Heartless

by R. C. Martin

  I know that I should feel convicted. Everything that I’ve been taught about the sacrament of marriage leads me to believe that what I did last night was wrong. I should be seeking God for forgiveness and confessing that the desires of my sinful nature are becoming more than I can control on my own. However, it’s not the memory of last night that makes me feel uncomfortable. While there is guilt in my heart, my shame cowers in the presence of my longing. I’ve never felt a pull toward another person this strong before. I can’t explain it. I can’t shut it off. After that kiss—I no longer feel like the man I was yesterday morning.

  I feel uncomfortable being in this place not because it is the Lord’s house and I am a sinner—for we are all sinners, welcomed into His house—but because my wife is on my arm, and all I can think about is how much I want another woman.

  “Hey. You okay?” Gabriel steals my attention, nudging me with his elbow as we stand in the noisy lobby, waiting for the rest of our family to join us.

  Glancing beside me, I see Veronica is talking to Graham, which means Abigail and Tamara have gone to pick up the kids from children’s church. I didn’t notice when they broke away from us after exiting the service.

  “Michael?” Gabe claps a hand on my shoulder and gives me a small shake. “What’s going on, Mikey?”

  I blow out a sigh and shake my head, willing myself to remain in the present. “I’ve got a lot on my mind, is all.”

  He studies me a moment, a slight frown tugging at his brow. If there’s one person in the Cavanaugh clan that has always been able to see right through me, it’s Gabe. It’s like he’s got a gift or something. Even after fifteen years of marriage, my brother can read me better than my wife. Then again, he’s known me my entire life, which is why I’m not at all surprised when he squeezes my shoulder and lets me go before reminding me, “I’m here if you need to talk.”

  It’s a standing offer; one that goes both ways. Over the years, nothing has been able to wedge a gap in our bond. Not when I went out of state for college, not when either of us got married, not when he started having kids—nothing. With that truth in mind, I know I can trust him with the conflict that weighs heavily on me today. I can’t say for sure how he’ll take it or what advice he’ll offer, but I could use someone to talk to right now.

  Deciding to take him up on his offer, I ask “Got any plans tonight?”

  “Sounds like I’m about to.”

  “Yeah.”

  He nods at the same time that we both hear, “Daddy!” before Isla comes crashing into his legs. He smiles down at his youngest daughter, speaking his own soft greeting as he affectionately sweeps her hair out of her face. I feel a pang of regret and jealousy as I watch their exchange, but I ignore it as my brother shifts his attention back on me and resumes our conversation.

  “Old Chicago? We’ll grab some pizza and beer? Six o’clock?” he asks, naming a familiar spot.

  “I’ll meet you there.”

  WHEN I ARRIVE at the restaurant, Gabriel is already seated in a booth on the outskirts of the bar. As I make my way toward him, Clay breaks off and heads to one of the high-top tables, giving me my privacy—as always.

  “Is this all right? I didn’t want to wait to be seated in the dining room,” Gabe says in greeting as I slide in across from him.

  “This is perfect. Thanks for meeting me.”

  “Please,” he scoffs, waving his hand in dismissal. “Thanks for giving me an excuse to eat pizza. Tamara started one of her clean eating kicks again last week. The only thing resembling pizza in my house for the next couple of months is sure to be made with some cauliflower crust or some shit.”

  “That’s not pizza,” I chuckle.

  “My point exactly,” he replies with a grin. “I already ordered. Magnificent Seven. The waitress should be back around any second to grab you a beer.”

  I nod my acknowledgement and then pick up the beer menu to peruse my options. This place is known for their wide selection, and I usually like to switch it up whenever I get the chance. While I try and decide, I ask Gabe about work. He obliges me, giving me a second to work up the nerve to tell him about what’s going on with me. I know he’s onto my tactics. I can’t ever fool him, and I appreciate the easy conversation for as long as it lasts.

  As soon as my beer is set in front of me, he’s quick to shift gears.

  “Okay. Enough small talk. What’s going on? Why are we here?”

  I cough out a nervous laugh, feeling far from amused, and try to figure out where to begin. Memories from last night flood my mind, and all I see is Blaine’s smile. Then I look across from me and see a man who has been married, a man who has never strayed from his wife in the last fourteen years. Even before that, when they were dating, he remained faithful. The only reason they got married after Veronica and me is because Tamara spent the last two years of her undergrad studying abroad in France.

  They were a world apart, but their love was unbreakable. It still is. In fact, I’d even go so far as to say that it’s stronger now than it’s ever been. Gabe is a carnivore, through and through. He’ll talk shit about cauliflower pizza, but if Tamara puts it in front of him, he’ll not only eat it, but he’ll praise her for her efforts and mean every single word he says.

  “How do you do it?” I mutter, my voice so quiet, not even I can tell if I meant for him to hear me.

  “Do what?”

  “Love your wife. And don’t tell me it’s easy because she’s Tamara. She’s great, and I love her like the sister she is to me, but I’m talking about something else. I’m talking about something deeper. I’m talking about—”

  “Dirty love,” he interrupts. His face set in a serious, contemplative expression, he props himself up on his forearms against the table and says, “The kind of love you drag through the dirt when things are hard. The kind of love that pulls you through those times when it feels like you’re covered in sweat and blood and tears because you’ve been through a war fought in pitch black darkness. The kind of love that says—I choose you still and we’re getting out of this together.”

  His description about knocks the wind out of me, and I sit back in my seat and shake my head at him. The fear that’s been tormenting me the last couple of weeks settles in my gut, and I wonder when I became this man? When did I become the husband who isn’t sure if he has the endurance to survive another war fought in the pitch black darkness?

  “What’s going on up in that head of yours, brother?”

  “God, I don’t even know,” I moan, rubbing my eyes with my thumb and forefinger. When I drop my hand in my lap, my gaze goes with it. “I’m changing,” I admit. “I can’t explain it. I can hardly understand it, it just—I don’t feel the same.”

  “Can I be honest with you about something?”

  I brace myself for what he might say next, and then lift my eyes to connect with his.

  “I wondered when you’d come to me.”

  My eyebrows shoot up in surprise, as I was not excepting those words. Not entirely certain that I catch his meaning, I mimic his stance, propping myself up on my forearms as I ask, “What do you mean?”

  “I see you, Mike. You’re the politician in the family. You’ve always been able to bullshit a lot of people, but you can’t bullshit me. You and Vee—you haven’t had an easy go of it. Yeah, okay, on paper, you look really good. To the people of Colorado who watched you on your campaign trail, Veronica should be First Lady of the White House for all they know. But I’ve been around for a stretch. I’ve seen your ups and downs. I’ve watched you both change—and I wondered when you’d come to me.”

  “It’s not that I’m unhappy. I’m not miserable. She’s a good woman.”

  “And you’re a good guy. That’s not the point here, is it?”

  “No,” I agree on a sigh.

  “So what’s going on? I know Abigail’s news must have hit you both pretty hard. Is this about kids?”

  “No.” My answer falls from my lips before I even think abo
ut it. As soon as I speak it, I furrow my brow, suddenly wondering if that’s not exactly true. “I mean, maybe—but not in the way that you might think.”

  Gabriel stares at me, silently waiting for me to elaborate. I don’t talk about this stuff very often. Veronica’s infertility is a sensitive subject. I learned at home not to talk about it. Now, with the issue hoovering between us, I don’t know what to say.

  When Vee and I first found out that she couldn’t conceive, Gabe took me out for a beer. He knew already what a conversation with dad would be like for me. He knew that it would be full of encouragement and faith. He was right. Dad reminded me that God doesn’t do anything on accident. He quoted scripture about women in the bible who conceived in the most unlikely of circumstances. He insisted that whatever happened from that point on, Veronica and I had chosen each other; we needed to stay true to our marriage, put our faith in God, and move forward. Gabe, on the other hand, had something different to say.

  He never once told me to abandon my marriage. However, he wasn’t afraid to ask some bold, hard questions. He asked me what I wanted and what I was willing to sacrifice given our situation. At the time, he wanted to know how deep my love went, and if I was prepared to fight for it. Back then, I was. Now—now it’s not about our lack of children. Rather, it’s about what our lack of children has done to us.

  “It’s like our marriage is a house,” I tell him. “There are rooms everywhere. Every door leads somewhere, and every door is unlocked…except for one.”

  “And?” he prompts.

  “And it’s frustrating. She has full access—and for whatever reason, my security clearance doesn’t exist. Half the time, she wants to pretend like the door isn’t even there. She’s so busy trying to distract me from it…” My voice trails off when I grow tired of talking in analogies. “I don’t even know if it’s about that. Or maybe it is and I don’t want to point fingers but—”

  “If what’s about that?”

  I glance down at my beer, wondering if I can admit the truth while looking my brother in the eye. Then I remember the way Blaine moaned into my mouth when I kissed her. I remember the way she clung to me like she was afraid I’d let go. I remember the hard-on I had to hide from my wife and stroke out in the shower before I got into bed last night, and I decide that this is too big. The weight of this truth is too heavy for me to be a coward about it.

  “Gabe,” I start to say, lifting my gaze once more. “There’s someone else.”

  He blows out a heavy breath as he rakes his fingers through his hair. Staring at me in a state of shock, he mutters, “Whoa.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I—I—I don’t even know—wow,” he stammers. “You were Mikey and Ronnie at sixteen years old. Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised? I don’t know, man. God…”

  I don’t speak, waiting for my announcement to sink in. He takes another second to process what I’ve said, and then he asks, “Have you—I mean, how serious is this? Have you slept with her?”

  Both of us go mute when our waitress arrives with our pizza. After setting it down in the middle of our table and asking if we’d like anything else, she leaves us for another group of customers. Neither Gabe, nor I, reaches for a slice, his question still lingering unanswered.

  Finally, I confess, “No. But I’d be lying if I said it hasn’t crossed my mind.”

  Rubbing his hand over his chin, he grunts, “Mierda, Mike.”

  “I know. Okay? I know.”

  “Do you?” he asks, casting a worried look my way. He speaks in a harsh whisper as he says, “Remember who you are, Michael. I’m not judging you, you know I would never do that—but what you’re talking about, it could destroy you. Not just your marriage, but your career.”

  “You don’t think I’ve considered that?” I argue, the ache in my chest catching me off guard. “God, Gabe—I know this is crazy. I know. But I want her.”

  “Is this about sex? I mean, is Veronica—”

  “No. I told you. I haven’t had sex with her. I’m still getting to know her. It’s just—sometimes I feel like she’s all I ever think about.”

  He leans back in his seat, blowing out another heavy sigh. “I have to tell you, Mike, I wasn’t expecting this. I want to say something, but I don’t even know where to begin.”

  “I probably shouldn’t have told you,” I mutter, realizing how selfish and unfair it is of me to ask him to keep this secret. “I’d appreciate it if—”

  “I’m not going to say anything. You know that. I love you, and I want the best for you. I want you to be happy. But you need to be smart, man. You have to think this through. Don’t be impulsive and stupid—and for the love of God—whatever you do, don’t get caught.”

  I nod. He’s right, and I know it. Yet, still, I can’t ignore the pull that I feel even now. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her all day. My phone feels like it’s burning a hole in my pocket.

  “Michael,” he pauses and leans toward me. “I won’t pretend that I know what you’re going through. I’m not arrogant enough to sit here and tell you what to do. Just don’t lose sight of the man that you are. Don’t become someone you can’t face in the mirror. And if you need me, I’m here for you. Tienes mi apoyo, pase lo que pase. Confío en tu corazón.1 Always.”

  I relax a little, my shoulders feeling a lighter knowing that I’m not carrying the weight of this secret all on my own. Yes, I know it’s selfish, but that doesn’t make me less appreciative of what my brother is offering me. His love with no judgment.

  “Yo también te quiero, hermano.2”

  “Mierda,” he says in a huff. “Let’s eat this pizza.”

  * * *

  1 I’ve got your back, no matter what. I trust your heart.

  2 I love you too, brother.

  Blaine

  I SIT IN MY car, outside of the loft, for ten minutes. I’m sick to my stomach. There’s no way that this is going to end well. While I know what I need to do, I don’t know that I’ll ever be prepared for the fall out. I’m about to end a relationship that I’ve been holding onto for two years. It’s the longest relationship I’ve ever had. Mateo is the first guy I got serious with after mom died. My heart is breaking even now just thinking about my choice.

  I force myself out of my car and try not to throw up as I make my way to the fifth floor. I can hear music from the other side of the door, and my palms start to sweat as I unlock the knob and let myself in. Mateo is in the corner, focused on a canvas he’s working on. Like always, he doesn’t even notice my presence.

  I stop and stare, trying to remember when it all started to fall apart. As I watch him, I realize that dad was right. This isn’t all about Michael. There were fractures in my relationship with Mateo—cracks in our foundation that allowed me to see Michael. While I shouldn’t have gone behind Mateo’s back this weekend, while I’m no more right in this moment of realization than I was yesterday, it doesn’t change the fact that we’re broken. We’ve been breaking for a little while now.

  Walking into the kitchen, I shut off the music and set my bag on the counter. Mateo turns his head as the apartment is blanketed in silence. He then lifts his chin in a subtle nod as he says, “Hey, baby. Thought you’d be home sooner.”

  He doesn’t wait for me to respond before he returns to his painting. I rub my hands on my shorts, trying to find the nerve to speak.

  “Mateo, can we talk?”

  His back stiffens, but he doesn’t face me when asks, “Talk about what?”

  “Us…”

  I know I have his full attention when he sets down his paintbrush and turns to look at me. “That sounds ominous. Should I be worried?” he asks, folding his arms across his chest. “What’s going on?”

  For a second, I start to question myself, wondering if I’m really doing the right thing. Then I hear dad’s voice in my head.

  Staying with him because you don’t want to hurt him is not the same as loving him.

  My vision grows blurry wi
th tears, and I struggle to find the words I need to say.

  “Okay, what the fuck?” he asks, dropping his arms as he closes the distance between us. “What’s wrong?”

  When he reaches up to hold the back of my neck, I don’t stifle my cry as I touch my forehead to his chest. Not sure where to begin, I blurt out the truth and tell him, “I think we should break up.”

  I feel it when he goes stock-still, but he doesn’t let me go. Instead, he takes a deep breath and presses his lips against the top of my head. I don’t move, waiting for him to reply.

  “Baby, where’s this coming from?”

  Pressing my hands against his stomach, I lift my head to look into his eyes. My tears now flowing steadily, I allow myself to be honest with him—honest with myself—for the first time in weeks.

  “We’re not the same as we used to be. We fight more since you moved in than we’ve ever fought before. It doesn’t feel good, Mateo. I don’t think—”

  “Blaine—we’re transitioning. We knew moving in together would be different. Every couple goes through shit when they take the next step. This is normal.”

  “Normal?” I mutter, scrunching my brow in disbelief. “Sometimes I don’t even want to come home. That’s not normal, Mat. That’s not us being happy.”

  Dropping his hands away from me, he scoffs and asks, “So that’s it? You just want to give up? After two years, all I get is—I think we should break up? Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

  Fidgeting with the hem of my t-shirt, I murmur, “It’s not working out the way I thought it would.”

  “Baby—” He exhales an exasperated sigh before reaching up to sink his fingers in his hair. “You can’t just say shit like that and walk away. If we’re having problems, you need to talk to me.”