by M. Mabie
Since she was freaking, it wouldn’t do us any good if I freaked out, too. But inside, the feeling that I’d won huge was already getting squashed by insecurity.
“What do you want to do?” I asked, hoping I already knew the answer. Hoping she didn’t want to see a couples counselor with him. Hoping that if she did she wouldn’t think I was a mistake.
“I don’t want to do anything with him, but I don’t want him to fight me in court either. Or make this any worse than it already is.”
“How long did he say you’d have to see someone together, before he’d sign?”
“He didn’t. I came in here to call you right after he proposed the idea.”
I loved that.
“Thank you for confiding in me,” I said. If there was such a thing as a pride hard-on, I was in danger of getting one.
“You’re very welcome, I needed you. What should I do?”
It was simple. We were both terrible about overthinking things, and where this situation could have been a fucking train wreck, we were doing okay. I just had to stay calm and keep it simple. But we were handling it.
I said, “I love you. Do you love me?”
“Of course I do. Only you,” she said purposefully.
If Grant, that bastard, was conniving enough to lie on the phone to me, then he was willing to fight dirty. I didn’t want that for her. She liked her doctor and her doctor sympathized with her, from what she’d told me. I had to trust that overnight and just from seeing a shrink a few times, they wouldn’t magically grow a great relationship.
“Do you trust me, honeybee?”
“Please, just tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”
“Then agree to it. Set a limit with him though. However many sessions you feel is enough. Or by a certain date.” My chest burned telling her to see a couples counselor—or just a therapist, but whatever—with the man I wanted to throw off a cliff. But it seemed like the best solution for her. The easiest. Maybe they would both get closure.
Not that I enjoyed the idea, but maybe they had a chance at being friends.
That fucker.
All right, friends was a little too much for me to swallow at that moment. I didn’t want them to be friends, but not everything was about me. And after meeting the bitches-guy, in the bar—who was going through some major shit—suggesting a little therapy for them couldn’t hurt.
I was being a man about it and that was the man thing to do. God, I hoped it scored me some karma and didn’t blow up in my face.
“I don’t want to,” she objected.
The burning in my chest grew hotter hearing her say that, but I had to focus. “Do you want a divorce?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Do you think he’ll do what he says?”
“I don’t think he’d lie to me.” That made one of us.
That fucker.
“Then what are you scared of, honeybee? This seems like the easiest way. It’ll be okay. It’ll get things over sooner than later.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.” I heard her tears. She cried them for me.
I bit my knuckles.
Time wasn’t ever our friend, but I’d signed up for a year. She’d been fast-tracking her divorce more than I’d ever dreamed possible. If this made it easier on her, and her family, and that fucking fuck of a fucking robot fucker, then it was the least I could do.
“You’re not going to hurt me,” I said and I actually believed it. No longer did I think she would hurt me. Not after she’d done everything she said she would. There were many reasons for me to not believe her, but we’d wasted too much time dicking over what the other one was thinking. She’d just poured her heart out, obviously worried about me. She didn’t want to hurt me.
Our new way of communicating was foreign, but the simple act of her calling to confer with me about the situation…well, I couldn’t force her to do something that might bring her more anxiety. More heartache. More guilt. More pain. I couldn’t be the bastard that told her no about this. That would only bite me in the ass.
“How are you okay with this? Why aren’t you freaking out?” She sniffed, but sounded better than when she’d first called. Now, she seemed a little confused.
We were like the love-blind leading the love-blind.
“I’m not glass, Blake. I know what bed I’ve made. If he thinks seeing someone with you will help, even if it doesn’t give him the result he wants, it might help. And you calling me…” I had to swallow the sudden swell of emotion I felt bubbling up in my neck. Feeling like she trusted me enough to rely on. It just meant a lot.
Earlier, after I’d spoken to Grant, I knew he was up to something. But sometimes you have to pick your battles. And this was one I was going to let the poor sap have.
I was betting on us.
She came to me this time and not just with her body.
“Casey, this is our life. Okay? Not just my life and your life. Our life. I’m better with you. I’m stronger with you. I need you. Even if it means I have to call you and tell you things I don’t like—and I know you’ll hate. I’ll prove you can trust me.”
My sweet fucking honeybee.
“Well, then we can do this. I do trust you, honeybee, and it’s because of that trust that I suggest you meet his terms. We’ll still have each other. Every. Day,” I reassured her.
She sniffed again and asked, “Are we growing up or something?”
“Feels like it, doesn’t it?” I replied, as I heard my stomach growl.
“Thanks for being here.”
“I’m always here. I won’t let you hurt or worry alone ever again. I told you. I like trouble. Fuck. I love the shit. I’m still here, aren’t I?” I joked to hear her laugh.
She chuckled and took a deep breath, coming to grips with our plan. “Okay then, but if you change your mind, I’m out. I’ll tell him no.”
“Just call me when you get home. Be strong. You have the right to want what you want, baby. From me or from him. Got that?”
“Baby?” She laughed at me. I’d never called her that before, but her sweet giggle sounded so fucking good.
“You like that?” I asked. All the muscles that had been tense in my face began to relax. My whole body released the nervousness it had been holding in the whole day.
“No. I’m your honeybee and that’s it.”
It wasn’t twenty minutes later before she called me on her way home.
She’d left the divorce papers with him and told him she would agree to see the therapist on a few conditions. If after a few sessions she still wanted a divorce—which she assured me she would—he had to agree. Under no circumstances was she moving back in. And she could change her mind at any time.
I liked her conditions.
He begrudgingly agreed, she’d said, but he wasn’t too happy about her terms.
I mean, what a fucker.
What was there to be happy about though? She was leaving him.
It wasn’t like we expected him to bake her a cake and throw a party. But still, you’d think that after she’d lied to him, for so long, he’d be the one wanting a divorce. That’s the part that made me the most curious. Why was he still hanging on?
Blake and I talked about that, too. In those next few weeks, we talked about everything.
We were open books.
Friday, February 12, 2010
I TOLD HIM EVERYTHING and he did the same. It was amazing how we never ran out of things to talk about.
We talked about our trips and often we’d watch the same TV shows at night. It didn’t matter where we were, it felt like we were together.
Time didn’t seem like our enemy anymore. Being gone was good, but—for the first time—being home wasn’t that bad either.
The nice thing about having an apartment that didn’t house a lot of stuff, was it was really easy to keep clean. I wasn’t there much, but even when I was, I spent most of my time in my bedroom. Sure, I had a couch and a television in the living room, but
it still didn’t feel that cozy. Which, in the long run, had been my idea of keeping things simple. And let me tell you. They were simple.
There was nothing on my walls. I had a few lamps and a couple of family pictures on a table by the door. As far as decoration went, that was it. The kitchen was simple, too. Only the necessities. It was ironic that I was a professional chef, yet I rarely cooked at home anymore. When I actually went grocery shopping, it was for staples. Cheese. Coffee. Bread. Pop-tarts. Things that a person has to have to survive.
So when I arrived home from Miami, the Thursday before Valentine’s Day, it was nice to do real shopping.
Casey was coming to my place. Something that had never, ever happened before.
I wasn’t sure what he planned, but he told me he wanted to take me out on Saturday, even though Sunday was actually Valentine’s Day. The next week, he had an early Monday morning meeting with a distributor in Texas, who by his account, played a major role in having Bay Brew throughout the state. He’d be leaving late Sunday afternoon, which was fine. I guess.
I did what little cleaning needed to be done. Took the trash out, cleaned my hair out of the shower, washed my sheets, and did some laundry on Friday while I waited.
Audrey picked Casey up from the airport. I thought it was sweet he wanted to see his sister. And since he insisted the weekend belonged to just us, I invited her over for dinner.
Hearing a knock at the door, and since I was expecting them, I answered it as fast as my legs could get me there. I opened it to find it wasn’t Casey and Audrey, but a delivery man instead. He held a large vase wrapped in green tissue paper. It was the largest bouquet of flowers I’d ever seen.
I signed for the flowers, and set them down on the little table, and in no more time than I could thank the man, my telephone started ringing. I didn’t bother unwrapping the delivery, I had to look for my cell. Retrieving it, I saw that it was Dr. Rex.
“Hello,” I answered.
“Hi, Blake. I’m sorry to call you on a Friday evening. I know we made plans for Grant to come next week, but I have to reschedule.” I didn’t like the sound of that. At my last session, I explained what went down with him, and she was very generous in accepting to see us. I hoped she hadn’t changed her mind.
“Is everything all right?” I asked.
“Yes, everything is okay, but I have to leave town for a little while. My son just called and he’s in the hospital. Now I’m on my way to the airport. It appears he has an appendix that’s throwing quite a fit, and they want to do surgery. I told him I’d stick around until he was feeling better. And you don’t know my son, but I’ll tell you—he’s a big baby. I shouldn’t be gone for longer than a week or so. Just until he’s feeling better,” she explained.
How awful. I remembered my brother Shane having his appendix out his senior year of high school. It wasn’t pretty.
“Sure. I’m so sorry. I know how painful that can be. I hope everything goes okay. Do you want to call me when you get back in town? We can reschedule after you get caught up,” I suggested.
“Yes, that’s perfect. Thanks. And I’m sorry to postpone things for you, Blake. I know how bad you want to get this moving forward. I hope that a few weeks won’t cause any trouble. I can always refer you to someone else.”
She was right. I didn’t want to delay the inevitable any longer than necessary, but I also didn’t want to see anyone but her. I had to wait.
“No, don’t be silly. We’ll wait for you.”
“Good. I was hoping you’d say that. Is Casey there yet?” she asked conspiratorially, and quietly laughed into the receiver. I loved her.
“No. I just got flowers though,” I told her, like I was chatting with a girlfriend.
“Oh, I’m so excited for you. Now remember, just keep doing what you’re doing. Talk. Okay?”
There was another knock and I answered the door with the phone still at my ear. It was them. I held it open and motioned to come inside.
“Hey, Dr. Rex, they’re here now. I’m going to let you go. Have a safe flight and I hope your son gets better fast,” I said, as Casey walked through the open door and placed a quick kiss on my cheek.
“Ok, sweetie. Thank you. I’ll call when I know more. Bye.”
“Bye.”
I closed the door and spun to see Casey, and his oldest younger sister, Audrey, in my living room.
“Hi,” Casey said, looking around and making faces. “I like what you’ve done with the place. What is this? Minimalist chic?”
“Ha. Ha. I told you, I don’t have much stuff,” I said to him.
Then I spoke to Audrey. “Was he like this growing up, too? Mouthy and rude?”
She smiled and nodded. “Actually, this is a little tame,” she admitted. Casey swung an arm around her neck, like he was bringing her in for a hug, then he wrapped his hand around the other side and covered her mouth.
“You’re a liar aren’t you, Audrey?” He grinned as he asked. Then he shook her head for her, making her laugh. “I think what you meant was charming and handsome.”
Then he shook her head again inciting more laughter. She attempted to kick him from behind, but he dodged her. Just as I suspected, it was easy to see how close they were. Hell, he talked to his siblings more than I talked to either of my mine.
Then, I remembered the flowers.
“And don’t forget sweet, Audrey,” I added and pointed to the large vase behind me. “You didn’t have to send me flowers when you were coming yourself.” I turned around to unwrap them, so they’d be proudly displayed. They were just about the only ornamental thing in the place.
“I didn’t send those,” he stated with a guilty, cheesy grin.
“What?”
I tucked the green crepe paper stuff under my arm and looked for a card. Then the temperature inside me dropped. I prayed they weren’t from Grant, but I soon realized my quick prayer went unanswered when I read the card.
My stomach soured and flipped inside out. He really thought we were going to work things out? Even though when I’d emailed him to tell him about the appointment—that now I’d have to email him, telling him it was off until further notice—I hoped he was going into it knowing I wasn’t changing my mind.
That man only ever saw what he wanted. Read what he wanted. Heard what he wanted. My nausea turned to frustration.
I was happy I had planned to cook, because I wanted to cut and chop, and bitch and moan internally. Cooking was a great way to relieve the tension.
“Blake, may I use your bathroom?” Audrey asked.
I mumbled, “Sure,” and pointed down the hall. “It’s right down there.”
I wanted to rip up the card, but first I wanted Casey to read it. If it were me, I’d want to see. I felt him come up behind me and gently kiss the side of my neck, wrapping his arms around my waist.
“They’re from Grant,” he said already knowing. He didn’t sound jealous or suspicious. He sounded like he wasn’t surprised at all.
“Yeah, read the card.” I held it up so he could read it over my shoulder.
“How do you feel about that?”
“I don’t know. I’m annoyed, I guess. I feel bad for feeling like that, but that’s what I’m working with.” I relaxed as he started rocking us unthinkingly back and forth. It was soothing.
“The dude is oblivious. The definition of oblivious.” Then he turned me around in his arms. I looped mine around him and just held on for a minute. We continued to almost, but not quite, slow dance in front of flowers from the guy who wouldn’t get a clue. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too,” I said back into his shirt, which smelled of him and Southwest Airlines.
“They’re not bad flowers. Roses though? For Valentine’s Day?” Casey judged.
“I told you. He’s traditional.”
He hummed as he thought, and squinted before saying, “I would have got you a tomato and a lettuce plant. And a pig.”
“Awww. See? That’s rom
antic.” A BLT-entine.
“But I didn’t get you those things.”
“So what? It’s the thought that counts. And I like the thought of your delicious Valentine better than real roses.”
Neither of us said anything for a minute or two. I enjoyed that finally, Casey was standing in the same place that my mail came. It was the first time the apartment felt like my home.
“Oh. My. God. He’s so damn cute,” I squealed, looking at the pictures Audrey had taken of Foster. Some were over Christmas and others were at Micah and Cory’s wedding. She was really talented. Her artful eyes looked at things differently than I would have. She’d edited the photos herself and they were amazing, but the ones she’d taken of Foster were especially priceless. “That face is perfect.”
“He gets that from me,” Casey said, as he stood at my sink washing dishes from dinner. He insisted he do them, since I cooked.
I just liked the way he looked in my kitchen.
Then he looked up, and before he could wink, I beat him to it. He chuckled and said, “I have the same face as his slightly-less-good-looking-than-me father. The kid has good genes.”
Audrey and I both rolled our eyes and scrolled on through picture after picture. “Are you sure you don’t mind? I can have them printed,” I said.
She offered to print my favorite picture of our godson, lying on a blanket with a look that really did remind me of Casey. One eyebrow cocked up like he knew all the secrets to the world.
“No, I want to. We’ll call it a house warming gift,” she told me and beamed proudly. My little home could definitely use some warming. “I’m getting a lot printed, I know a guy at school who can process them for us. Really.”
She was so sweet. Her thick and curly, dirty-blonde hair was tied up in a huge wad atop her head. She had Casey’s style. Loose, but trendy. Casual, but she looked like she could walk a runway at any moment. That family did have great genes.
“Okay, thanks.”
