by Jodi LaPalm
I mechanically shook my head yet muttered a quiet “yes.”
We drove separately to a retro coffee shop by the local campus. And after settling into a cozy couch in the corner, I glanced nervously at the college-aged boys seated nearby.
“I like this place. The music is cool, and the atmosphere reminds me of my hippie years,” he laughed.
“You were a hippie?” I immediately became intrigued. His clean shaven features and well-tailored suits gave no such impression.
“Not really,” he confessed. “More of a hippie wanna-be. But I did live in a teepee for three months!”
He smiled, and his already handsome face shed years while those dark eyes mischievously lit up. Yet behind it all, I detected hurt. The wounds were all-too familiar and out of sheer empathy, I wanted to know what created it for him.
“Marnie tells me you own the company,” I boldly stated, lifting my cup lid to add two entire sugar packets.
“I do,” he admitted solemnly. “Although sometimes I’d rather be an employee.”
“Really?”
“There’s great freedom and possibility for success when you take charge of your career,” he recognized. “But with it comes immense stress and the potential to lose everything if you take it too seriously.” He patiently blew the steam from his coffee before adding, “or not seriously enough.”
“I think it would be challenging to manage so much,” I agreed. “But from what I see, it looks like your business is thriving.”
“Oh, it is. It is. But that didn’t happen overnight. I’ve been working to build this company for twenty years. Only in the last ten has it really paid off in industry recognition and substantial profits. Before that, it was unknown...and pulling me into debt.”
“So what made it work?” Lifting my cup, I realized it was almost empty and wished I’d purchased a larger size.
“Sacrifice. By me, my wife, and my kids.” And in that moment the pain in the back of his eyes came forward and took over.
“How do you mean?” For an unknown reason, I became disappointed at the mention of a spouse. Of course, I knew she must exist if he had a daughter. And even though I wasn’t seeking a serious relationship with this man, the idea of him being unavailable somehow troubled me. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be asking you such things,” I quickly apologized.
“It’s okay,” he replied, staring into my eyes with a strange mix of recognition and something else...apprehension. “Our marriage is struggling. In fact, we’re recently separated and quite possibly headed to divorce court.” He sighed. “It seems that though my wife and I shared a goal in wanting this company to succeed and be financially independent, we held different ideas of how that should happen. You see, she wanted the things money and status could bring but didn’t actually want me to travel, work, and be gone to do it. When we had our kids, she began to resent the time I committed at the office to build the business.” He gulped his coffee before adding, “And over those many years, I began to mutually resent her for a host of other reasons.”
“You no longer live together?” I pried.
“No. She’s living in our house here in town while I stay at our cottage over on Mirror Lake. We’re civil and kind because of the kids; they stay with me whenever there are days off school and on weekends. Which reminds me, I need to go. My daughter will be waiting for me, and with her in charge of her brother there could be a major brawl happening, and I wouldn’t even know it.”
“Of course. I need to be going, too. Um, Philip, it was really nice chatting with you. Oh, and thanks for the coffee,” I offered with appreciation.
“My pleasure. You saved me from hours of indecisive torture in that store as far as I’m concerned. A cup of coffee isn’t near enough payment.” He grabbed my hand to shake it.
Initially recoiling, I hastily offered my own hand with the hope he didn’t notice. When my clammy skin touched his warm, soft palm, I cringed and did my best to hide any discomfort.
“Courtney,” he looked to me with timid eyes. “I know this may seem inappropriate so if you say no I’d completely understand. But, I really enjoyed talking with you and wonder if maybe...would you like to meet up again sometime? For coffee?”
“I’d like that, Philip. Let me give you my number.” I shakily scrawled it on a napkin, all the while realizing this was the first time I’d ever given my information to a man. I handed it to him and took his business card with a number printed on the back.
This wasn’t something I wanted.
I wanted simple and predictable and safe. Philip was complicated and unpredictable...and male.
Yet somewhere on a whole other level–one which I couldn’t seem to understand nor fight–he was pulling me to him.
understanding
Another active evening of after-school drama, dinner, and homework, and finally the kids were settled into their rooms for the night. I finished dishes and wiped counters while Alex watched the baseball game. And after everything was in order, I decided now would be a good time to discuss my appointment.
Of course the overall content was too personal and confidential to share and, quite frankly, if it was that easy I wouldn’t require a certified professional in the first place. I’d just save the thousands of dollars and vent all my worries and fears to my husband, and things would be just dandy.
However, I did feel a renewed confidence to divulge one thing.
Sitting in the other overstuffed chair, I busied myself by reviewing and signing school papers, all the while sneaking sidelong peeks at Alex to gauge his mood.
“Aw! C’mon! That was an easy out!” he yelled to the TV. With a furrowed brow, he glared at his trade magazine and in between brusque turns and cursory glances of its pages, he’d raise his eyes back to the game.
Okay, this is not a good time, I determined.
Finished with my paperwork, I left the room and placed appropriate pieces in the corresponding backpack so the kids could return them to their teachers. I now had a stack of mail to sort but my desire, yet failure, to come clean with Alex fostered a rare bout of procrastination.
I performed a quick mental run-through of the rooms, and my angst decreased for a few moments, that is until I heard Alex moving about, opening windows in the great room and dining room. With every open sash, my face flushed and blood boiled beneath my skin. Through watery eyes and clenched teeth, I stared out the kitchen window.
Now I would have to start all over, I cried.
Oblivious to the pain he just inflicted upon me, Alex cheered an apparent team rally from the other room. Briefly considering another attempt, I guardedly poked my head around the door only to witness him once again scowling at the flickering screen.
“I’m going to bed,” I yawned, leaning to kiss his stubbly cheek.
“Okay. I’ll be there in a bit. There’s only one inning left and the Brewers are getting creamed,” he said tiredly.
“Don’t fall asleep in here,” I reminded. “And don’t forget to close those windows.”
“I won’t,” he solemnly promised before stacking his magazines and directing full attention back on the game.
I took my time getting ready for bed-undressing and painstakingly putting clothes right side out before adding them to the laundry hamper, pulling a nightgown over my head in agonizingly slow motion, washing my face, applying nighttime moisturizer, and brushing my teeth.
Everything became a draining chore.
Gazing in the mirror, I looked over the many areas of neglect and questioned whether I should even care again. Eyebrows wanted plucking, hair required cutting and coloring, teeth demanded flossing, and nails needed trimming. These were all part of my natural routine, and regular upkeep made them presentable. Tonight, however, they each called for more energy than I could spare.
Halfheartedly grabbing tweezers from the top drawer, I pulled obvious hairs from unwelcome spots above my eyes. There was no pain; my skin felt numb to the violent extrication of wiry hairs emb
edded in its elusive layers. I did it again and again.
Still no pain.
I eventually stopped out of fear I might pull too many and be forced to draw on hideous imitations like some women. As I replaced the tweezers, I heard a gentle rap upon the bathroom door.
“You look pretty tonight,” Alex said pleasantly before going into the adjoining master closet.
“Humph,” I grunted. “Quite surprising since I’m not quite up to par at the moment.” I glazed minty balm across my chewed lips. “Who won?”
“Not us,” he griped. “It’s gonna be a helluva long season.”
“Well, you don’t have to watch every game, you know.”
“Oh, but I do,” he joked, coming up behind me. “Mm. You smell good.” He nuzzled my neck, and I made a snap decision.
“Alex. Do you think maybe we could talk?”
“And then?” he replied suggestively.
“I thought you were tired,” I goaded.
“Never too tired for you, my dear Court. Never too tired for you.”
“Why don’t you listen to what I have to say before you get all hot and heavy?” I offered quietly.
I followed him into the bedroom, and dim light glowed from the side lamp, making me even more weary. Unfazed, Alex propped pillows against the headboard and patiently waited for me to join him.
“Is this about your appointment?” he asked softly.
“Kind of.”
“Tell me only what you want,” he prompted.
“Well, I’ve been having an alarming recurrence of OCD,” I admitted out loud what he pretty much already knew.
“I’m aware of that. It came on fast, didn’t it?”
“Yes. And I think I know the cause,” I said in an inaudible whisper.
“Is this what you focused on today?” he asked, avoiding the obvious.
“Partly.”
We sat cross-legged on the bed, staring at one another in brutal agony while he helplessly considered the terrible possibilities for my problem, and I feared his hurt and disgust over the reason. Slow minutes passed amidst a dead silence, and I only became aware of them because of the tick-tick-tick-tick coming from Alex’s gold watch resting upon the bedside table.
“I found out last week an old friend died,” my voice cut through heavy, unmoving air.
“Who?”
“Philip.”
Although he tried to conceal it, a hard shadow crossed his face. And even in the darkness, the change was perceptible. I frantically searched his features for some clue of how to proceed. When he released a deliberately low breath, I noticed his eyes remained soft.
The topic of Philip carried equal parts gratitude and heartache for Alex. Well aware of my extensive fear for relationships following the rape, he felt forever in Philip’s debt for helping me past it. But yet, at the same time, there was an undeniable jealousy over the very thought of me ever giving my love to another man.
“How did you find out?” he calmly asked.
“Marnie sent an email to catch up, and she casually mentioned it,” I lied, believing he’d unnecessarily freak if I told him the real truth.
“What happened?”
“Some illness,” I answered, attempting to sound nonchalant.
“And you think this might be causing your OCD to re-emerge?” Alex redirected his full energy back on me, and I got the distinct impression these safer questions weren’t only a display of faithful concern but also a stall tactic.
“Dr. Benson thinks I might be...grieving in some strange way.”
He carefully nodded in understanding, and I instinctively leaned toward him. Reaching out his arms, he brought me into his chest and our entwined bodies rested gently against layers of pillows along the headboard.
Tears fell in long heavy drops, gradually creeping inside the crevices of my neck and producing a terrific itch. The very act of saying that particular secret out loud–to Alex and not a therapist–brought more solace than I could have ever predicted. And through now-painful sobs, I fought to speak.
I needed to explain how the reason for these tears wasn’t because of Philip but because of him...his strength, kindness, and love. But the words never came, and instead Alex thoughtfully shushed me in an effort to create calm. It worked, and before I could think anything more, I fell asleep in his arms.
I awoke to find Alex still holding me, perched stiffly in the same sitting position but with eyes closed. Gingerly unwrapping his arm from my body, I helped him snuggle under the quilt and directed his head upon the down pillow. Although he opened his eyes, I knew he wasn’t truly awake so I whispered “go to sleep” and turned off the table lamp.
Focusing on the digital readout of one o’clock in the morning, I stumbled to the bathroom and splashed water on my swollen eyelids. Now fully conscious, I hobbled through unlit rooms to get a drink of water from the kitchen tap. Sipping slowly, I stared out the windows over the sink at the homes across the street.
Dark windows reflected peaceful dwellings in which the inhabitants slept long and pleasant nights, unaffected by anything other than the typical stresses of daily life.
I wondered if they gazed at our house and imagined the very same thing-that here, in this graceful two-story with its professionally-tended lawn and landscape, lived an easygoing couple with their two kids and little care in the world.
Or were they, too, secretly spying out a front window–unable to find rest and envying the world outside while dreaming of a simpler life inside?
***
Three weeks passed before Philip called.
I waited, impatiently, because there was no way in hell I’d contact him–no matter what. So, every morning after our coffee visit, I woke with renewed hope today would be the day. And every night when nothing changed, sleep came slowly across my wishful body.
Even if he never called, I held a small chance of seeing him, regardless, since Marnie invited me to another going-away party near the end of the month. I began making preparations to attend when the phone finally rang.
Since an evening meeting gave me great trepidation, I recommended another coffee date where we could meet in broad daylight amid a crowd. At his suggestion, we tried a different place this time, and I offered to drive separately. I didn’t want Philip knowing where I lived or worse, enduring a barrage of questions from my well-meaning parents.
Despite stale dating practices, I still knew enough to arrive a few minutes late. It wasn’t really a problem since I got lost finding the place. This shop was modern and bustling with bistro tables full of fashionable mothers and hip seniors. It wasn’t inviting like the first, yet the aroma of fresh-ground coffee instantly made my mouth water.
From a small leather loveseat, he waved me over and flashed a bright smile while I strolled toward him with my purchase.
“Courtney. It’s so great to see you!” he reached to give me a hug. Subtly avoiding him, I stumbled against a bookshelf, knocking volumes from its black metallic shelves.
“Oh! Gosh! I’m sorry about that,” I apologized. Now fully embarrassed, I returned the fallen items to their rightful place before sitting across from him.
“No worries. I think they’ve forgiven you already,” he offered, tipping his head toward the books. “I’m the one who should apologize. I meant to call you weeks ago. I’m so sorry.”
I searched for signs of a lie–that he really didn’t think to call until now–but couldn’t find one. Rather, he sat with his left foot propped on his right knee, leaning back, and casually sipping coffee. Here he was in front of me, cool and calm as a cucumber while I silently believed my organs might explode out of my stomach due to the butterfly flock held captive inside.
“It’s okay. I’ve been busy, too.” Although I knew it to be false, I prayed he didn’t notice.
After a few tense minutes, his quiet demeanor remained, and I soon found little choice but to follow his lead. During more than two hours of conversation, I became spellbound by a wonderful youth
fulness illuminating his face with every impulsive grin. As a result, I tried to inject witty or sarcastic observations in the hope I could see him do it again and again.
That particular expression made my insides do a small flip I hadn’t experienced before. But more importantly, when he did smile in a unique and mischievous way, the longing briefly left his eyes.
This time when we parted, we made specific arrangements to meet. And in my happy, carefree moment, I agreed to an evening dessert date.
At my acceptance, he flashed one final grin and placed his palm on my back to escort me toward the exit. My rigid body created immediate distance between us, thus erasing all previous joy and unleashing a bizarre remorse for hurting his feelings.
