by Jodi LaPalm
When he brought me home, we remained there, in his truck, unsure how to say goodnight. Philip’s even breathing broke the quiet, and I turned to gaze at him in the blackness of the cab. His profile was shrouded by shadows of the streetlight, lending it a peaceful cast. Enraged, I essentially tackled him. Angry for the hurt he inflicted upon me, I wanted him to hurt, too.
Yet all I knew how to do was love him.
His frustrations mirrored my own, and it became evident in our lovemaking. Instead of caring whispers, there were silent stares. Tender kisses became replaced with fierce ones. And by the time it was over, our bodies were bruised from powerful grips and scratched from greedy fingernails. Another gaping void appeared within me, and I prayed for it to be filled.
Over the next month, we called and met on occasion, yet there was a timidity in his tone and an impatience to mine. Unable to bear the suspense and not a fan of ultimatums, I opted for a deadline.
“Philip, it’s time to make a decision. Not just for my sake, but for hers,” I seethed into the phone. “We all need to know what direction to move in.”
“I know. She’s already given me one.” And at his very mention of her, I nearly threw up over my venomous hate for this woman I had no reason to dislike and jealousy of the unbreakable bonds she held with Philip.
For all along, she’d made me believe he could be mine. She’d given me hope. And now she intended to take it all away. It wasn’t enough she’d gotten his youth and his children and many, many years of his attention, but now she wanted Philip back after convincing him she no longer cared.
Worse, I possessed nothing with which to compete and lost all desire to do so. No longer willing to scream “pick me, pick me” like a kid wanting to play kickball, I also refused to participate in a love triangle.
No. I wouldn’t do that. But I also wasn’t willing to passively pretend I didn’t love him the way I did. Philip needed to know he meant more to me than breathing.
“Philip,” I began reluctantly. “You need to know only one thing from me. I love you. I love you,” I repeated, “with every cell of my body and part of my soul. I’ve never known another person like you and want nothing more than to be with you for all of my days here are on Earth. You’ve become my life.”
“Yet,” I sighed, “I also understand your children are your life, and I expect you to think and feel nothing less-it’s the kind of man I’d want you to be if we ever had a child. But I’m asking you to please consider what’s right for you, just as much as what you believe to be right for them. For I think doing so won’t change who you are to them; it will only make you better.”
“I know, Courtney,” he muttered sadly and hung up. And though I couldn’t see his eyes, I somehow knew the hurt I’d tried so hard to erase returned.
longing
The delectable aroma of dinner cooking and carefree chatter of guests passing outside my locked door roused me from the chair. For the first time in almost an entire day, the neurotic thoughts and uncontrollable desires returned. And with no home to care for, I soon panicked.
Anxiously directing full attention on my few belongings, I spread them upon the still untouched bed. After performing an inventory of each item, I neatly folded things before setting them in like piles and then packing, unpacking, and repacking everything until I was confident they were precisely the way I wanted.
More relaxed now, I grabbed my bag and walked to the all-hours liquor store a few blocks down the street. After purchasing a bottle of wine, I returned to the inn and placed another request for dinner. With little ability to be charming or any interest in people I didn’t know, I thought another solitary meal in my room-with yet more wine-deemed appropriate.
Minutes later, the hostess arrived carrying a tray. Elegant as the first and equally as appetizing, there rested a huge slab of coconut crusted fish, fresh corn on the cob, and hand-cut sweet potato fries. I uncorked the wine and gazed lovingly at the generous rectangle of cherry covered cheesecake.
Upon devouring every last morsel, including a strange mix of tartar and sugary chutney served with the fish, I took my dessert and wine to the balcony and ate it while overlooking the garden.
An array of lights dotted edges of the path, lending the entire area an ethereal vibe. And a strange pulse soon crept from the withered rose bushes and sprouting plants, pounding and moving its rhythmic beat up the moss covered inn, over the wrought-iron railing, and into my head.
I covered my ears, but it seeped in just the same and wouldn’t leave. Peering over to where a small group gathered at an oval table on the stone patio, I searched for signs they heard it, too.
They chatted and laughed as if nothing was wrong.
Returning inside, I closed the doors to drown out the noise, but it followed me into the room. Sensing a whopper of a migraine building from a week of clenched teeth, sleepless nights, and long-repressed memories, I reached for an aspirin from my purse.
Had it really...truly...only been a week? I thought. In the past seven days, I’d relived more than enough years, many of which I wished to deny.
Although it was barely seven-thirty, I dressed for bed, settled into the chair with feet tucked beneath my nightgown, and clutched a third glass tightly to my chest.
It hurt.
The memory of Philip now physically hurt. And since the aspirin appeared ineffective, it meant I had little choice but to feel its ache. For with each attempt to block it, the throbbing worsened. Now fully resigned, I surrendered completely in a despondent effort to release the pain...once and for all.
***
One evening, as we sat in a corner booth at our favorite Italian restaurant, I detected a change in him.
“Philip, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m fine,” he too-quickly replied, gulping the remnants of his second Manhattan.
“No. You’re not. You’re different,” I accused.
His eyes darted around the dining room-first to the other tables, then onto the humongous fish tank, and finally upon the rolling salad cart-resting them anywhere but on me. Somehow, I knew what was coming, yet I wanted him to continue avoiding my inquiring gaze so the moment didn’t have to happen.
“Have you decided to go back to her?” I finally whispered.
“Courtney,” Philip grabbed my hand. “It’s, well, it’s more like she...”
“She what? You’re letting her decide for you now?” I condemned. “Don’t tell me you’ve turned it all over to her, Philip. Don’t you dare!”
“I haven’t. In fact, we mutually came to the agreement, and now that I’ve been home...”
“YOU’VE BEEN HOME?” I screamed, no longer caring if others heard us. “You mean to tell me you’ve already gone back together and you didn’t bother to let me in on it?”
“It’s only been a trial run–for the last week and a half,” he whispered in an attempt to placate me.
“Were you ever going to tell me, Philip? Or were you just going to have your cake and eat it, too?” I chastised. “You know, have the perfect little family and the filthy seedy mistress? Is that what you wanted?”
“No! That’s not what I want at all!” he swore adamantly. “And you are in no way anything like that, Courtney. This trial run is only...a test to see if it’s even possible for us. I didn’t tell you right away because I thought it might not even work, and I’d be right back where I was, living at the cottage and going through with the divorce,” he explained. “Then we could be together.”
“Seriously? You really thought this would be okay to keep from me?” I raged. “I thought you were different, Philip. But it turns out you’re just like every other damn man out there–a selfish bastard!”
In the days following our argument, my OCD returned with a vengeance. The only time I left the house was for work. And whenever the phone rang–sometimes three or more times per day-my parents dutifully told anyone asking for me that I was unavailable.
Within that time, I died all over again.
***
A few brutal weeks later, I bore witness as my dear friend, Marnie, became the wife of Carl. Their private winter ceremony was followed by a full-blown bash at an abandoned ski lodge.
The joy of their union was mirrored in the twinkling white lights draped upon every rustic beam. And reception guests cheerfully paraded the worn pine floorboards in festive dresses and suits. It was the happiest season of the year, and I was utterly miserable.
Masking my woes, I falsely smiled and laughed with the wedding party in celebration. And as I listened to champagne toast after toast of new life beginnings, I couldn’t help but feel mine was tragically ending.
I hadn’t seen or spoken to Philip, which was why I practically fainted when I saw him standing in the poinsettia-filled foyer of the lodge, shaking hands with Carl and hugging Marnie.
“Oh wow! I don’t believe it! Philip’s here!” I heard a groomsman rave against the spiraling din. A co-worker of Carl’s, he apparently knew of Philip’s chronic avoidance of such events. He once explained it was easiest for him to decline every employee invitation to the frequent weddings and other family parties than attempt to pick and choose, potentially hurting someone’s feelings.
I dashed toward the restroom but not before I caught sight of a woman by his side. Crouched in the furthest stall, I inhaled and exhaled rapidly, trying to catch my breath and prevent the sickness within my stomach from coming up. Choking down one rush of vomit, the second proved too fast. And I leaned over the toilet, careful to keep the scarlet creases of my silk dress off the dirty floor and out of its vicious path.
I exited about a half hour later to find Philip chatting with much of the wedding party who also happened to be company employees. He made some comment causing the entire group to burst out in irrepressible laughter, and I stealthily turned back toward the bathroom.
“Courtney!” Philip called. “Courtney!”
“Did you see who came?” Marnie blocked me and excitedly grabbed my arm. “I just can’t believe Philip is here! I mean he never attends these things. He said he just couldn’t stay away from this one. Isn’t that sweet?”
“Um, yeah...sweet,” I mumbled, holding back another round of nausea. “Marnie, I’m not feeling too well, I might need to leave...”
“Courtney! There you are. What a wonderful surprise,” Philip said behind my back.
Pausing, I debated my options and sadly realized a petrified sprint for the door would not only create a scene but insult my friend as well. Gripping Marnie’s wrist, I turned.
Beside him stood a woman I never met but immediately recognized.
“Courtney. It’s so wonderful to see you again,” he whispered and cleared his throat. “I’d like you to...ah...meet my wife, Maria.”
“Nice to meet you, Courtney,” she smiled kindly and reached for my hand. Her petite frame, pale skin, and dark hair and eyes startled me. I’d never truly known what she’d look like nor attempted to visualize her in my mind. And seeing her in front of me became one of those terrifying moments you pray is a nightmare from which you’ll soon awake.
“You too,” I loosely shook her small palm. “Um, will you excuse me? I have some things to do for this gorgeous bride.”
“What do you...?” Marnie called in confusion as I hurried away.
There was little escape, so I headed toward the smaller of two bars on the upper loft of the lodge. After ordering a glass of wine, I slammed it and ordered another.
“You’re Marnie’s friend, right?” Looking to my left, I saw a man in his mid-twenties smiling.
“Uh, yeah. I suppose the bridesmaid dress gave it away?” I muttered.
“Oh!” he laughed heartily. “I guess it did. Never even thought of that. I just remembered you from a couple going-away parties at work. I’m Ron,” he offered his hand.
“Hi Ron. I’m Courtney.”
“Nice to officially meet...”
“Um, could you excuse me?” I interrupted once I saw Philip purposefully gliding up one set of stairs. Without waiting for a reply, I feverishly raced down the other set.
Was there no way to hide from him? I panicked.
Grabbing my wool wrap, I marched around the main bar and exited through doors leading to a deck. Passing a few others who braved the chill and lightly falling snow, I went to an open corner. Leaning against the railing, I attempted to gather my breath while gazing over white-dusted pines and sloping ruts that once served as ski hills. Even in the blackness, their dark craters were visible.
“There you are,” Ron said. “Mind if I join you?”
“Uh. No,” I sputtered.
“Pretty peaceful out here. Especially away from the bad music,” he joked.
I allowed an empty laugh to escape.
“Why haven’t I seen you at any parties lately?” he wondered.
“Just too far of a drive to do over and over,” I said.
He nodded and with one finger began to doodle in the thin layer of snow accumulating on the deck rail. “Would you-uh-like to dance with me, Courtney?” he asked shyly. “I’m sure even that band can play a decent slow song.”
“Ron,” I hesitated. “That’s very kind, but I don’t really dance.”
“No worries. We can hang out here. If you don’t mind company, that is.”
“Ah. Two of my favorite people!” Philip’s voice jarred me so much I jumped a few steps, slipping on an icy patch.
Both men simultaneously reached to help me, grabbing one arm each and keeping me steady. “Thanks. I’m fine,” I asserted and shrugged them away.
“Do you mind leaving us alone for a moment, Ron? I wanted to ask Courtney about wedding gift ideas for Marnie and Carl.”
“Sure,” Ron looked at me reluctantly before heading back inside.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I scoffed. “You said you never come to these things.”
“I hoped to see you.”
“And introduce your wife?” I berated. “How thoughtful of you.”
“She-she wasn’t supposed to come. She was scheduled to be out of town, but her plans changed at the last minute,” he tried to make clear. “But by then I’d become so determined to see you, I couldn’t stay away.”
“So you saw and humiliated me. Your work here is done. Now please leave,” I sternly ordered.
“Seeing you is more than I expected. You look so beautiful. The dress...the color compliments you. And here in the snowy dusk, you are absolutely breathtaking,” he sighed.
“Enough with the patronizing compliments, Philip. Leave,” I begged again, this time behind tears.
He lit a cigarette and as he exhaled smoky sulfur into the cool air, I realized I’d never known he smoked.
“I bummed it off some guy at the bar,” he explained in embarrassment. “Hardly ever do them, except when I’m nervous.” He drew another long puff. “I’m nervous tonight. Around you...”
Stunned by the sight of Philip smoking, I remained silent during his confessions, instead focusing on the severe melancholy, which surfaced over the loss of new things I had yet to learn about him.
“It looks like Ron might want to be more than friends?” he spoke through closed teeth.
“What? Ron? I-I just met him. He isn’t even technically a friend.”
“Well, he’s certainly interested. I can tell.”
“Whatever,” I waved my hand in dismissal and watched tiny flakes fall upon my wrist and melt into the skin.
“Courtney. You need to know every single, hot-blooded male is going to look at you...covet you. You are young, smart, beautiful, and vibrant. Doesn’t mean you need to act on it,” he reprimanded as if he was my father.
“Look,” I hostilely poked my finger into his cashmere overcoat. “I may be the damsel in distress, but you most certainly don’t need to save me.”
Bowing his head in defeat, he said, “I know I can’t repair what I broke, and I definitely don’t want to save you. Courtney,” he paused and took anot
her hit of his cigarette before putting it out in a pile of snow, “I only want to love you.”
“That’s all well and good, Philip. But you can’t love me and another. I don’t work that way,” I spat.
“I don’t love another,” he grimly admitted. “Only you.”
“As long as you are married, legally I might add, you will never be part of my equation,” I threatened. “I don’t want bits and pieces of a life with you, Philip. I want each minute, every day, fifty years, until we die,” I choked.
