In a matter of seconds, my headache seems to lessen. My gaze goes to my hand clutching the unmarked bottle of aspirin, and a satisfied and relieved smile crosses my face. I toss the bottle into the drawer and shut it.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “But the prescription is enough for now.”
When I step outside thirty minutes later, I get caught in the August heat. The humid, oppressive air causes my clothes to cling to my body. The bright rays caress my face, but my mood remains wintry, a black abyss of unhappiness. I dither, watching people scurry past me, crossing the street, oblivious to the world beyond their own.
The laughter of children puts a smile on my face and lures me to the park across the street. I hasten to the green space and settle myself on a bench—the same bench I saw James with Lisa—facing the fountain so the faint mist cools my skin. My eyes seek out anything to subdue the chill in my heart.
Mason.
He’d be able to make me smile. I’m not sure if I’ll be good company, but I can pretend. My heart rate accelerates as I recall what it felt like to kiss him. What it felt like to have his arms wrapped around me as if he was never going to let me go. What it felt like when he smiled at me and only at me.
Dropping my eyes, I watch as a dingy scuffed baseball rolls near my feet, bumping the toe of my charcoal black Jimmy Choos. I pick it up, lifting my eyes to the left in the direction the ball came. A little boy of maybe five or six wearing a Derek Jeter jersey and Yankee cap starts running over to retrieve his runaway ball. I close my eyes, imagining James playing catch with a little boy. I shake my head in sadness, and the fantasy dissolves like an image you shake away on an Etch a Sketch.
“Ma’am, can I have my ball, please?”
I look up into the green eyes of the little boy with sandy blonde hair that tumbles over his eyes. I want to reach out with my hand and brush the hair away from his angelic face, but instead, I extend my hand, and he takes the ball from my open palm. A weak smile touches my lips as tears threaten to break. I’m an emotional fucking wreck.
Why don’t you want what I want, James?
“Here you go, Derek.” I wink.
He grins. “Derek Jeter is my idol, but my real name is Tatum. But, you can call me Tate for short.”
Tate of all names.
“Tate…nice to meet you. I’m Brie.”
“Hi. You’re pretty.”
“Why...thank you. You’re quite a handsome baseball player.”
“Thanks.” He smirks, punching his little fist in his glove, probably something his father taught him or he picked up while watching a baseball game.
“I bet you have all the girls falling for you.” I rustle his hair that feels like silk under my fingers, and I close my eyes for a brief moment to push the growing tears away.
“Maybe,” he answers. Redness travels up to his chubby cheeks as he kicks at the ground.
I’m suddenly overwhelmed by this little boy’s presence because I can’t have my own. I grab my purse and stand and straighten my skirt in a calm manner, even though everything inside me is in utter turmoil.
“Tate, it was so nice to meet you.”
“You look sad. Please, don’t be sad.” Tate’s shoulders fall contritely. “Daddy says everyone looks prettier when they smile. You should smile.”
“You’re daddy is right.” I grin while the rest of me is crumbling on the inside. I slip on my sunglasses because I’m quite sure I’ll cry in the next ten seconds thinking about what I’ll be missing out on. I rush away as Tate stands holding his ball and waving after me. I wave back as his father walks up from behind and scoops him into his arms. I listen as his sweet laughter pervades the air. I turn away, and that’s when the tears fall.
I’m able to control the slight trembling of my body and wipe at the tears with my hand as I rush to the pharmacy to pick up my prescription, anxious to have something assist me to ease the burden in my mind. Temporary is fine. I have to make due. I need sleep.
I join the crowds milling on the sidewalk again, blending in as best as I can as I plaster a faux smile on my face. With my pills safely tucked in my purse, I’m feeling complete.
What would me parents, especially my mom, think of me now? Slipping like this.
My parents live only a couple of hours away in Norwalk, Connecticut, but it seems like a universe away. I’ve shut them out for the last few months to get my life in order, only to see it collapse in the matter of days.
I reach for the phone in my purse and hope I can keep it together. I dial her number and clutch my purse to my chest to quall the tremors that raid my body.
“Hello?” she answers on the first ring.
“Mom.”
“Brie?” Her voice is soothing, like a lullaby and perks up when she recognizes my voice.
“Hi.” I smile, fanning myself as I walk under a tree to protect myself from the summer sun.
“Sweetie, it’s so nice to hear your voice. I miss you.” I can sense my mother’s smile, and warmth envelopes my ravaged heart. I should have called her much sooner.
“I miss you, too. I’ve been really busy.” An ache in my heart builds. I should just tell her everything. No, that’s something you do in person. Not like this, hiding behind the phone. Does it even matter anymore?
Time is too short. Precious.
“You sound different. Are you all right?”
Well, that didn’t last long. If your parents don’t know you, who does?
“Yes...just a little tired. How are things with you and Dad?” I deflect with a quick question.
Accustomed with my tactic of evading, she sighs into the phone and answers, “Your father is always busy at work, and I’m just doing a little bit of gardening out front.”
My mom, the green thumb. I love her so much.
“Now, what’s bothering you?” she persists; the pitch of her voice gets slightly higher, like hitting the wrong key on the piano.
“Nothing...I just haven’t been good at staying in touch. I’m trying to be better and make more time.”
“Sweetie…” she trails off.
“Mom, everything is fine,” I lie as tears stab my eyes.
“Honey, if something is wrong, you can tell me.”
“I know. I think it’s just that time of month for me. Emotional.”
She laughs.”I’d take that over menopause and hot flashes any day.”
“Neither one of them sounds like much fun, Mom.” I laugh softly.
“I know. Men have it pretty easy. It’s the women that have to carry the burden.”
Burden.
Was I a burden to James?
Too needy? To wanting?
Did I let my guard down too fast and too soon?
Why do I still love him? Is there something I see in him? Something broken? Are we both too broken to fix?
So many damn questions.
“It gets easier, right?”
“What do you mean?”
“I...the move has been complicated. We both work, and sometimes I feel we’re not on the same page about things. The timing is not right.”
Tell me it gets easier, even though it may be too late. Give me hope.
“I know this sounds cliché, but you both have to learn to compromise. Your happiness is his happiness. It goes both ways.”
What if the other person doesn’t understand what compromise means?
“I wish it was that simple.”
“Love never is. There are a few risks we take in life, and love is one of them. It ebbs and flows like the ocean. It can be calm and beautiful one second, and the next be stormy and rough. You have to enjoy it when the seas are tranquil, but learn to weather the storm together when things get complicated.”
“The waters have been churning for awhile, and I feel I’m battling the storm alone.”
“We’re not perfect. Love is not perfect. Love hurts. I’m not going to lie, but it’s more fulfilling to feel than not to feel anything at all. Don’t we all want to take tha
t risk rather than look back and regret it all?”
Risk and regret.
I have risked it all. Will I end up regretting it all, too?
After hanging up with my mom, I’m about to head back to the studio when I make a detour to Vines and Wine. A bottle of wine never fails to take the edge off, too. Having more than one option is good just in case the other fails. As I throw open the door, the bell jingles a pleasant sound. I inhale the pungent scent of cedar, sawdust, and the tangy smell of wine and alcohol, and my lips twitch into a temporary smile. I walk aimlessly up and down the aisles for a couple of minutes, debating whether I should go for a red or white today.
Both.
It’s always good to have both on hand just in case.
In case what?
Lingering in the aisle, I sense someone walk up beside me, but I don’t give them a second thought as I continue my careful inspection of my wine choices. I pick up a bottle of Kendall-Jackson Estate Outland Ridge Pinot Noir 2012.
“Great choice.”
A shiver races down my spine.
How come I didn’t see her when I walked in? Was she hiding? Watching me?
I would have avoided this place if I saw her. I don’t give her the satisfaction of knowing that her presence upsets me. Locking my jaw, I keep my eyes focused on the bottle, pretending to read the label.
“Yes,” I say simply, emotionally drained.
Lifting my eyes, I stare at James’ mother all put together in a neat expensive package—twinkling diamond studs in her ears and wearing a white Chanel suit. Hasn’t she learned not to wear white around me when I have red wine in my hand? Picturing nice red splotches all over her suit would normally put a shit-eating grin on my face, but I’m not feeling amused. Nothing makes me laugh lately.
Typically, she lights up this angry fire in me. A fire that makes me want to torch everything in its path, but today it’s a flickering candle during a tornado. There’s no chance of a spark, so the flames will not lick and engulf her. There’s nothing left in me. Not today.
The bell jingles, and my eyes welcome the distraction as an officer walks in. His eyes flicker across the floor and then pass over me. This is good. More people to witness an assault and battery. Imagine the headlines: “Wife of the District Attorney Arrested for Mulling Her Bitchy Mother-in-Law.”
“Celebrating something?” she asks, pulling a bottle from the rack, the same one I’m holding.
“Barbara...I’m just not in the mood today.” I stare numbly at her. With my pulse ratcheting at the sight of her, I grab two bottles and start to move toward the register.
“What’s wrong, Brie. Are you feeling a little under the weather?” She stops me in my tracks when she wraps her slim hand around my forearm.
“Please, Barbara, I have a lot on my mind right now, and I’m tired,” I speak over my shoulder, sounding cold and detached as I shake off her hand.
“Tired from what? Work?”
The nerves in my body tighten, and I sense tears springing behind my eyes. Unmoving, I look at her, wanting to understand what has made her so callous, but she’s not that important to me to even waste another second. She’s cutting into my alone time, my plans. That headache I thought was coming on earlier is throbbing behind my eyes, racing toward my temples.
“Yes. Work,” I mutter. “Like I said, this isn’t a good time for me.”
I don’t want to continue this conversation, not when I feel vulnerable. The walls I erected are cracking and chipping away with each lie and insult. Eventually, someone will notice the cracks and reach their greedy hand through the tiny fissure, snatch my heart, throw it onto the ground, and stomp on it like a grape.
I notice the cop watching us one row over out of the corner of my eye. His badge glints in the sunlight, and he smiles when I catch his eye.
Officer Friendly is rather nosy and looks vaguely familiar.
I return my attention to Babs. She inhales and stares at me, derision seeping from her eyes.
“If you’re tired from work, how will you handle having a family, taking care of a baby?”
What the hell is wrong with this woman? I want to wring her neck. Doesn’t she understand anything? Does she even know her son and what he’s doing to me?
I laugh derisively and force myself to lock eyes with her.
“A child...wouldn’t that be nice, but your son is not ready for kids. He doesn’t want kids with me.”
She doesn’t even bat an eyelash.
“What are you talking about?”
She doesn’t know?
“Wait...James never told you? Well...ask him. Ask him why because he won’t give me an answer.” My voice sounds shrill, bordering on manic. “Doesn’t he tell you everything? Do you even want to be a grandmother? Did you push him to make this decision?”
She glares at me while clutching the strap of her purse. Something that resembles sadness flashes in her eyes.
After some silence, I assume we’re done and turn around to walk away when she says, “I know my son. Maybe he doesn’t think you’re ready for that responsibility,” she says emphatically. “Maybe my son thinks you’re too...weak. I mean, look at you...with two bottles of wine and alone. What are your plans today? To drink yourself into a stupor?”
I stop and turn around to face her, restraining my quivering body. A venomous smile appears on her face, making her look like the poisonous cobra she is as she squeezes the life out of me with her spiteful words. Anger boils inside me, and for a moment, I actually believe part of what she says.
I’m weak.
I hate myself for even believing the idea. Tears build behind my irises, but I blink them away.
I lift my chin, feigning challenge.
“Maybe. Maybe you’re right, but I want to hear that from my husband. I want him to tell me I’m weak. That I’m not enough for him.”
I remove my sunglasses and compose myself after my run-in with Babs before entering the studio. I smile as Ashley hangs up the phone and taps something on the computer, tilting her head to the side in surprise.
“Back so soon,” she says as she pulls her light brown hair up into a bun and removes her silk floral scarf that matches her ocean blue cotton sheath dress.
“I know...short break. It’s so hot out there, “I reply as I stop in front of her desk and leaf through the mail.
“Anything interesting?”
“Just junk.” I frown, tossing it into the trashcan next to her desk. “You know what? It’s quiet today, so why don’t you leave early? I can lock up.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I just have a couple of things to do.”
“I can hang around for the next half hour. It’s no big deal.” She leans back in her chair.
“No, I’ll be fine. I have no one on the schedule.”
“Thanks, boss,” she chirps as she gathers her Coach bag from the bottom drawer and pulls out her phone.
“Anytime. Go spend time with that handsome man of yours.”
She comes around the desk and gives me a quick hug.
“I will. See you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow.”
Without missing a beat, she slides her sunglasses over her pert nose, and she’s out the door and on her phone.
I wish life was that simple, and love was that easy as I watch her melt into the crowd.
Was it ever easy? Did I fool myself to believing that all this time? Could I ever go back to that place where the thought the person I love puts a smile on my face instead of a constant frown or make my heart ragged with grief?
I turn away and drag myself to my office. Removing my heels, I toss my purse and place the bottles of wine onto the desk, sleeping pills in the drawer and collapse in my chair. I don’t want James to know about them. I don’t want him to know what I’m doing or what I’m thinking.
My eyes flicker around my office. I created this. My business, my passion, is all contained in this space, but I never really paid attention to all the
little details—the glossy hardwoods, the calming sage walls, and the framed black and white photos that I shot from around town displayed on my wall. I have an eye for beauty, and so does my husband. Blonde beauties, it seems. Thinking about him makes my heart drop to my stomach. How can he possible do this to me, to us?
Silence fills the space, stretching like an endless ocean. Barbs’ words spin inside my head like a merry-go-round. I wish I could cry, but why? I knew this already. It’s nothing new to me. I have weakness. We all do. I heard those words so many times during my sessions with Natalie.
Don’t be weak. Just try. You’re stronger than you think.
James has been my weakness.
There’s nothing like a bitter dose of neglect, deceit, and lack of attention. It really fucking hurts. I can’t say whose fault this is. I’ve made myself vulnerable to all of this. I wish I could react with zero emotion. That’s impossible. It’s always been my problem.
A weakness.
There’s that word again. A familiar and overused word in my vocabulary that will never go away. It should be banned along with love.
Love is unkind.
Love hurts.
I wish I wasn’t here to feel this pain.
This is exactly what depression and sadness does; it makes you want to quit, cry, and remove yourself from the world. You curl yourself into a little ball, hoping to deflect all the barbs and stray bullets.
I open the bottle of wine and take a generous sip and lean my head back against my chair. I don’t need a glass to enjoy it. A laugh escapes me, releasing the tightness that’s constricting my heart, my soul. It’s been a long time since I actually laughed. The kind of laugh that makes my stomach hurt. I can’t remember the last time James has made me laugh. I really don’t have much to laugh about. Do I? Everything is being slowly stolen from me one person at a time...the baby I can’t have, James.
Who or what is next?
I replay the scene over and over again of James in his office. The images will be seared in my mind for a lifetime.
I feel nothing. I’m stripped of everything that matters, and I’m left with nothing. I don’t want to fester in the emptiness any more. I’ll feel much more despair than I would if I just ended it all right now.
Love Is Louder Page 36
