doing right now, straight from the bottle.
I become so engrossed in the music, in letting go of all that pent-up longing, that my legs move slower than the elliptical, and I’m thrown off balance so hard I am fully flung off the machine. It was a blessing, really. It could have been so much worse. I don’t always, but this time I am aware that it’s time to quit. Wobbly getting up, I somehow get into bed.
Rolling up the dress, I snuggle into it and hold it as if though it were the man himself. As I finally drift off, he is the last thing on my mind.
Bo, why can’t I get you out of my head, Please, please let me go…
Come back to me, Bo. Come back to me. Come back to me. Come back…
Bo. I love you. Bo, Bo…
CHAPTER 10
I’m in a goldfish and vodka sort of hell.
“Momma. M-m-m-m-Momma. Mommy. Momma. Mommy. Momma. I’m awake now. Momma.” Mia’s little voice comes in loud and clear through the monitor and reverberates in my head like a bullet gone astray that was able to penetrate my skull, and is now ricocheting in there scrambling my brains.
Anyone with small children is probably cringing at my story by now. Not because of the fact that I’m making a total mess out of my life, but because they know what it’s like to drink like you’re young and single. But you’re not. You still have to wake up at the crack of dawn, ready to care for another being the entire day. Someone who doesn’t care that you feel like shit.
Sitting at the kitchen table, hating myself more than I have ever in my entire life, I sit with Mia while she has her breakfast, desperately trying not to vomit at the smell of her scrambled eggs.
“Momma, when is Daddy coming home?”
“Later, baby. He still has a few meetings.” Owen had called me earlier in the morning. When he asked what was wrong, I told him the truth. I was hungover as fuck.
My phone buzzes, the sound of it booming in my ears. I put my hand over my eyes for fear that they’ll pop out from the pressure in my head, then grab the thing to see who the torturer is.
Jessoc D. my phone says. The day I’d entered Jess’ contact, Mia had taken my phone and her fingers hit the additional letters. I don’t know why I’ve never corrected her name on my contacts. Even now, I just let it be.
-S’up. she says.
-Hey.
-We still taking the kids to the park? Or should we just Bun it and feed your hangover while we watch them play?
-How’d you know I was hungover? I ask, looking out the kitchen window to see if she’s peeking in.
-After what happened yesterday, there is no way you didn’t hit the bottle when you got home. And knowing you, you had no self-control.
-I cried hysterically while I exercised on the elliptical. Like a c
razy person. I confess.
There is no response for a while, then, a few minutes later comes her reply in the form of a GIF, with a woman on a treadmill wearing a head band that is open-mouth crying. Back and forth the little picture goes, her arms flapping like she’s swimming, or better yet, drowning, her legs wildly mimicking the movements.
A burst of laughter bubbles out of me and it sort of makes me mad that she made me laugh when I am supposed to feel down.
Damn it if Owen didn’t hook her on making those a month ago when the Donahues came over for a cookout. So now between the two of them, I get a healthy dose of memes and GIFs every day. Probably more than anyone should.
-The Bun sounds amazing. I tell her. The sooner the better.
We’re the lucky people that live near The Bun, as there are only two in the country, one here in Charlotte not too far from when we live, and the other somewhere in Alaska.
Beyond having my favorite burger, nothing more than just a cheeseburger with shredded lettuce, a thick slice of tomato and mayo, so simple but oh so delicious, they also have one of the best playgrounds I’ve ever seen. Part inside, with slides and climbing walls galore, there is also an outdoor area that is open during the summer months only, with a small splash pad and another playset.
Though it’s a fairly warm March day, it’s certainly not warm enough to frolic in jets of cold water, and I’m so happy it’s closed because Mia wouldn’t care. She’d still splash around until her lips turned blue, then she’d run to me and plaster her cold little body to my dry one for heat. And I, as a good mother, would sacrifice my warmth to her, but my face would contort in agony as the icy water would penetrate my skin like needles.
A chill goes through me and I shiver at the thought as I stare through the window and remember last summer.
“Did you just imagine that damned cold water?” Jess asks, a shiver going through her, too.
“Yeah. I brought Mia on that cool day back in August, do you remember? It just didn’t cross my mind that the water would be so cold in summer. And with the cooler weather… It was bad.”
“Yup. Been there. Come on, let’s go sit over there,” she hints at a table right at the border of the playground where we can watch the kids and monitor anyone who approaches.
We sit with our drinks and place our respective numbers on the table as our three kids head off to play.
“Clara didn’t want to come?” I ask Jess.
“Nope. She has daddy/daughter day. Kev took her out to lunch, then he’s taking her rock climbing.”
“Nice.”
“So, how are you feeling?” she asks, taking a deep drink of her Diet Coke. It makes my eyes water seeing how much of the bubbly stuff she can drink in one swallow.
Slouching and groaning, I say, “Like shit. And I don’t just mean the hangover.”
“Yup. Been there, too. It’s awful.”
“Jess, I don’t know how this happened?”
“Really? You really don’t know?” she asks sarcastically.
I huff at her. “You know what I mean. And I’d already gotten him out of my system, too. Now I have to start from scratch.” First thing I did this morning was seal up that cursed dress again and stuff it as far as it would go in my linen closet.
“Maybe AA would help?”
“It’s not an addiction,” I tell her exasperatedly.
“Sort of, it is. I’m sorry, Cris. Joking aside, I know this is tough. Especially for you because you have feelings for Bo even though you have an awesome life with Owen.”
“I love the way you remind me of my love for Owen, even though you’re just as guilty of my affair with Bo as I am.”
“What! I admit I was a little excited about the idea of Bo, but you know anything I ever told you about my life was never meant to be used as a manual for yours!”
“I know, I know.” I wave her indignation away. She really never meant for this to happen. Matter of fact, she likes Owen a lot more than she does Bo. All she did was try to be there for me, and that’s a hard thing to do with a friend when you want to give good advice, but the little devil in you who wants to live vicariously through others ends up throwing his two little cents in, too.
I rest my head in my hand and moan. “What am I going to do?”
“Well, for starters you need to talk to Owen.”
My head pops up. “I can’t talk to Owen about this!”
“You’re kidding, right? I mean, wasn’t that one of your biggest claims when he had his affair, that he should have told you right away?”
“This is different,” I say.
Jess crosses her arms, her blue eyes daring. “How is this different?”
“Well…” Shit, I can’t think of a reason. “It just is. I am trying to rebuild my life with Owen. In fact, I think we’re doing pretty amazing. Better than ever!”
“Hm, if you’re doing better than ever, why did you sleep with Bo?”
“He caught me off guard.”
“Does that mean that dude over there could fuck you right now if he catches you off guard?” she points to a single guy, handsome really, if not too young.
“No, of course not.”
“What about that lady there, or that couple over there.”
“Jess, stop, you’re being ridiculous.”
“Am I? Because from where I’m sitting, I think it’s you that being ridiculous. Look, Cris, you know I love you, and I have your back no matter what. But when I see that you may be doing something wrong, I have to call you out on it. And it’s not that you love two men, by the way,” she says shooting down the words that were about to escape my lips. “It’s not even about your affair. It’s about keeping this secret. Not only will you feel like a hypocrite for faulting Owen on that, but it will also consume you from the inside out. And that one I say from experience.”
Before I get a chance to reply to her little speech, Caleb comes tumbling out of the tube slide, Mia right behind him. Before she’s all the way down, he stands and faces the slide, and whack! Mia’s feet make full force contact with his tummy and throws him a good foot or two. Both Jess and I are up in a flash. He’s crying that sort of cry where no sound comes out for what seems like a minute, then finally after a deep breath, the fog horn is set free and it’s deafening.
“Well, sounds like he’s all right,” says Jess, holding him to her.
Mia, who is also crying, is hanging over my shoulder. Then just like that it’s over, and they’re both playing with Josh and another little girl they met there.
When we sit down, Jess takes a big bite of her chili burger, staring me down the entire time. She’s making me so uncomfortable I can hardly eat.
“Jess!”
“What?” she feigns innocence.
“Stop looking at me like that!” I demand.
“I’m not looking at you like anything. Maybe you’re just projecting your guilt.”
“Dear lord.” Turning my back to her, I eat my burger facing the other way. It’s a little hard to do, but I need to prove a point.
Even then, I can still feel her looking at me over my right shoulder. Her glare is so harsh that I turn to yell at her to stop, but when I do, she’s not sitting there. She’s gotten up and is over by the kids, helping Mia climb. The sight of her with my kid softens me.
I think she may be right. The guilt on my shoulders is gaining weight by the minute, and if I don’t do something, it’s going to crush me.
CHAPTER 11
Owen comes home just in time to get Mia to bed, which thrills her. Not that I’m complaining, I love it when he puts her to bed, listening to the giggles and the stories he tells her about his childhood. But the truth is that it does hurt my feelings, and not a little, that I turn into chopped liver the moment Owen shows up.
We could be mid-craft, mid-game, I could even be shoveling chocolate covered ice cream into her mouth, and none of it is enough to keep her from daddy. It is cute though. Not to mention that it takes the attention off of me,
which right now is a blessing.
I don’t know if guilt was the right word for what I felt as I saw him walk through our front door earlier, real joy on his face from being home with his family. Or when he pulled me in for a hug and kissed my lips, attempting to linger a little longer, but I pulled away. If he thought anything of it, he didn’t have much time to dwell on it because Mia practically crawled up his body to get into his arms.
“How’s my baby been?” he asked her and they moved on to the nightly ritual. “Go pick out some comfy pajamas,” he told her and she was off to her room. “Then I’ll read you three books instead of two.”
“Yay!” she screamed, running away before he changed his mind on the three books.
The moment she was out of sight he grabbed me. “I missed you,” he whispered in my ear, pulling me in so tight I could feel just how much he missed me. I let him because I was not expecting it just then, and because I missed him, too. “Why don’t you go shower while I get Mia into bed.”
Smiling nervously, I nodded and headed for our room.
Now, as I listen to them through the monitor, knowing it’s only a matter of minutes before he comes into the room, the weight of the secret becomes so heavy that I can barely move.
Undressing slowly in front of the bathroom mirror, I see something ugly in my eyes, something shameful, and I look away. This must be what Owen felt a year ago, when he did what he did to me. There’s an innate inability to look at one self in the eye when you’ve done something regretful. No, not regretful. I still can’t use the word regret and Bo in the same sentence.
Perhaps it’s deceitful. Yes, that’s a better word. I look up again and into my eyes, just as Owen had done. He’d looked into his soul and realized he could no longer live with a lie.
And now I too have that same choice. I too have to decide if I can live knowing that I’d been unfaithful, and sleep with Owen. It isn’t only a matter of the heart. I trust Bo is clean, but Owen has no clue. I remember, too, the humiliation of having to be tested for sexually transmitted diseases. I didn’t want to put Owen through that.
