The butterflies rousing my stomach at high speeds on the drive home begin to settle some, Andrew’s surprising pep throwing me off guard. I’ve been so nervous about talking to Andrew, about this heart-to-heart we’ve had a long time coming.
I breathe in deeply, shakily. “I’ve been at Emily’s, but never mind.” I swallow. “I missed you, too.” My words come out huskier than I want.
“So!” he enthuses, taking me by the hand. “You’ve been enjoying your girl time?”
I nod succinctly as he leads me into the living room, to the sofa.
“Yeah. Been nice.” I give him a vague smile.
This is not going to be easy, I think. I don’t know where to start. We’ve already had a “serious” talk, and look where that got you, Jackie. Broken glass, blood, shouted insults…
“I’m glad you’re having fun,” he says.
How is this time going to be any different? I give him another vague smile, trying to summon the courage, beckon the right mood, to do what I know I need to do.
“But, I’ll be honest. I really don’t like it when you run off so much, baby doll.” He pulls me tighter, and the scent of his rich aftershave and cologne are titillating. “I miss you when you’re out with your friends, and I don’t like sleeping alone.”
“Now you know how I feel when you’re out at work or off on business all the time.” I crack a smile just to insert a dash of repose in what could quickly become a recipe for a fight.
“Well not tonight,” he says in a low voice. He gives me a kiss on my cheek before pulling back and bounding towards the kitchen.
“Dinner and dancing? An old movie?” I ask curiously, my interest piqued. If that’s the case then maybe we don’t need a talk after all… Maybe he’s finally being proactive. Getting the hint? Demonstrating instead of just talking? “Are we going out somewhere?” Of course, I’m only delaying the inevitable.
“Not exactly,” Andrew says, monotone. He picks up two glasses of champagne. At first I think they’re pink—my favorite—and a flip of excited, rather than nervous, butterflies flits about inside. Andrew’s been thinking of me, thinking seriously about me, about us. It’s not just the peonies and the champagne, but pink champagne! It’s my favorite not because I prefer a rosé to a brut, but because of the charming way it brought Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr together in An Affair to Remember.
When I take the glass in hand, however, I realize the chilled beverage is not pink.
“But I’ve been doing some thinking,” Andrew says, stepping near.
A befuddled expression on my face, I slowly bring the glass to my lips. He’s still trying… He’s thinking about you, Jackie. You two have love and hope. It’ll work out. Give it a chance.
“Wait, wait,” he rushes out. “We have to toast.”
“To?” To us? To working through things?
He takes me by my free hand and proceeds back into the living room.
“I’ve been thinking about us,” he says, stopping a short step from the expansive glass windows. “About our marriage.”
The jittery butterflies return, and twice in just a few seconds I find myself resisting the urge to pull nervously on the bubbly.
“Yeah?” I get out, shakily.
“I haven’t been as attentive to your needs as I should be.”
I exhale in relief, having been somewhat worried that he was going to tell me he’d done some thinking about our marriage and decided he was going to leave me for Nikki, or that I needed to increase my therapy sessions, or put more into this marriage—as if our problematic wedge is somehow all my fault.
“I really want to make things work,” he says, looking from my eyes to his glass.
“Yeah, actually—” I start, but Andrew cuts in.
“And I hear you loud and clear.”
“You do?” I’m in shock. He’s actually gotten the hint? He’s finally going to be proactive and do something about our failing marriage? I don’t have to be the one to initiate this?
“Absolutely!” His eyes meet mine again. They’re filled with a childlike wonder, excitement, fervor.
“Great, because I’ve been talking to Dr. Pierce—”
“Great, great,” he says with a round of nodding.
“And he says that we need to work through our problems together—”
“Exactly,” he breathes.
“Really?” I look at him with a dumbfounded face. “We need to be honest and seriously listen to each other, Andrew. Things have got to change.”
“Yes, yes.”
“You put me as a priority and show me you really love me—be there for me—and I’ll be patient with you so you can do that.”
“That’s just it!” he says jubilantly, pulling me near. “I can show you I really love you.” He kisses my cheek.
“And,” I say cautiously, “be there emotionally for me?”
“Yes, yes.”
“I know I have a lot of my own insecurities and issues to work out,” I pause to bite my bottom lip in an almost desperate kind of way, “but I’m working at it, at therapy.”
“And I couldn’t be prouder of you.” He kisses my cheek again, giving my hand a firm squeeze. “Now come here.” He leads me closer to the windows. “I want to show you something.”
He pulls me tight as we look past Elliott Bay and out to Puget Sound, the last sliver of the setting sun glittering the surface of the cerulean water.
“Look out there.” He points across the horizon.
“It’s gorgeous.”
“It’s perfect.”
“Yes, it is perfect. Beautiful.” I look up at him, and a smile plays my lips as I get lost in this sweet and simple moment. He looks so happy, so content, and those nervous butterflies are gone. I’m feeling content, too, like Andrew and I really can work things out. I feel safe and at home.
“It’s perfect for us.” He pulls me closer, slipping a hand in his pocket. “Perfect to help us get over this marital rut. A sign that I really do love you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well…” A coy expression begins to cover his face. “I got to thinking about the old times—like how things were when we were first dating. What you reminisce about so often.”
“Yeah?” I squeak out in excitement and curiosity.
“Minus the sail home, our time in Bainbridge together was magical,” he waxes lyrical.
“Yes…” I don’t know what he’s getting at, but I’m mightily curious now.
“And my mind was spinning when I was out of town on business, thinking about what we need. Something to help bring us closer together, get those sparks going again, prove how much I love you.” His eyes light up. “You’re right! Things were exciting and big and fabulous and…why can’t we still have that?”
“True.” I cross one arm over my chest and grip tight the glass of champagne.
“I’m a man of considerable means, so I can show my wife just how much she means to me. I can’t believe it’s taken me so long to think of this.”
“Okay…”
“I woke up this morning and the idea just came to me!” He looks back out the window. “See all this. This water, this beauty, this opportunity.” He draws an invisible line along the horizon with his champagne glass.
I raise a quizzical eyebrow as he continues. “So,” he says, “I went and bought you a boat.”
I nearly choke on my spit, darting my head to the side. “You bought me…a boat?”
He nods sharply. “I’m bringing the adventure back into the relationship, baby doll! No need for couples therapy.” He dangles two keys in front of me. “The perfect gift for the woman who,” he chuckles, “has everything.” He continues to dangle the keys. “Now does this tell you how much I love you?” He looks self-satisfied, as if he’s successfully landed an impressive deal with a key Jennings & Voigt account.
“A boat?” I squeak, hardly able to believe what I’m hearing. “But…why?”
He laughs in bewildermen
t. “Why? Does a man need a reason to shower his wife with expensive gifts?” He laughs some more. “Look, I was thinking,” he says, his tone evenly excited and earnest, “if things were amazing between us before—before all these arguments, back when we spent so much time together, had exciting dates and getaways and adventure…”
My mind starts to drift back to those beginning months of our relationship, losing my connection to the here and the now as Andrew rambles on in a flurry of excitement.
Things were really great back then, true, but Andrew was still just as committed to his work then as he is now. He just invited me to more of his out-of-town business trips; he squeezed in time for me between meetings and conferences; he actually made me a priority and didn’t just talk about it. And, honestly, it was all new. Anything’s exciting and breathtaking when it’s new. Things can probably still be the same level of excitement and action years later, I suppose, but won’t be as fulfilling because they’re, well, old. What we need now isn’t necessarily a recreation of the past but—but—I don’t know what, and that’s the problem. We just need something different…something new…we need a change. And this is not it.
Suddenly the bile is rising, the agitating butterflies are flooding my stomach again, and I’m feeling lightheaded. I place one hand on Andrew’s arm in an attempt to steady myself. Andrew’s voice regains my focus.
“We can have adventure! You can have your glamor!” I hear him exclaim as I shake myself back into the present. “It’s all yours!” He raises higher the keys. “You can even name it. Brand-spankin’ new; just bought it this morning.”
I swallow and blink hard, trying to gather my bearings. “A boat…” I mutter as I slowly set my glass of champagne down.
Andrew’s wearing a broad grin. “That’s right!”
“And…” I swallow again, rubbing hard at both my temples. “And where are you going to find the time to, uh, use it?”
“Well when I find the time to use the boat it’s there…” he carries on, as if the question is an absurd one to ask.
He brushes me off with a brisk shake of his head. “Details. Look, it’s here, it’s bought, it’s for you, it’s a declaration of my love. And, look.” His voice is deep and insisting. “See this gift as that thing that will encourage me to make time for you.” He hurriedly sets his champagne aside. “Actually having a sailboat is going to force me to make time to be with you. To go out and have those adventures together.” He pauses, then adds, “When I can get out of the office, of course.” He simpers.
“Force yourself to make time to be with me?” I gasp, thunderstruck by his choice of words.
“I don’t mean it like that.” He takes my hands in his.
“Andrew,” I say, my voice small. I look at him imploringly. “I love you, but…”
“But what?” A pallor creeps onto his face. “Don’t you like it? I mean, it’s a hell of an expensive sailboat!”
“This isn’t going to change anything.” I swallow the persistent lump in my throat. “This isn’t going to be a long-term solution. You can’t throw money and material possessions at the problem.”
“What?” he gasps, his brow knit together tightly, almost painfully. “Jackie, you know I’ve always given you the world—anything you want. Shoes, clothes, cars, trips, spa treatments, a home…” He wags his head in exasperation. “Now you, what?” He winces. “Don’t want any of this?”
“Of course I like and appreciate everything.” I press my lips tightly together, not sure where to go next. I thought I had this whole discussion planned out earlier. Surely I never could have seen this coming!
“We can see the world together,” he says with urgency. He points out the window. “Together!”
“When you make the time! Because you’re forced!” I pull away from him. “Andrew,” I breathe out, “you just don’t get it.” I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to keep back the sudden surge of tears. “Running off on exotic trips and buying expensive things is running away from the problem. Throwing money at things doesn’t solve anything. I’m talking about an emotional connection.”
“Dammit, Jackie,” he growls. “I don’t understand you!” He rubs gruffly at his jaw. “You know, this would’ve been an answer to your problem in the beginning. I don’t know what you want anymore!”
“Well…”
“Actually, I don’t think you know what you want, babe.” He rubs some more at his jaw. “I’m—I’m—I’m just confused. I don’t know what to do!”
“Well buying a fucking boat wasn’t the thing to do!” I cry, losing all of the nerve and calm I’d mustered for this evening’s talk. “The idea is nice if you’d actually have time for it—for me!”
“But I can make time with this,” he goes on imploringly, the veins in his neck beginning to bulge.
“No!” I stomp my foot in protestation. “It’s just a bigger empty promise, Andrew. Another failure waiting to happen.”
“Dammit, Jackie.” He smacks a hand to his forehead.
“I’m not happy with us, and obviously all of the diamonds and money in the world—all the boats and fancy cars—aren’t going to make that unhappiness go away. I have it all and I’m miserable, Andrew! Miserable…no emotional connection to my husband and…” I break down in tears. “I give up. I just don’t know what more to do.” I turn on my heels and begin to walk towards the kitchen.
“You’re impossible,” he wheezes. “You give up? I give up! What can I do, Jackie? I buy you a boat—”
“I don’t want a fucking boat, Andrew! I want a marriage. A real marriage and a husband who actually cares!”
“Look around you, princess!” he yells, hands in the air. “I do care for you! What more do you want me to do?”
I wag my head in exhaustion and pull out a bottle of rum from the cupboard. “Whatever,” I mutter. “I should’ve known you couldn’t be reasonable.”
“Me? Reasonable?” He throws his hands higher into the air. “Are you even listening to yourself? I’m the unreasonable one?”
“You go out and buy a sailboat like it’s nothing!” I scream. “Who does that? That’s insanity!”
“A proof of how much I love you.” His voice is lower, slightly calmer.
“No.” I shake my head harshly as I pour a glass of liquid courage. “A proof that you don’t care, after all. It’s easy to whip out the checkbook and ‘fix’ things, but it’s another to be there emotionally.”
“Emotionally?” He strides over with brisk steps. “Be there emotionally? Look at yourself, baby doll.”
I take a quick drink, then say, totally aghast, “Myself? Look at myself?”
“Yeah.” He puts his hands on his hips, standing, cocky, on the opposite side of the kitchen’s island. I uncomfortably bring the glass to my lips. “You,” he says, pointing a finger at me, “are more emotionally invested in yourself than you are me! In us! You drown your troubles in your booze and cry to your therapist and run off to your friends, shop ’til you drop. You are emotionally checked out, Jackie. Shallow and selfish and spoiled and emotionally checked out.” He gives me a scornful look. “I knew I married a pampered princess, but I didn’t realize she’d fail to grow up at twenty-fucking-seven years old. Let go of the past, Jackie, and grow up already.”
“Fuck you!” I scream, throwing the glass onto the floor. “Don’t hit me where it hurts, you asshole!”
“Maybe that’s what you finally need to hear, princess.” He holds up his hands in surrender, shoving off all the blame onto me.
“You know what?” I spit, charging to the foyer. “I’m out of here.”
“Good.” He tails me closely.
“I’m going to Emily’s. She’s emotionally there for me.” I grab my overnight bag.
“Good,” he says, all full of himself. “Stay as long as you like.”
“I will!” I scream, turning to face him. “And I may never come back.”
“Oh, you’ll come back,” he says smugly. “When you want money a
nd new shoes,” he points at my high heels, “you’ll come crawling back.”
I slap him hard across his face. I’m surprised I actually did it, half-expecting him to grab and stop my hand in time before I made contact. Instead, now his cheek, once pale, is turning a twinge pink.
With one hand touching the assaulted cheek, he points to the door and says, “You’re crazy, Jackie. All my spoiling you is only worsening the problem.”
“You’re an asshole!” I swing open the front door. “You know, if I’m such a money-grubbing whore then alarms should sound that I’m talking about not wanting shopping sprees and stupid sailboats. There’s more to me than that, Andrew, and it’s a damn shame you can’t see that.” I pull my overnight bag roughly onto my shoulder and step into the hallway.
“You talk about me walking the walk,” he shouts after me. “Why not try taking your own advice, huh?”
“Screw you.” I abruptly reach back into the apartment for my keys, then stomp out the door and on down the hallway.
“Jackie, wait.” Andrew’s voice, the low and almost caring tone, takes me by surprise. I stop in my tracks and turn to face him. “Look, I love you, Jackie.” He sighs loudly, his shoulders sagging. “Please, let’s not do this.”
I’m flabbergasted. After what he’s just said to me? Now he’s remorseful? This is unbelievable!
“I’m sorry,” he says. His blue eyes search mine apologetically. “Let’s start this over. Please. Look, if you don’t want the boat, I’ll return it. I just don’t want to lose you.”
I sigh and shake my head, looking down into the depths of the hall. “Andrew,” I say as I step nearer him, “you’ve been losing me for a long while. And I’m done. I’m not putting myself through this anymore. It’s too painful.”
“What are you saying?” Standing so helplessly in the doorway, he reaches an unwelcome hand forward and plants it softly on my shoulder.
“I’m going to Emily’s for the night,” I say easily.
“And then?” His sorrowful face now looks curious and discomposed.
“I don’t know. I just don’t want to be around you right now.” I shrug off his touch.
“Fine.” His face is now one of irritation. “Don’t get yourself into trouble.” He turns back into the house. “I’m taking a sleeping pill and going to bed early. If you call or lock yourself out or something, I won’t hear you.”
When Girlfriends Let Go Page 19
